The Fortunes of Nigel

Chapter 18

It is necessary that we should leave our hero Nigel for a time,

although in a situation neither safe, comfortable, nor creditable, in

order to detail some particulars which have immediate connexion with

his fortunes.

It was but the third day after he had been forced to take refuge in

the house of old Trapbois, the noted usurer of Whitefriars, commonly

called Golden Trapbois, when the pretty daughter of old Ramsay, the

watchmaker, after having piously seen her father finish his breakfast,

(from the fear that he might, in an abstruse fit of thought, swallow

the salt-cellar instead of a crust of the brown loaf,) set forth from

the house as soon as he was again plunged into the depth of

calculation, and, accompanied only by that faithful old drudge, Janet,

the Scots laundress, to whom her whims were laws, made her way to

Lombard Street, and disturbed, at the unusual hour of eight in the

morning, Aunt Judith, the sister of her worthy godfather.

The venerable maiden received her young visitor with no great

complacency; for, naturally enough, she had neither the same

admiration of her very pretty countenance, nor allowance for her

foolish and girlish impatience of temper, which Master George Heriot

entertained. Still Mistress Margaret was a favourite of her brother's,

whose will was to Aunt Judith a supreme law; and she contented herself

with asking her untimely visitor, "what she made so early with her

pale, chitty face, in the streets of London?"

"I would speak with the Lady Hermione," answered the almost breathless

girl, while the blood ran so fast to her face as totally to remove the

objection of paleness which Aunt Judith had made to her complexion.

"With the Lady Hermione?" said Aunt Judith--"with the Lady Hermione?

and at this time in the morning, when she will scarce see any of the

family, even at seasonable hours? You are crazy, you silly wench, or

you abuse the indulgence which my brother and the lady have shown to

you."

"Indeed, indeed I have not," repeated Margaret, struggling to retain

the unbidden tear which seemed ready to burst out on the slightest

occasion. "Do but say to the lady that your brother's god-daughter

desires earnestly to speak to her, and I know she will not refuse to

see me."

Aunt Judith bent an earnest, suspicious, and inquisitive glance on her

young visitor, "You might make me your secretary, my lassie," she

said, "as well as the Lady Hermione. I am older, and better skilled to

advise. I live more in the world than one who shuts herself up within

four rooms, and I have the better means to assist you."

"O! no--no--no," said Margaret, eagerly, and with more earnest

sincerity than complaisance; "there are some things to which you

cannot advise me, Aunt Judith. It is a case--pardon me, my dear aunt--

a case beyond your counsel."

"I am glad on't, maiden," said Aunt Judith, somewhat angrily; "for I

think the follies of the young people of this generation would drive

mad an old brain like mine. Here you come on the viretot, through the

whole streets of London, to talk some nonsense to a lady, who scarce

sees God's sun, but when he shines on a brick wall. But I will tell

her you are here."

She went away, and shortly returned with a dry--"Miss Marget, the lady

will be glad to see you; and that's more, my young madam, than you had

a right to count upon."

Mistress Margaret hung her head in silence, too much perplexed by the

train of her own embarrassed thoughts, for attempting either to

conciliate Aunt Judith's kindness, or, which on other occasions would

have been as congenial to her own humour, to retaliate on her cross-

tempered remarks and manner. She followed Aunt Judith, therefore, in

silence and dejection, to the strong oaken door which divided the Lady

Hermione's apartments from the rest of George Heriot's spacious house.

At the door of this sanctuary it is necessary to pause, in order to

correct the reports with which Richie Moniplies had filled his

master's ear, respecting the singular appearance of that lady's

attendance at prayers, whom we now own to be by name the Lady

Hermione. Some part of these exaggerations had been communicated to

the worthy Scotsman by Jenkin Vincent, who was well experienced in the

species of wit which has been long a favourite in the city, under the

names of cross-biting, giving the dor, bamboozling, cramming, hoaxing,

humbugging, and quizzing; for which sport Richie Moniplies, with his

solemn gravity, totally unapprehensive of a joke, and his natural

propensity to the marvellous, formed an admirable subject. Farther

ornaments the tale had received from Richie himself, whose tongue,

especially when oiled with good liquor, had a considerable tendency to

amplification, and who failed not, while he retailed to his master all

the wonderful circumstances narrated by Vincent, to add to them many

conjectures of his own, which his imagination had over-hastily

converted into facts.

Yet the life which the Lady Hermione had led for two years, during

which she had been the inmate of George Heriot's house, was so

singular, as almost to sanction many of the wild reports which went

abroad. The house which the worthy goldsmith inhabited, had in former

times belonged to a powerful and wealthy baronial family, which,

during the reign of Henry VIII., terminated in a dowager lady, very

wealthy, very devout, and most unalienably attached to the Catholic

faith. The chosen friend of the Honourable Lady Foljambe was the

Abbess of Saint Roque's Nunnery, like herself a conscientious, rigid,

and devoted Papist. When the house of Saint Roque was despotically

dissolved by the fiat of the impetuous monarch, the Lady Foljambe

received her friend into her spacious mansion, together with two

vestal sisters, who, like their Abbess, were determined to follow the

tenor of their vows, instead of embracing the profane liberty which

the Monarch's will had thrown in their choice. For their residence,

the Lady Foljambe contrived, with all secrecy--for Henry might not

have relished her interference--to set apart a suite of four rooms,

with a little closet fitted up as an oratory, or chapel; the whole

apartments fenced by a stout oaken door to exclude strangers, and

accommodated with a turning wheel to receive necessaries, according to

the practice of all nunneries. In this retreat, the Abbess of Saint

Roque and her attendants passed many years, communicating only with

the Lady Foljambe, who, in virtue of their prayers, and of the support

she afforded them, accounted herself little less than a saint on

earth. The Abbess, fortunately for herself, died before her munificent

patroness, who lived deep in Queen Elizabeth's time, ere she was

summoned by fate.

The Lady Foljambe was succeeded in this mansion by a sour fanatic

knight, a distant and collateral relation, who claimed the same merit

for expelling the priestess of Baal, which his predecessor had founded

on maintaining the votaresses of Heaven. Of the two unhappy nuns,

driven from their ancient refuge, one went beyond sea; the other,

unable from old age to undertake such a journey, died under the roof

of a faithful Catholic widow of low degree. Sir Paul Crambagge, having

got rid of the nuns, spoiled the chapel of its ornaments, and had

thoughts of altogether destroying the apartments, until checked by the

reflection that the operation would be an unnecessary expense, since

he only inhabited three rooms of the large mansion, and had not

therefore the slightest occasion for any addition to its

accommodations. His son proved a waster and a prodigal, and from him

the house was bought by our friend George Heriot, who, finding, like

Sir Paul, the house more than sufficiently ample for his

accommodation, left the Foljambe apartments, or Saint Roque's rooms,

as they were called, in the state in which he found them.

About two years and a half before our history opened, when Heriot was

absent upon an expedition to the Continent, he sent special orders to

his sister and his cash-keeper, directing that the Foljambe apartments

should be fitted up handsomely, though plainly, for the reception of a

lady, who would make them her residence for some time; and who would

live more or less with his own family according to her pleasure. He

also directed, that the necessary repairs should be made with secrecy,

and that as little should be said as possible upon the subject of his

letter.

When the time of his return came nigh, Aunt Judith and the household

were on the tenter-hooks of impatience. Master George came, as he had

intimated, accompanied by a lady, so eminently beautiful, that, had it

not been for her extreme and uniform paleness, she might have been

reckoned one of the loveliest creatures on earth. She had with her an

attendant, or humble companion, whose business seemed only to wait

upon her. This person, a reserved woman, and by her dialect a

foreigner, aged about fifty, was called by the lady Monna Paula, and

by Master Heriot, and others, Mademoiselle Pauline. She slept in the

same room with her patroness at night, ate in her apartment, and was

scarcely ever separated from her during the day.

These females took possession of the nunnery of the devout Abbess,

and, without observing the same rigorous seclusion, according to the

letter, seemed wellnigh to restore the apartments to the use to which

they had been originally designed. The new inmates lived and took

their meals apart from the rest of the family. With the domestics Lady

Hermione, for so she was termed, held no communication, and

Mademoiselle Pauline only such as was indispensable, which she

dispatched as briefly as possible. Frequent and liberal largesses

reconciled the servants to this conduct; and they were in the habit of

observing to each other, that to do a service for Mademoiselle

Pauline, was like finding a fairy treasure.

To Aunt Judith the Lady Hermione was kind and civil, but their

intercourse was rare; on which account the elder lady felt some pangs

both of curiosity and injured dignity. But she knew her brother so

well, and loved him so dearly, that his will, once expressed, might be

truly said to become her own. The worthy citizen was not without a

spice of the dogmatism which grows on the best disposition, when a

word is a law to all around. Master George did not endure to be

questioned by his family, and, when he had generally expressed his

will, that the Lady Hermione should live in the way most agreeable to

her, and that no inquiries should be made concerning their history, or

her motives for observing such strict seclusion, his sister well knew

that he would have been seriously displeased with any attempt to pry

into the secret.

But, though Heriot's servants were bribed, and his sister awed into

silent acquiescence in these arrangements, they were not of a nature

to escape the critical observation of the neighbourhood. Some opined

that the wealthy goldsmith was about to turn papist, and re-establish

Lady Foljambe's nunnery--others that he was going mad--others that he

was either going to marry, or to do worse. Master George's constant

appearance at church, and the knowledge that the supposed votaress

always attended when the prayers of the English ritual were read in

the family, liberated him from the first of these suspicions; those

who had to transact business with him upon 'Change, could not doubt

the soundness of Master Heriot's mind; and, to confute the other

rumours, it was credibly reported by such as made the matter their

particular interest, that Master George Heriot never visited his guest

but in presence of Mademoiselle Pauline, who sat with her work in a

remote part of the same room in which they conversed. It was also

ascertained that these visits scarcely ever exceeded an hour in

length, and were usually only repeated once a week, an intercourse too

brief and too long interrupted, to render it probable that love was

the bond of their union.

The inquirers were, therefore, at fault, and compelled to relinquish

the pursuit of Master Heriot's secret, while a thousand ridiculous

tales were circulated amongst the ignorant and superstitious, with

some specimens of which our friend Richie Moniplies had been

_crammed_, as we have seen, by the malicious apprentice of worthy

David Ramsay.

There was one person in the world who, it was thought, could (if she

would) have said more of the Lady Hermione than any one in London,

except George Heriot himself; and that was the said David Ramsay's

only child, Margaret.

This girl was not much past the age of fifteen when the Lady Hermione

first came to England, and was a very frequent visitor at her

godfather's, who was much amused by her childish sallies, and by the

wild and natural beauty with which she sung the airs of her native

country. Spoilt she was on all hands; by the indulgence of her

godfather, the absent habits and indifference of her father, and the

deference of all around to her caprices, as a beauty and as an

heiress. But though, from these circumstances, the city-beauty had

become as wilful, as capricious, and as affected, as unlimited

indulgence seldom fails to render those to whom it is extended; and

although she exhibited upon many occasions that affectation of extreme

shyness, silence, and reserve, which misses in their teens are apt to

take for an amiable modesty; and, upon others, a considerable portion

of that flippancy, which youth sometimes confounds with wit, Mistress

Margaret had much real shrewdness and judgment, which wanted only

opportunities of observation to refine it--a lively, good-humoured,

playful disposition, and an excellent heart. Her acquired follies were

much increased by reading plays and romances, to which she devoted a

great deal of her time, and from which she adopted ideas as different

as possible from those which she might have obtained from the

invaluable and affectionate instructions of an excellent mother; and

the freaks of which she was sometimes guilty, rendered her not

unjustly liable to the charge of affectation and coquetry. But the

little lass had sense and shrewdness enough to keep her failings out

of sight of her godfather, to whom she was sincerely attached; and so

high she stood in his favour, that, at his recommendation, she

obtained permission to visit the recluse Lady Hermione.

The singular mode of life which that lady observed; her great beauty,

rendered even more interesting by her extreme paleness; the conscious

pride of being admitted farther than the rest of the world into the

society of a person who was wrapped in so much mystery, made a deep

impression on the mind of Margaret Ramsay; and though their

conversations were at no time either long or confidential, yet, proud

of the trust reposed in her, Margaret was as secret respecting their

tenor as if every word repeated had been to cost her life. No inquiry,

however artfully backed by flattery and insinuation, whether on the

part of Dame Ursula, or any other person equally inquisitive, could

wring from the little maiden one word of what she heard or saw, after

she entered these mysterious and secluded apartments. The slightest

question concerning Master Heriot's ghost, was sufficient, at her

gayest moment, to check the current of her communicative prattle, and

render her silent.

We mention this, chiefly to illustrate the early strength of

Margaret's character--a strength concealed under a hundred freakish

whims and humours, as an ancient and massive buttress is disguised by

its fantastic covering of ivy and wildflowers. In truth, if the damsel

had told all she heard or saw within the Foljambe apartments, she

would have said but little to gratify the curiosity of inquirers.

At the earlier period of their acquaintance, the Lady Hermione was

wont to reward the attentions of her little friend with small but

elegant presents, and entertain her by a display of foreign rarities

and curiosities, many of them of considerable value. Sometimes the

time was passed in a way much less agreeable to Margaret, by her

receiving lessons from Pauline in the use of the needle. But, although

her preceptress practised these arts with a dexterity then only known

in foreign convents, the pupil proved so incorrigibly idle and

awkward, that the task of needlework was at length given up, and

lessons of music substituted in their stead. Here also Pauline was

excellently qualified as an instructress, and Margaret, more

successful in a science for which Nature had gifted her, made

proficiency both in vocal and instrumental music. These lessons passed

in presence of the Lady Hermione, to whom they seemed to give

pleasure. She sometimes added her own voice to the performance, in a

pure, clear stream of liquid melody; but this was only when the music

was of a devotional cast. As Margaret became older, her communications

with the recluse assumed a different character. She was allowed, if

not encouraged, to tell whatever she had remarked out of doors, and

the Lady Hermione, while she remarked the quick, sharp, and retentive

powers of observation possessed by her young friend, often found

sufficient reason to caution her against rashness in forming opinions,

and giddy petulance in expressing them.

The habitual awe with which she regarded this singular personage,

induced Mistress Margaret, though by no means delighting in

contradiction or reproof, to listen with patience to her admonitions,

and to make full allowance for the good intentions of the patroness by

whom they were bestowed; although in her heart she could hardly

conceive how Madame Hermione, who never stirred from the Foljambe

apartments, should think of teaching knowledge of the world to one who

walked twice a-week between Temple Bar and Lombard Street, besides

parading in the Park every Sunday that proved to be fair weather.

Indeed, pretty Mistress Margaret was so little inclined to endure such

remonstrances, that her intercourse with the inhabitants of the

Foljambe apartments would have probably slackened as her circle of

acquaintance increased in the external world, had she not, on the one

hand, entertained an habitual reverence for her monitress, of which

she could not divest herself, and been flattered, on the other, by

being to a certain degree the depository of a confidence for which

others thirsted in vain. Besides, although the conversation of

Hermione was uniformly serious, it was not in general either formal or

severe; nor was the lady offended by flights of levity which Mistress

Margaret sometimes ventured on in her presence, even when they were

such as made Monna Paula cast her eyes upwards, and sigh with that

compassion which a devotee extends towards the votaries of a trivial

and profane world. Thus, upon the whole, the little maiden was

disposed to submit, though not without some wincing, to the grave

admonitions of the Lady Hermione; and the rather that the mystery

annexed to the person of her monitress was in her mind early

associated with a vague idea of wealth and importance, which had been

rather confirmed than lessened by many accidental circumstances which

she had noticed since she was more capable of observation.

It frequently happens, that the counsel which we reckon intrusive when

offered to us unasked, becomes precious in our eyes when the pressure

of difficulties renders us more diffident of our own judgment than we

are apt to find ourselves in the hours of ease and indifference; and

this is more especially the case if we suppose that our adviser may

also possess power and inclination to back his counsel with effectual

assistance. Mistress Margaret was now in that situation. She was, or

believed herself to be, in a condition where both advice and

assistance might be necessary; and it was therefore, after an anxious

and sleepless night, that she resolved to have recourse to the Lady

Hermione, who she knew would readily afford her the one, and, as she

hoped, might also possess means of giving her the other. The

conversation between them will best explain the purport of the visit.