Venetia by Earl of Beaconsfield Benjamin Disraeli
CHAPTER XIX.
Venetia was, perhaps, not quite so surprised as the rest of herfriends, when, on their return to Richmond, Lord Cadurcis was notagain seen. She was very unhappy: she recalled the scene in thegarden at Cherbury some years back; and, with the knowledge of theimpetuosity of his temper, she believed she should never see himagain. Poor Plantagenet, who loved her so much, and whose love she sofully returned! why might they not be happy? She neither doubted theconstancy of his affection, nor their permanent felicity if theywere united. She shared none of her mother's apprehensions or herprejudices, but she was the victim of duty and her vow. In the courseof four-and-twenty hours, strange rumours were afloat respecting LordCadurcis; and the newspapers on the ensuing morning told the truth,and more than the truth. Venetia could not doubt as to the duel or theelopement; but, instead of feeling indignation, she attributed whathad occurred to the desperation of his mortified mind; and she visitedon herself all the fatal consequences that had happened. At present,however, all her emotions were quickly absorbed in the one terriblefear that Lord Monteagle would die. In that dreadful and urgentapprehension every other sentiment merged. It was impossible toconceal her misery, and she entreated her mother to return to town.
Very differently, however, was the catastrophe viewed by Lady Annabel.She, on the contrary, triumphed in her sagacity and her prudence. Shehourly congratulated herself on being the saviour of her daughter;and though she refrained from indulging in any open exultationover Venetia's escape and her own profound discretion, it was,nevertheless, impossible for her to conceal from her daughter herinfinite satisfaction and self-congratulation. While Venetia was halfbroken-hearted, her mother silently returned thanks to Providence forthe merciful dispensation which had exempted her child from so muchmisery.
The day after their return to town, Captain Cadurcis called upon them.Lady Annabel never mentioned the name of his cousin; but George,finding no opportunity of conversing with Venetia alone, and being,indeed, too much excited to speak on any other subject, plunged atonce into the full narrative; defended Lord Cadurcis, abused theMonteagles and the slanderous world, and, in spite of Lady Annabel'sill-concealed dissatisfaction, favoured her with an exact andcircumstantial account of everything that had happened, how ithappened, when it happened, and where it happened; concluding by adeclaration that Cadurcis was the best fellow that ever lived; themost unfortunate, and the most ill-used; and that, if he were to behunted down for an affair like this, over which he had no control,there was not a man in London who could be safe for ten minutes. Allthat George effected by his zeal, was to convince Lady Annabel thathis cousin had entirely corrupted, him; she looked upon her formerfavourite as another victim; but Venetia listened in silence, and notwithout solace.
Two or three days after the riot at the House of Lords, CaptainCadurcis burst into his cousin's room with a triumphant countenance.'Well, Plantagenet!' he exclaimed, 'I have done it; I have seenher alone, and I have put you as right as possible. Nothing can bebetter.'
'Tell me, my dear fellow,' said Lord Cadurcis, eagerly.
'Well, you know, I have called half-a-dozen times,' said George, 'buteither Lady Annabel was there, or they were not at home, or somethingalways occurred to prevent any private communication. But I met herto-day with her aunt; I joined them immediately, and kept with themthe whole morning. I am sorry to say she, I mean Venetia, is devilishill; she is, indeed. However, her aunt now is quite on your side, andvery kind, I can tell you that. I put her right at first, and she hasfought our battle bravely. Well, they stopped to call somewhere, andVenetia was so unwell that she would not get out, and I was left alonein the carriage with her. Time was precious, and I opened at once. Itold her how wretched you were, and that the only thing that made youmiserable was about her, because you were afraid she would think youso profligate, and all that. I went through it all; told her the exacttruth, which, indeed, she had before heard; but now I assured her, onmy honour, that it was exactly what happened; and she said she did notdoubt it, and could not, from some conversation which you had togetherthe day we were all at Hampton Court, and that she felt that nothingcould have been premeditated, and fully believed that everything hadoccurred as I said; and, however she deplored it, she felt the samefor you as ever, and prayed for your happiness. Then she told me whatmisery the danger of Lord Monteagle had occasioned her; that shethought his death must have been the forerunner of her own; but themoment he was declared out of danger seemed the happiest hour ofher life. I told her you were going to leave England, and asked herwhether she had any message for you; and she said, "Tell him he is thesame to me that he has always been." So, when her aunt returned, Ijumped out and ran on to you at once.'
'You are the best fellow that ever lived, George,' said Lord Cadurcis;'and now the world may go to the devil!'
This message from Venetia acted upon Lord Cadurcis like a charm. Itinstantly cleared his mind. He shut himself up in his house for aweek, and wrote a farewell to England, perhaps the most masterlyeffusion of his powerful spirit. It abounded in passages ofoverwhelming passion, and almost Satanic sarcasm. Its compositionentirely relieved his long-brooding brain. It contained, moreover,a veiled address to Venetia, delicate, tender, and irresistiblyaffecting. He appended also to the publication, the verses he hadpreviously addressed to her.
This volume, which was purchased with an avidity exceeding eventhe eagerness with which his former productions had been received,exercised extraordinary influence on public opinion. It enlisted thefeelings of the nation on his side in a struggle with a coterie. Itwas suddenly discovered that Lord Cadurcis was the most injured ofmortals, and far more interesting than ever. The address to theunknown object of his adoration, and the verses to Venetia, mystifiedeverybody. Lady Monteagle was universally abused, and all sympathisedwith the long-treasured and baffled affection of the unhappy poet.Cadurcis, however, was not to be conciliated. He left his nativeshores in a blaze of glory, but with the accents of scorn stillquivering on his lip.
END OF BOOK IV.
BOOK V.