Jack Hinton: The Guardsman

‘I see your surprise,’ said O’Grady, as my mother looked about her with astonishment at his perfect acquaintance with the whole locality; ‘but I can’t explain – it’s part of my secret. Meanwhile, Jack, I have another for your ear,’ said he, in a low whisper, as he drew me aside into a corner. ‘I have made a very singular discovery, Jack, to-day, and I have a notion it may lead to more. I met, by accident, at the Adjutant-General’s table, the brother of a French officer whose life I saved at Nivelle; he remembered my name in a moment, and we became sworn friends. I accepted his offer of a seat in his carriage to this ball, and on the way he informed me that he was the chief of the secret police of Paris, whose business it is to watch all the doings of the regular police and report upon them to Fouché, whose spies are in every salon and at every dinner-table in the capital I have no time at present to repeat any of the extraordinary stories he told me of this horrible system; but just as we entered the courtyard of this hotel, our carriage was jammed up in the line and detained for some minutes. Guillemain suddenly let down the glass, and gave a low, peculiar whistle, which, if I had not been paying considerable attention to everything about him, might have escaped my notice. In about a minute after a man, with a hat slouched over his face, and a large cravat covering his mouth, approached the carriage. They conversed together for some time, and I could perceive that the new-comer spoke his French in a broken manner and with a foreign accent. By a slight movement of the horses one of the lamps threw the light full upon this man’s face; I fixed my eyes rapidly on him, and recognised – whom, think you? But you’d never guess: no other than your old antagonist, Ulick Burke!’

‘Ulick Burke! You must have been mistaken.’

‘No, no. I knew him at once; the light rested on him for full five minutes, and I had time enough to scan every feature of his face. I could swear to the man now. He left us at last, and I watched him till he disappeared among the crowd of servants that filled the courtyard.’

‘“That’s one of your people,” said I carelessly, as Guillemain drew up the glass, and sat back in the carriage.

‘“Yes, and a thorough scoundrel he is – capable of anything.”

‘“He’s not French,” said I, with the same indifference of manner I had feigned at first.

‘Guillemain started as I spoke; and I half feared I had destroyed all by venturing too much. At length, after a short pause, he replied: “You’re right, he’s not French; but we have them of all nations – Poles, Swedes, Germans, Italians, Greeks. That fellow is English.”

‘“Say Irish, rather,” said I, determining to risk all, to know all.

‘“You know him, then?” said Guillemain hurriedly; “where did you see Fitzgerald?”

‘“Fitzgerald!” said I, repeating the name after him; and then affecting disappointment, added, “That’s not the name.”

‘“Ha! I knew you were mistaken,” said Guillemain, with animation; “the fellow told me he defies recognition; and I certainly have tried him often among his countrymen, and he has never been detected. And yet he knows the English thoroughly and intimately. It was through him that I first found out these very people we are going to.”

‘Here, Jack, he entered upon a long account of our worthy hosts, who with great wealth, great pretensions, and as great vulgarity came to Paris some weeks ago in that mighty flood of all sorts of people that flocked here since the peace. Their desire to be ranked among the fashionable entertainers of the day was soon reported to the minister of police, who, after considering how far such a house might be useful, where persons of all shades of political opinion might meet – friends of the Bourbons, Jacobites, Napoleonists, the men of ‘88, and the admirers of the old régime– measures were accordingly taken that their invitations should go out to the first persons in Paris, and, more still, should be accepted by them.

‘While these worthy people are therefore distributing their hospitalities with all the good faith imaginable, their hotel is nothing more nor less than a cabinet de police, where Fouché and his agents are unravelling the intrigues of Paris, or weaving fresh ones for their own objects.’

‘Infamous system! But how comes it, Phil, that they have never discovered their anomalous position?’

‘What a question, Jack! Vulgar pretension is a triple shield that no eye can pierce; and as you know the parties – ’

‘Know them! no, I never heard of them before.’ ‘What, Jack! Is your memory so short-lived? And yet there was a pretty girl in the house who might have rested longer in your memory.’

The announcement of Lady Charlotte and my cousin’s names by the servant at the foot of the stairs broke up our conference; and we had only time to join our party as we fell into that closely-wedged phalanx that wound its slow length up the spacious staircase. O’Grady’s last words had excited my curiosity to the highest pitch; but as he preceded me with my mother on his arm, I was unable to ask for an explanation.

At last we reached the ante-chamber, from which a vista of salons suddenly broke upon the view; and although anticipating much, I had formed no conception whatever of the splendour of the scene before me. More brilliant than noonday itself, the room was a blaze of wax-lights; the ceilings of fretted gold and blue enamel glittered like a gorgeous firmament; the walls were covered with pictures in costly frames of Venetian taste. But the decorations, magnificent and princely as they were, were as nothing to that splendid crowd of jewelled dames and glittering nobles, of all that was distinguished in beauty, in rank, in military glory, or in the great contest of political life. Here were the greatest names of Europe – the kings and princes of the earth, the leaders of mighty armies, the generals of a hundred battles; here was the collective greatness of the world, all that can influence mankind – hereditary rank, military power, stupendous intellect, beauty, wealth – mixing in the vast vortex of fashionable dissipation, and plunging into all the excesses of voluptuous pleasure. The band of the Imperial Guard stationed near the staircase were playing with all the delicious softness of their national instrument – the Russian horn – a favourite mazurka of the emperor as we entered, and a partial silence reigned among the hundred listeners.

O’Grady conveyed my mother through the crowd to a seat, where, having placed my cousin beside her, he once more came near me.

‘Jack,’ whispered he, ‘come a little this way.’ He drew aside a curtain as he spoke, and we entered a boudoir, where a buffet of refreshments was placed. Here the scene was ludicrous in the extreme, from the incongruous mixture-of persons of so many nations and languages who were chatting away and hobnobbing to one another in all the dismembered phrases of every tongue in Europe; loud laughter, however, poured from one corner of the room, whither O’Grady directed his steps, still holding my arm. A group of Cossack officers in full scarlet costume, their loose trousers slashed with gold embroidery and thrust into wide boots of yellow leather, stood in a circle round a person whom we could not yet perceive, but who, we were enabled to discover, was exercising his powers of amusement for this semi-savage audience, whose wild shouts of laughter broke forth at every moment. We made our way at length through the crowd, and my eyes at last fell upon the figure within. I stared; I rubbed my eyes; I actually began to doubt my very senses, when suddenly turning his joyous face beaming with good-humour towards me, he held forth his hand and called out, ‘Captain, my darling, the top of the morning to you. This beats Stephen’s Green, doesn’t it?’

‘Mr. Paul Rooney!’ said I.

‘No, no! Monsieur de Roni, if you please,’ said he, again breaking out into a fit of laughing. ‘Lord help you, man, I’ve been christened since I came abroad. Let me present you to my friends.’ Here Paul poked a tall Cossack in the ribs to attract his attention, and then pointing to me, said: ‘This is Captain Hinton; his name’s a poser – a cross between chincough and a house-key. Eh, old fellow?’

A Tartar grin was the reply to this very intelligible speech; but a bumper of champagne made everything comprehensible between them. Mr. Rooney’s hilarity soon showed me that he had not forgotten his native habits, and was steadily bent upon drinking glass for glass with his company, even though they only came in detachments. With Bashkir chiefs, Pomeranian barons, Rhine graaf s, and Polish counts he seemed as intimate as though he had passed as much of his time in the Caucasus as the Four Courts, and was as familiar with the banks of the Don as ever he had been with those of the Dodder.

‘And is it really our old friend Mrs. Paul who entertains this host of czars and princes?’

‘Is it really only now that you’ve guessed it?’ said O’Grady, as he carried me away with him through the salon. ‘But I see Lady Charlotte is amongst her friends, and your cousin is dancing; so now let’s make the most of our time. I say, Jack, your lady-mother scarcely supposes that her host is the same person she once called on for his bill. By Jove, what a discovery it would be to her! and the little girl she had such a horror of is now the belle of Paris. You remember Louisa Bellew, don’t you? Seven thousand a year, my boy, and beauty worth double the money. But there she is, and how handsome!’

As he spoke, a lady passed us leaning on her partner’s arm, her head turned slightly over her shoulder. I caught but one glance, and as I did so, the rushing torrent of blood that mounted to my face made my very brain grow dizzy. I knew not where I stood. I sprang forward to speak to her, and then became rooted to the ground. It was she, indeed, as beautiful as ever; her pale face wore the very look I had last seen the night I saved her from the flood.

‘Did you observe her companion?’ said O’Grady, who fortunately had not noticed my confusion. ‘It was De Vere. I knew he was here; and I suspect I see his plans.’

‘De Vere!’ said I, starting. ‘De Vere with Miss Bellew! Are you certain?’

‘Quite certain; I seldom mistake a face, and his I can’t forget. But here’s Guillemain. I’ll join you in a moment.’

So saying, O’Grady left my side, and I saw him take the arm of a small man in black, who was standing at a doorway. The rush of sensations that crowded on me as I stood there alone made me forget the time, and I knew not that O’Grady had been above half an hour away when he again came to my side.

‘How the plot thickens, Hinton!’ said he, in a low whisper. ‘Only think, the villain Burke has actually made the hand and fortune of that lovely girl the price of obtaining secret information from De Vere of the proceedings of the British embassy. Guillemain did not confess this to me; but he spoke in such a way, that, with my knowledge of all the parties, I made out the clue.’

‘Burke! but what influence has he over her?’

‘None over her, but much over the Rooneys, whom, independent of threats about exposing their real condition in life, he has persuaded that such a marriage for their ward secures them in fashionable society for ever. This with Paul would do nothing; but Madame de Roni, as you know, sets a high price on such a treasure. Besides, he is in possession of some family secret about her mother, which he uses as a means of intimidation to Paul, who would rather die than hurt Miss Bellew’s feelings. Now, Jack, De Vere only wants intellect to be as great a scoundrel as Master Ulick, so we must rescue this poor girl, come what will.’

‘We must and we will,’ said I, with a tone of eagerness that made O’Grady start.

‘Not a moment is to be lost,’ said he, after a brief pause. ‘I ‘ll try what can be done with Guillemain.’

An opening of the crowd as he spoke compelled us to fall back, and as we did so I could perceive that an avenue was made along the room.

‘One of the sovereigns,’ whispered O’Grady.

I leaned forward, and perceived two aides-de-camp in green uniform, who were retreating step by step slowly before some persons farther back.

‘The Emperor of Russia,’ whispered a voice near me; and the same instant I saw the tall and fine-looking figure of Alexander, his broad massive forehead, and frank manly face turning from side to side as he acknowledged the salutations of the room. On his arm he supported a lady, whose nodding plumes waved in concert with every inclination of the Czar himself. Curious to see what royal personage shared thus with him the homage of the assembly, I stooped to catch a glance. The lady turned – our eyes met; a slight flush coloured her cheek as she quickly moved her head away. It was Mrs. Paul Rooney herself! Yes, she whom I had once seen with an effort subdue her pride of station when led in to dinner by some Irish attorney-general, or some going judge of assize, now leaned on the arm of an emperor, and divided with him the honours of the moment!

While O’Grady sought out his new friend, the minister of police, I went in search of my mother and Lady Julia, whom I found surrounded by a knot of their own acquaintances, actively engaged in surmises as to the lady of the house – her rank, fortune, and pretensions. For some time I could not but feel amused at the absurd assertions of many of the party, who affected to know all about Madame de Roni and her secret mission at Paris.

‘My dear John,’ said my mother in a whisper, ‘you must find out all about her. Your friend, the Colonel, is evidently in the secret. Pray, now, don’t forget it. But really you seem in a dream. There’s Beulwitz paying Julia all the attention imaginable the entire evening, and you ‘ve never gone near her. Apropos, have you seen this ward of Madame de Roni? She is very pretty, and they speak of her as a very suitable person.’ (This phrase was a kind of cant with my mother and her set, which expressed in brief that a lady was enormously rich and a very desirable match for a man with nothing.) ‘I forget her name.’

‘Miss Bellew, perhaps,’ said I, trembling lest any recollection of ever having heard it before should cross her mind.

‘Yes, that’s the name; somehow it seems familiar to me. Do you know her yet, for my friend Lady Middleton knows every one, and will introduce you?’

‘Oh, I have the pleasure of being acquainted with her already,’ said I, turning away to hide my confusion.

‘That’s quite proper,’ said her ladyship encouragingly. ‘But here she comes; I think you must introduce me, John.’

As my mother spoke, Louisa Bellew came up, leaning on a lady’s arm. A moment’s hesitation on my part would have only augmented the embarrassment which increased at every instant; so I stepped forward and pronounced her name. No sooner had the words ‘Miss Bellew’ escaped my lips than she turned round; her large full eyes were fixed upon me doubtingly for a second, and her face grew deep scarlet, and then as suddenly pale again. She made an effort to speak, but could not; a tottering weakness seemed to creep over her frame, and as she pressed her companion’s arm closely I heard her mutter – ‘Oh, pray move on!’

‘Lady Charlotte Hinton – ‘Miss Bellew,’ said the lady at her side, who had paid no attention whatever to Louisa’s agitated manner.

My mother smiled in her sweetest manner, while Miss Bellow’s acknowledgments were made with the most distant coldness.

‘My son had deemed himself fortunate enough to be known to you,’ said Lady Charlotte.

Miss Bellew became pale as death; her very lips were bloodless, as with a voice tremulous with emotion, she replied —

‘We were acquainted once, madam; but – ’

What was to be the remainder of the speech I know not, for as the crowd moved on she passed with it, leaving me like one whose senses were forsaking him one by one. I could only hear my mother say, ‘How very impertinent!’ and then my brain became a chaos. A kind of wild reckless feeling, the savage longing that in moments of dark passion stirs within a man for some act of cruelty, some deed of vengeance, ran through my breast. I had been spurned, despised, disowned by her of whom through many a weary month my heart alone was full. I hurried away from the spot, my brain on fire. I saw nothing, I heeded nothing, of the bright looks and laughing faces that passed me; scornful pity and contempt for one so low as I was seemed to prevail in every face I looked at. A strange impulse to seek out Lord Dudley de Vere was uppermost in my mind; and as I turned on every side to find him, I felt my arm grasped tightly, and heard O’Grady’s voice in my ear —

‘Be calm, Jack, for heaven’s sake! Your disturbed looks make every one stare at you.’

He drew me along with him through the crowd, and at length reached a card-room, where, except the players, no one was present.

‘Come, my dear boy, I saw what has annoyed you.’

‘You saw it!’ said I, my eyeballs straining as I spoke.

‘Yes, yes; and what signifies it? So very handsome a girl, and the expectation of a large fortune, must always have followers. But you know Lady Julia well enough – ’

‘Lady Julia!’ repeated I, in amazement.

‘Yes. I say you know her well enough to believe that Beulwitz is not exactly the person – ’

A burst of laughter at his mistake broke from me at the moment; but so wild and discordant was it that O’Grady misconstrued its meaning, and went at some length to assure me that my cousin’s affection for me was beyond my suspicion.

Stunned by my own overwhelming sorrow, I felt no inclination to undeceive him, and let him persist in his error without even a word of reply.

‘Rouse yourself, Jack,’ said he, at length. ‘This depression is unworthy of you, had you even cause for grief. There’s many a heart heavier than your own, my boy, where the lip is smiling this minute.’

There was a tone of deep affliction in the cadence of his voice as these words fell from him, and he turned away his head as he spoke. Then rallying in an instant, he added —

‘Do you know, our dear friend Mrs. Paul has scarcely ventured to acknowledge me to-night, and I feel a kind of devilish spirit of vengeance working within me in consequence. To out me! I that trained her infant mind to greatness; that actually smuggled for her a contraband viceroy, and brought him alive into her dominions! What dire ingratitude! Come, what say you to champagne?’

He poured me out a large glassful as he spoke, and, filling his own, called out, laughing —

‘Here, I give you a toast – “La Vendetta!” eh, Jack? Corsican vengeance on all who maltreat us!’

Glass after glass followed; and I felt my brain, instead of being excited, grow calmer, steadier; a firm and determined resolution usurped the flitting thoughts and wandering fancies of before.

‘They’re moving towards the supper-room,’ said O’Grady, who for some time past had talked away, without my paying any attention to what he said.

As we descended the stairs, I heard my mother’s carriage announced, and could just see her and my cousin handed to it by some Austrian officers as we entered the supper-room.

The incessant crash and din of the enormous banquet-ing-room, its crowd and heat, its gorgeous table-equipage and splendid guests, were scarce noticed by me as I followed O’Grady half mechanically towards the end of the room. For some time I remained stupidly unconscious of all around; and it was only after a very considerable time that I descried that immediately in front of where we stood Mrs. Paul Rooney was seated – the Emperor of Russia on her right, the King of Prussia on her left hand; Swartzenburg, Blucher, Talleyrand, Nesselrode, and many others equally distinguished occupying places along the board. Her jocund laugh and merry voice, indeed, first attracted my attention.

‘By Jove! she does it admirably,’ said O’Grady, who for full five minutes had been most critically employed scrutinising Mrs. Paul’s manner. ‘Do you remark the tact with which she graduates her attentions to the emperor and the king? And look at the hauteur of her bearing to old Blucher! But, hush! what’s coming?’

A kind of suppressed murmur buzzed along the crowded room, which, subsiding into a dead silence, the Emperor Alexander rose, and addressing the guests in a few but well-chosen words in English, informed them he had received permission from their amiable and captivating hostess to propose a toast, and he took the opportunity with unqualified delight to give the health of ‘the Prince Regent.’ A perfect thunder of applause acknowledged this piece of gracious courtesy, and a ‘hip! hip! hurrah!’ which astonished the foreigners, shook the very roof. While the deafening shouts rose on every side, Mrs. Paul wrote a line with her pencil hastily on her card, and turning round gave it to a Cossack aide-de-camp of the emperor to deliver into Mr. Rooney’s hands. Either from the excitement of the moment or his imperfect acquaintance with English, the unlucky Cossack turned for an explanation towards the first British officer near him, who happened to be O’Grady.

‘What does this mean?’ said he in French.

‘Ah,’ said Phil, looking at it, ‘this is intended for that gentleman at the foot of the table. You see him yonder – he’s laughing now. Come along, I’ll pilot you towards him.’

Suspecting that O’Grady’s politeness had some deeper motive than mere civility, I leaned over his shoulder and asked the reason of it.

‘Look here,’ said he, showing me the card as he spoke, on which was written the following words: ‘Make the band play “God Save the King “; the emperor wishes it.’

‘Come with us, Jack,’ whispered O’Grady; ‘we had better keep near the door.’

I followed them through the dense crowd, who were still cheering with all their might, and at last reached the end of the table, where Paul himself was amusing a select party of Tartar chiefs, Prussian colonels, Irish captains, and Hungarian nobles.

‘Look here,’ said Phil, showing me the card, which in his passage down the room he had contrived to alter, by rubbing out the first part and interpolating a passage of his own; making the whole run thus —

‘Sing the “Cruiskeen Lawn”; the emperor wishes it.’

I had scarcely time to thrust my handkerchief to my mouth and prevent an outbreak of laughter, when I saw the Cossack officer present the card to Paul with a deep bow. Mr. Rooney read it – surveyed the bearer; read it again – rubbed his eyes, drew over a branch of wax-candles to inspect it better, and then, directing a look to the opposite extremity of the table, exchanged glances with his spouse, as if interrogating her intentions once more. A quick, sharp nod from Mrs. Paul decided the question thus tacitly asked; and Paul, clearing off a tumbler of sherry, muttered to himself, ‘What the devil put the “Cruiskeen Lawn” into his Majesty’s head I can’t think; but I suppose there’s no refusing.*

A very spirited tapping with the handle of his knife was now heard to mix with the other convivial sounds, and soon indeed to overtop them, as Paul, anxious to fulfil a royal behest, cleared his throat a couple of times, and called out, ‘I’ll do the best I can, your Majesty’; and at once struck up —

‘Let the farmer praise his grounds,Let the huntsman praise his hounds,And talk of the deeds they had done;But I more blest than they – ’

Here Paul quavered, and at last the pent-up mirth of the whole room could endure no more, but burst forth into one continuous shout of laughter, in which kings, dukes, ambassadors, and field-marshals joined as loudly as their neighbours. To hear the song was utterly impossible; and though from Mr. Paul’s expanded cheeks and violent gesticulation it was evident he was in full chant, nothing could be heard save the scream of laughing which shook the building – an emotion certainly not the less difficult to repress, as Mrs. Paul, shaking her hand at him with passionate energy, called out —

‘Oh, the baste! he thinks he’s on circuit this minit!’ As for myself, half choking and with sore sides, I never recovered till I reached the street, when O’Grady dragged me along, saying as he did so —

‘We must reach home at once. Nothing but a strong alibi will save my character.’

CHAPTER LIX. FRESCATI’S

I was not sorry when I heard the following morning that my mother would not appear before dinner-hour. I dreaded the chance of any allusion to Miss Bellow’s name requiring explanation on my part; and the more so, as I myself was utterly lost in conjectures as to the reason of her singular reception of me.