His resolution, as has been said before, had been quite different, namely, so to bear himself through life as if the secret of his birth was not known to him; but he suddenly and rightly determined on a different course. He asked that her ladyship's attendants should be dismissed, and when they were private—“Welcome, nephew, at least, madam, it should be,” he said, “A great wrong has been done to me and to you, and to my poor mother, who is no more.”
“I declare before Heaven that I was guiltless of it,” she cried out, giving up her cause at once. “It was your wicked father who——”
“Who brought this dishonour on our family,” says Mr. Esmond. “I know it full well. I want to disturb no one. Those who are in present possession have been my dearest benefactors, and are quite innocent of intentional wrong to me. The late lord, my dear patron, knew not the truth until a few months before his death, when Father Holt brought the news to him.”
“The wretch! he had it in confession! He had it in confession!” cried out the dowager lady.
“Not so. He learned it elsewhere as well as in confession,” Mr. Esmond answered. “My father, when wounded at the [pg 186] Boyne, told the truth to a French priest, who was in hiding after the battle, as well as to the priest there, at whose house he died. This gentleman did not think fit to divulge the story till he met with Mr. Holt at St. Omer's. And the latter kept it back for his own purpose, and until he had learned whether my mother was alive or no. She is dead years since: my poor patron told me with his dying breath; and I doubt him not. I do not know even whether I could prove a marriage. I would not if I could. I do not care to bring shame on our name, or grief upon those whom I love, however hardly they may use me. My father's son, madam, won't aggravate the wrong my father did you. Continue to be his widow, and give me your kindness. 'Tis all I ask from you; and I shall never speak of this matter again.”
“Mais vous êtes un noble jeune homme!” breaks out my lady, speaking, as usual with her when she was agitated, in the French language.
“Noblesse oblige,” says Mr. Esmond, making her a low bow. “There are those alive to whom, in return for their love to me, I often fondly said I would give my life away. Shall I be their enemy now, and quarrel about a title? What matters who has it? 'Tis with the family still.”
“What can there be in that little prude of a woman, that makes men so raffoler about her?” cries out my lady dowager. “She was here for a month petitioning the king. She is pretty, and well conserved; but she has not the bel air. In his late Majesty's Court all the men pretended to admire her; and she was no better than a little wax doll. She is better now, and looks the sister of her daughter: but what mean you all by bepraising her? Mr. Steele, who was in waiting on Prince George, seeing her with her two children going to Kensington, writ a poem about her; and says he shall wear her colours, and dress in black for the future. Mr. Congreve says he will write a Mourning Widow, that shall be better than his Mourning Bride. Though their husbands quarrelled and fought when that wretch Churchill deserted the king (for which he deserved to be hung), Lady Marlborough has again gone wild about the little widow; insulted me in my own drawing-room, by saying that 'twas not the old widow, but the young viscountess, she had come to see. Little Castlewood and little Lord Churchill are to be sworn friends, and have boxed [pg 187] each other twice or thrice like brothers already. 'Twas that wicked young Mohun who, coming back from the provinces last year, where he had disinterred her, raved about her all the winter; said she was a pearl set before swine; and killed poor stupid Frank. The quarrel was all about his wife. I know 'twas all about her. Was there anything between her and Mohun, nephew? Tell me now; was there anything? About yourself, I do not ask you to answer questions.” Mr. Esmond blushed up. “My lady's virtue is like that of a saint in heaven, madam,” he cried out.
“Eh!—mon neveu. Many saints get to Heaven after having a deal to repent of. I believe you are like all the rest of the fools, and madly in love with her.”
“Indeed, I loved and honoured her before all the world,” Esmond answered. “I take no shame in that.”