The Mysteries of London, v. 3/4

by George W. M. Reynolds

"Arthur," at length she said, exercising a violent effort to subdue her sorrow, "give not way to bitter reflection on my account. For your sake, all has been forgiven—though it may never be forgotten; for memory is immortal! But that child—that boy of whom you speak—he is indeed with his own father; and Providence doubtless willed that it should be so!"

She paused, and stifled the sobs which rent her bosom.

"You may think me a cruel and heartless mother, Arthur," she resumed at length, now speaking in a mournful, plaintive tone, "thus to have abandoned my offspring: but reflect ere you blame me! I was as it were alone in a house situated in a retired part of the country—a man entered at night—he found his way to my chamber—he took advantage of my loneliness——O God! how have I survived that disgrace—that infamy? Desperate was my resistance—but vain: and the ravisher, as you already know, was Rainford! Alas! pardon me if I then mentioned his name with bitterness; but human patience could not speak it calmly when such a cloud of crushing reminiscences come back to the soul."

Again she paused: the Earl remained silent. What could he say? He loathed—he abhorred the conduct of his half-brother, whom he would not attempt to justify;—and his good sense told him that it were worse than mockery to aim at consoling the victim of that foul night of maddened lust and atrocious rape.

"Some weeks afterwards," continued Lady Hatfield, in a voice scarcely audible and deeply plaintive, "I found that I was in a way to become a mother. You may conceive——But no: it is impossible to imagine the state of mind into which this appalling conviction threw me. And yet I was compelled to veil my grief as much as possible;—for at that time a suspicion of my condition on the part of the world, would have driven me to suicide. I need not—I could not enter into the details of the plan which I had adopted to conceal my dishonour. Suffice it to say, that I succeeded in so doing—and, in a small retired village, and under a feigned name, did I give birth to a son. To Sarah Watts was the babe confided;—and, for a sum of money paid down at once, she agreed to adopt it as her own. By an accident she discovered who I was—my name was on an article of jewellery which I had with me. But she promised the strictest secrecy, and I put faith in her words. Oh! do not blame me, if I acted as I have now described—if I abandoned that child whose presence near me would only have been a proof of my dishonour, and a constant memorial of the dread outrage which no levity—no encouragement—no fault on my part had provoked!"

"Blame you, Georgiana!" exclaimed the Earl, approaching and taking her hand kindly;—"how could I blame you? You acted as prudence dictated—and, indeed, as circumstances inevitably compelled you. But—now that the parentage of this child is at length discovered—how do you wish me to act? Remember, Georgiana, every thing in this respect shall be managed solely with regard to your wishes—solely according to your directions. Shall I communicate in a letter to my half-brother the secret which has thus strangely transpired this day?—or shall I leave him in ignorance of the fact that he has adopted his own son?"

"He knew not that the outrage he perpetrated led to that consequence," said Lady Hatfield, now cruelly bewildered and uncertain how to decide. "No—he could not even suspect it—for I never met him again until that night on the Hounslow road—and even then I recognised him not—and it was only at the police-office in Bow Street that I again beheld him who had been my ruin!"

"I am convinced," observed the Earl, "that Rainford has not the least suspicion that you indeed became a mother. And, oh! when I touched upon the subject of his atrocious behaviour towards you—while we were in Paris—had you seen the tears of contrition—heart-felt contrition which he shed——But, no," added the Earl, suddenly interrupting himself,—"it were impossible that you could forgive him!"

"I forgive him for your sake, Arthur," said Georgiana, in a mild but firm tone. "And now, relative to that child—yes—he shall know that he is with his father; and your brother must be informed that he has adopted his own son! Providence indeed seems to have so willed it; for we cannot believe that accident alone threw the child thus wondrously into the way of the author of its being. Arthur," she added, taking the young nobleman's hand,—"you will write to Rainford—and you will tell him all. It is not necessary to enjoin him to treat the child with kindness—for you say that his disposition is naturally generous. Nevertheless—I should wish," continued the lady, looking down as she uttered these words, and sinking her voice almost to a whisper—for maternal feelings were stirring within her bosom,—"nevertheless, I should wish that you impress upon the mind of your half-brother the necessity of bringing that child up in the paths of virtue and honour."

"Your wishes shall be complied with," answered the Earl. "But fear not that Rainford would inculcate evil principles into the mind of his son. No—he is thoroughly changed, and will become a good, and, I hope, a happy and prosperous man."