Charles Tyrrell; or, The Bitter Blood. Volumes I and II

by G. P. R. James

"Perhaps you are right," replied Sir Francis Tyrrell, "though you concealed your meaning so well that I did not perceive it: Latet anguis in herbâ Driesen, eh? I did not perceive the reptile under the flowerpot, though I might have known, too, that there must be a snake under any flowers that you choose to cull;" and thus, having repaid him for the rejoinder to the Aragonese mule, Sir Francis Tyrrell wished him good-night, and they mutually retired.

Mr. Driesen went up to his room; saw that everything was comfortable for the night; put his two feet upon the hobs by the side of the fire, and made some calculation on a piece of paper resting on his knee. He then took down, from a corner in which he had placed it when he unpacked his baggage, Hobbes's Leviathan, without which he never travelled; varied it with an article out of Bayle; added a page or two of Petronius, and then, upon the comfortable doctrines he had imbibed, went to bed and slept.

On the following morning, Lady Tyrrell sent her maid to inform Mrs. Effingham that, having a violent headache, she was compelled, as the only means of removing it, to remain in bed. In truth, the arrival of her son and of unexpected guests had excited her more than usual, and her health was so shattered by anxiety, grief, and disappointment, that a very little agitation had a serious effect upon her.

The morning was thus passed by Mrs. Effingham and her daughter with the three gentlemen only; and on Sir Francis proposing to walk through the grounds to visit the old manor-house, Mrs. Effingham declined, but said her daughter would go, while she herself would visit Lady Tyrrell in her own room.

Sir Francis took the hint that had been given by Mr. Driesen the night before, and having fancied that his son was somewhat struck by the beauty of Lucy Effingham, and was inclined to court her society, he determined to throw a few obstacles in the way, and declared that he would have the young lady's company all to himself, so that Charles and Mr. Driesen might amuse themselves the best way they could.

While he and Lucy set off through the woods to the manor-house, Mrs. Effingham having sent to inquire whether Lady Tyrrell could receive her without increasing her headache, proceeded to her room, and we shall beg leave to accompany her thither, as the conversation between the two was not without importance; and it is the only one which, perhaps, it may be necessary to record, as a specimen of many which afterward took place between those ladies.

Mrs. Effingham proceeded calmly to Lady Tyrrell's bedside, and sat down in a chair which was placed for her by the maid, who then retired. She asked kindly after Lady Tyrrell's health, and told her that Sir Francis and her daughter had gone to the manor-house. There was something in her manner which, without the slightest affectation of so doing, displayed towards Lady Tyrrell a feeling of tenderness and interest which touched that lady's heart, and won very much upon her regard, though it was impossible to say in what consisted the charm to which she was so willing to yield.

After she had spoken of several other things, and found that Lady Tyrrell appreciated and understood her character, at all events, in some degree, she added, "I have taken this opportunity of speaking to you, my dear Lady Tyrrell, because I do not know when I may have another opportunity of conversing with you alone for any length of time; and yet, as what I have to say is a matter of some interest, I almost fear that it may make you worse if I go on, though it ought to be said at once, as we are placed in a relative position towards each other which makes it necessary that we should understand each other from the beginning."

"Go on, my dear madam, go on," replied Lady Tyrrell; "there is nothing I love so much as frankness and sincerity; and I am so much accustomed to bear ill health and to undergo much more painful excitements, while suffering sickness, than any your conversation can produce, that I have no fear of your making my headache worse, and even trust that your conversation may have another effect."

Mrs. Effingham paused for a moment and looked upon the ground. "You have so plainly alluded, my dear madam," she said at length, "to matters which I dare scarcely have ventured to touch upon, that I may now say, I trust my being here in your neighbourhood may perhaps afford you some comfort and consolation. I do not mean that the vain hope of doing so induced me to accept your husband's invitation to this house, even although that invitation was not ratified by your own."