Paul Clifford — Complete

by Baron Edward Bulwer Lytton Lytton

Brandon paused; and Lucy took his hand affectionately, but did not break the silence. Brandon resumed:—

“Yes, I was deceived! But I in my turn had a revenge, and a fitting revenge; for it was not the revenge of hatred, but” (and the speaker laughed sardonically) “of contempt. Enough of this, Lucy! What I wished to say to you is this,—grown men and women know more of the truth of things than ye young persons think for. Love is a mere bauble, and no human being ever exchanged for it one solid advantage without repentance. Believe this; and if rank ever puts itself under those pretty feet, be sure not to spurn the footstool.”

So saying, with a slight laugh, Brandon lighted his chamber candle, and left the room for the night.

As soon as the lawyer reached his own apartment, he indited to Lord Mauleverer the following epistle:

“Why, dear Mauleverer, do you not come to town? I want you, your
party wants you; perhaps the K—g wants you; and certainly, if you
are serious about my niece, the care of your own love-suit should
induce you yourself to want to come hither. I have paved the way
for you; and I think, with a little management, you may anticipate a
speedy success. But Lucy is a strange girl; and, perhaps, after
all, though you ought to be on the spot, you had better leave her as
much as possible in my hands. I know human nature, Mauleverer, and
that knowledge is the engine by which I will work your triumph. As
for the young lover, I am not quite sure whether it be not better
for our sake that Lucy should have experienced a disappointment on
that score; for when a woman has once loved, and the love is utterly
hopeless, she puts all vague ideas of other lovers altogether out of
her head; she becomes contented with a husband whom she can esteem!
Sweet canter! But you, Mauleverer, want Lucy to love you! And so
she will—after you have married her! She will love you partly from
the advantages she derives from you, partly from familiarity (to say
nothing of your good qualities). For my part, I think domesticity
goes so far that I believe a woman always inclined to be
affectionate to a man whom she has once seen in his nightcap.
However, you should come to town; my poor brother's recent death
allows us to see no one,—the coast will be clear from rivals; grief
has softened my niece's heart; in a word, you could not have a
better opportunity. Come!
“By the way, you say one of the reasons which made you think ill of
this Captain Clifford was your impression that in the figure of one
of his comrades you recognized something that appeared to you to
resemble one of the fellows who robbed you a few months ago. I
understand that at this moment the police are in active pursuit of
three most accomplished robbers; nor should I be at all surprised if
in this very Clifford were to be found the leader of the gang,
namely, the notorious Lovett. I hear that the said leader is a
clever and a handsome fellow, of a gentlemanlike address, and that
his general associates are two men of the exact stamp of the
worthies you have so amusingly described to me. I heard this
yesterday from Nabbem, the police-officer with whom I once scraped
acquaintance on a trial; and in my grudge against your rival, I
hinted at my suspicion that he, Captain Clifford, might not
impossibly prove this Rinaldo Rinaldini of the roads. Nabbem caught
at my hint at once; so that, if it be founded on a true guess, I may
flatter my conscience as well as my friendship by the hope that I
have had some hand in hanging this Adonis of my niece's. Whether my
guess be true or not, Nabbem says he is sure of this Lovett; for one
of his gang has promised to betray him. Hang these aspiring dogs!
I thought treachery was confined to politics; and that thought makes
me turn to public matters, in which all people are turning with the
most edifying celerity....”

Sir William Brandon's epistle found Mauleverer in a fitting mood for Lucy and for London. Our worthy peer had been not a little chagrined by Lucy's sudden departure from Bath; and while in doubt whether or not to follow her, the papers had informed him of the squire's death. Mauleverer, being then fully aware of the impossibility of immediately urging his suit, endeavoured, like the true philosopher he was, to reconcile himself to his hope deferred. Few people were more easily susceptible of consolation than Lord Mauleverer. He found an agreeable lady, of a face more unfaded than her reputation, to whom he intrusted the care of relieving his leisure moments from ennui; and being a lively woman, the confidante discharged the trust with great satisfaction to Lord Mauleverer, for the space of a fortnight, so that he naturally began to feel his love for Lucy gradually wearing away, by absence and other ties; but just as the triumph of time over passion was growing decisive, the lady left Bath in company with a tall guardsman, and Mauleverer received Brandon's letter. These two events recalled our excellent lover to a sense of his allegiance; and there being now at Bath no particular attraction to counterbalance the ardour of his affection, Lord Mauleverer ordered the horses to his carriage, and attended only by his valet, set out for London.

Nothing, perhaps, could convey a better portrait of the world's spoiled darling than a sight of Lord Mauleverer's thin, fastidious features, peering forth through the closed window of his luxurious travelling-chariot; the rest of the outer man being carefully enveloped in furs, half-a-dozen novels strewing the seat of the carriage, and a lean French dog, exceedingly like its master, sniffing in vain for the fresh air, which, to the imagination of Mauleverer, was peopled with all sorts of asthmas and catarrhs! Mauleverer got out of his carriage at Salisbury, to stretch his limbs, and to amuse himself with a cutlet. Our nobleman was well known on the roads; and as nobody could be more affable, he was equally popular. The officious landlord bustled into the room, to wait himself upon his lordship and to tell all the news of the place.

“Well, Mr. Cheerly,” said Mauleverer, bestowing a penetrating glance on his cutlet, “the bad times, I see, have not ruined your cook.”

“Indeed, my lord, your lordship is very good, and the times, indeed, are very bad,—very bad indeed. Is there enough gravy? Perhaps your lordship will try the pickled onions?”

“The what? Onions!—oh! ah! nothing can be better; but I never touch them. So, are the roads good?”