Two, by Tricks: A Novel

by Edmund Yates

'"I die, but first I have possess'd;
And come what may, I have been bless'd."

My now solitary life is not without its constantly recurring bitter grief, but I have the memory of Julie to fall back upon, and the knowledge that whatever sacrifice I may have made was made for one who was doubly, trebly worthy of it. But this poor girl has ruined herself for a man whom she did not care for, and merely, as it seems to me, from ignorance and want of proper guidance.'

* * * * * *

When the day came on which Lord Forestfield's petition was to be heard, May had the uncomfortable feeling of knowing that all round her were thoroughly aware of what was going on. The first post brought her a letter from Mrs. Ingram, written in charming spirits and in the most playful manner, telling her a large circle of her quondam friends who were at Hombourg often talked of her trouble, and suggesting to her, under the circumstances, the advisability of 'keeping up her pecker.' It was plain, too, that the coming event had been duly discussed in the lower regions; for although the girl who had come with her from Seamore-place, and had ever since remained in most faithful attendance on her mistress, actually said nothing, it was evident, by her extra care and solicitude, that she was endeavouring to show her sympathy with her mistress. The worthy landlady, however, showed no such reticence; she speedily found an excuse for making her way into May's presence, and when there could not refrain from half-direct allusion, half-soliloquising reference to the important events of the day; allusion which took the form of a kind of inward prayer that all things might go right, and references in which a certain 'poor lamb' played a conspicuous part. A few months since May would have shrunk from and repelled these intrusions upon her privacy, however well intentioned they might have been; but now, though they caused her a certain sense of humiliation, she accepted them as they were meant, and took care to show no signs of annoyance. The receipt of the letter from Mrs. Ingram had rather astonished her; she had been so long removed from the reach of her former companions that she imagined herself forgotten by them, as indeed she was for all good or charitable purposes; but the list of cases for hearing in the Divorce Court is one of the portions of the newspaper which these people read, and when they found the Forestfield trial among them, being generally dull and at a loss for conversation, they were glad to revive the recent scandal.

All that day May sat as though in a dream, thinking over the past and wondering what was to become of her in the future, which, as it seemed to her, was to open in complete novelty from the time the judge's decision was given. Up to the time, however disgraced and degraded she might be, she was in the eye of the law Lord Forestfield's wife. After that--nothing; nor maid, nor wife, nor widow. Her lawyer had explained to her that if the decree were granted it would only be temporary and provisional, and would need confirmation at a later period; but May was perfectly well aware that this confirmation was as good as ratified, and that her new career was virtually to commence from that date.

What that career was to be she had not the slightest idea; she had not been able to give it an instant's thought, although Sir Nugent Uffington had more than once tried to direct her attention to the necessity of settling her plans. It was a delicate subject to touch upon, and Uffington could do no more than give a hint, which May invariably avoided taking; she knew that she had an income of her own, which would suffice to keep her at least in such comfort as she was enjoying in Podbury-street, and beyond that she declined to think. It was all one to her, she felt, how she lived or where, so long only as she could enter upon an entirely new phase of existence in some place where she herself, her history, and her troubles were unknown. Uffington's teaching had had this effect upon her, that she completely despised the people with whom her youth had been passed, and was ashamed of herself for having wasted and misused such precious hours. For the rest, the future was to her a blank, without scheme and without hope.

Mr. Patten, the worthy old attorney who had the conduct of her case, and who throughout had treated her with much fatherly consideration, had promised to come down as soon as the decision had been given by the court and acquaint her with it. 'Not that there will be any doubt as to the result, Lady Forestfield,' he had said. 'By your own wish we do not appear against the application, and therein I think you are wise, as no demonstration on our part would, I fear, have any effect. I am given to understand that no defence either will be made on the part of the co-respondent; but that of course is no affair of yours. However, I will come down after the sitting of the court, and set your mind at rest.'

'Set your mind at rest' was the phrase which worthy Mr. Patten used, though never perhaps was one less applicable. It would have taken more than lay in the attorney's power to set Lady Forestfield's mind at rest; for never since the time when she was served with the citation had she been in so excited a state as on that day. It was not that she had any doubt; even had it been possible that the law could have been so strained as to refuse her husband the relief which he sought, it would have been no satisfaction to her. In her own conscience, which for the first time began to play some part in the scheme of her life, she knew herself to be guilty, and felt that retribution was due. All that she desired ardently was to know that the sentence had been pronounced, to feel that her doom had been publicly spoken, and that thenceforward she would be unheard of by the world.

Would the day never pass? Would Mr. Patten never come? The afternoon was far advanced, and May was still sitting, as she had been sitting all the morning, buried in the arm-chair which commanded a view of the street, with a little table at her elbow. On this table were some memorials of her early girlhood: the jewels which she had worn at her first ball; a photograph of herself surrounded by her bridesmaids in the drawing-room in Grosvenor-square; and almost the first present she had ever received, a double scent-bottle, which Frank Eardley had given to her years ago. She could not tell why she had brought out these things at this particular time--their association with that period of her life, when she was young and innocent, may have had something to do with it; but there they were, and between her intervals of looking out of window and listening to the approaching footsteps, May Forestfield turned them idly over and over, and seemed to derive satisfaction from looking at them.

There came a ring at the bell, and May, whose attention had been diverted from the window, started at the sound. It must be Mr. Patten at last! No, the advancing footstep on the stairs was much lighter than the solid ponderous tread of the worthy attorney. A man's foot too, but soft and active--it must be Sir Nugent Uffington, though May had reason to believe from what he had said on the previous evening that he would not call there that day. Then the door opened quickly, and May's expectant glance fell upon Gustave de Tournefort.