After a most agreeable voyage of two hours and a half, the French steam-packet entered Calais harbour.
Charles and Perdita proceeded to Dessin’s Hotel; and there they determined to wait at least a few hours until the arrival of an English steamer which was to leave Dover about a couple of hours later than Le Courier.
During this interval Charles bethought himself that, should Mrs. Fitzhardinge not join them in the course of the day, Perdita and himself would be compelled to continue their journey to Paris; and, with a due sense of delicacy towards her who was to become his wife, he saw the impropriety of their travelling alone together. He accordingly intimated to Perdita the necessity of procuring for her a lady’s-maid without delay; and though she would have much preferred that herself and lover should be the sole occupants of the interior of the post-chaise, she nevertheless comprehended that the expression of such a wish on her part would give him but a poor idea of her modesty. She therefore assented to his proposal with apparent cheerfulness, and thanked him for his kind consideration.
By the agency of Madame Dessin, the landlady of the hotel, a French lady’s-maid, who understood English, was speedily obtained and engaged; and Perdita was now by no means displeased to find herself elevated to the position of a woman of some consequence. She, who but a short time before had entered London in a butcher’s cart and clad in the meanest apparel, was now provided with a special attendant and could choose dresses of the latest fashion and the costliest material.
The lady’s-maid was a pretty young woman of about three and twenty, with fine hair and eyes, good teeth, and a beautiful figure; and her attire was of the most tasteful, though quiet and unassuming, description. Her manners were very agreeable, and would be termed lady-like in this country: but, beneath a modest and innocent-looking exterior, she concealed a disposition for intrigue and no small amount of subtlety. At the same time, Rosalie—for that was her name—would not for the world seek to lead a virtuous mistress astray; and to such virtuous mistress she would doubtless prove an excellent, faithful, and trust-worthy servant. But should she have to deal with a mistress given to gallantry, then Rosalie would cheerfully exercise all her arts of duplicity—all her little cunning machinations—and all her aptitude for the management of an intrigue, and would take delight in enabling her lady to deceive a husband or a lover.
Such was the young person who now became Perdita’s attendant: but it must be observed that the character of Rosalie, as far as it was known to the landlady of the hotel, was unimpeachable:—that is to say, she bore the reputation of honesty, cleanliness, a perfect knowledge of her duties—in fine, all those qualifications which are sought and required in an upper servant of her description.
Having waited until the arrival of the English packet, and finding that Mrs. Fitzhardinge did not make her appearance, Charles, to whom her absence was unaccountable and bewildering to a degree, ordered the post-chaise to be got ready; and, while this was being done, he proceeded with Perdita to the British Consul’s to obtain passports. Finally, at about five o’clock in the afternoon, our travellers took their departure from Dessin’s Hotel in a chaise and four—Rosalie occupying a seat inside, for the sake of appearances.
Oh! had Charles Hatfield known that the young woman—his intended bride—for whose reputation he manifested so much delicate care,—had he known that she was so thoroughly polluted in body and mind,—could he have heard the history which the two officers at Dover might have told of her, had they chosen—he would have been shocked and horrified,—he would have spurned her from him—and all his ardent, enthusiastic love, amounting to an adoration and a worship, would have changed into feelings of abhorrence, loathing, and hate.
But he believed her to be pure and virtuous,—possessing some strange, wayward, and eccentric notions, it is true,—and yet endowed with a spirit so plastic and ductile as to yield willingly to good counsel and to be ready to sacrifice any peculiarity of opinion to the man whom she loved.
It is likewise true that he remembered how she had permitted him, in moments of impassioned tenderness, to toy with her—to press her glowing bosom—to glue his lips to hers, as if she herself would on those occasions accord even more: but he likewise recollected how invariably she started from his arms—withdrew herself from his embrace—and manifested a suddenly resuscitated presence of mind, when he had grown too bold and, maddened with desire, had sought the last favour which a woman, in amorous dalliance, can bestow. He therefore reasoned that, although her naturally warm temperament had led her to bestow upon him such unequivocal proofs of her love, yet that a virgin pride and a maiden’s prudence had enabled her in every instance to triumph over temptation;—and this belief enhanced his profound admiration of her character.