Secresy; or, Ruin on the Rock

LETTER XVIII

FROM CAROLINE ASHBURN TO ARTHUR MURDEN

Can you, will you, my dear friend, undertake to rescue Sibella from the tyranny at present exercised over her? If you will, write me instantly three lines to London, where I am now returning. From that place I will relate the particulars of my visit to Valmont, which will also include my reasons for this request. – Now, I only write while I change horses at B – .

LETTER XIX

FROM ARTHUR MURDEN TO CAROLINE ASHBURN

Madam,

When you bid me live, and live for Sibella, I shut my ears against the voice of the syren. – Name the possibility of my rescuing Sibella, and the light and sun again becomes of value to me!

LETTER XX

FROM CAROLINE ASHBURN TO ARTHUR MURDEN

Inexorable as you would persuade me you are, still I hope to conquer you. Yet, it must be a future work. Sibella's release is our present employment; and, though I am not surprised at your readiness to undertake it, I am truly grateful. In this case, I know your heart and your benevolence are separated; for, determined as you are to live and die without hope, every step that carries you toward her increases your anguish. – The sacrifice is great. I wish you would trust me, that in the end it may find a reward.

The inclosed letter you must yourself give to Sibella. Mr. Valmont may lock up the doors of his castle; but your cell and pannel is not under his dominion. Your hermit's cap and gown secure your own escape. Be sure you do not escape alone. Read the inclosed, and you will find I mean to join you on the road. You will there find also my reason for not being of your party, through the subterraneous passage and into the castle.

To yourself I leave the conduct of the business. Your brain is fertile in project; and on your faith and delicacy in execution I would rely as on my own soul.

When I reached Valmont park, Mr. Valmont sent an excuse for not admitting me. Message after message flew from the moat to the castle; and I was compelled to stipulate for not seeing any one but himself, ere the word of command was given for me to pass.

He received me with a demeanour cold, formal, and haughty. I assured him that a motive equal to the pleasure I had promised myself of seeing Sibella, had induced me to take the journey.

'I perfectly understand you, madam,' said he; 'but once for all, to save you the trouble of useless discussion, I will not relax an atom of my severity, till Miss Valmont has in some measure expiated her fault.'

'What is her fault, Sir?'

'Her fault!' repeated he, starting. 'I perceive madam, you are a stranger to the cursed business; and may you remain so, for your own, for her's, and her family's sake.'

'Is Clement Montgomery concerned?'

He bit his lip, arose from his seat, stifled anger contracting his brow.

'I see he is,' said I – 'and – .'

'Madam' said Mr. Valmont sternly, 'your understanding should inform you, that affairs which concern the honour of a family are only to be canvassed by the individuals immediately belonging to it.'

'You forget, Sir,' replied I, 'that I am a female; and, according to your creed, cannot possess understanding. – Is it owing to this deficiency that I am of opinion, the honour of a family, as generally understood, is a matter quite opposite to the virtue of a family. – In the present case, I think you clasp your honour and turn your virtue and justice out of doors. – If, when you use such terms, in speaking of Sibella, you allude to her contract with Clement, I acknowledge her in the wrong. To ratify that contract, Sir, would be a worse error: for he is undeserving of her. But all that, and the worst of errors she can commit, may ascribe their origin to yourself.'

'Madam, you are obliging; but you have not yet convinced me I am under any necessity of explaining myself to you. – Whatever offences Clement has committed against me, he shall not fail of his proper punishment – trust me, he shall not. – I – I – Will you take any refreshment, madam?' – rising – 'I regret Mrs. Valmont is too much indisposed to receive you. – Pardon me, our conference must end. – You will excuse me, but I cannot suffer you to see Miss Valmont. – It is indeed impossible.'

I declined the refreshment, lamented for Mrs. Valmont, and objected to putting an end to the conference. And this last produced an altercation too diffuse and passionate to be related minutely. I mentioned Sibella's fortune. He almost started with surprise. He said I could not have heard it from her, for he had refused her permission to write to me. – 'No,' I replied, 'I believe my informant was her's.' He called some Earl a lying scoundrel; and added, after a moment's pause, that now it was useless to keep it longer secret, that Miss Valmont was her father's heiress, since the object of its being concealed was utterly destroyed. He had planned the concealment for her benefit; and carried it into execution only to perfect her happiness. She had indeed a noble fortune, he said, ill bestowed. None of his should go the same way. And, as to the pragmatical puppy who took the pains to tell her of it, his scheme, by the disclosure, was effectually annihilated.

As you, Murden, have no striking characteristics of the puppy, I took the liberty of asking Mr. Valmont, if he knew the person to whom he alluded.

'Very well,' he replied, 'too well.' It was the son of Sibella's other guardian who wanted her wealth to amend his poverty.

'I believe not,' said I.

'Madam, I am assured of it. He bribed some of the fools of my family to admit him.'

'Did they confess the charge?'

'Not absolutely; but they prevaricated and talked backwards and forwards in such a way as confirmed their guilt.'

'Talking backwards and forwards, Sir,' said I, 'sometimes proceeds from confusion and awe. I am very much inclined to believe your servants innocent in this affair, Mr. Valmont.'

'Miss Ashburn is extremely inclined to construe all I say or do in the way that best pleases her. But Sibella herself saw this person and herself gave me the information.'

'That I know too. And – .'

'I know what you are going to advance, Madam. She might tell you as she did me, of his feigned name. He called himself some Mr. Murden; a friend of Clement's he persuaded her to believe him to be.'

'I, Sir, have a friend called Murden; and so had Clement Montgomery. Might it not be him?'

'No, Madam; it might not;' replied Mr. Valmont; 'for no person but her two guardians ever knew a whisper of Sibella's fortune. I tell you the Earl disclosed it to his son, because he wanted his son to marry her. – I refused their offer; and their residence lately in this neighbourhood confirms the rest.'

'Once more, you are mistaken, Mr. Valmont. Hear me out, Sir,' for his fiery impatience was again blazing forth. 'How the secret was first unfolded I know not; but, in the immediate agency of conveying this intelligence to Sibella, the guardian you speak of had no concern whatever. I am much better informed than you perhaps may imagine Mr. Valmont. You discharged your servants from passion not from conviction. I pledge myself to prove the truth of my affection, if you will let us make a compromise. Liberate Sibella. Give her to my care one month, and I will tell you who the person was; and, for your future security, how he gained admission into your park.'

'Cobwebs to catch eagles! I grant, madam, you are amazingly condescending; but as the days of enchantment are passed, I am as well instructed on the latter point as I wish to be. For my future security, I am also provided. The suspicious part of my household are gone; and I think I have secured the fidelity of the rest. Your request concerning Miss Valmont's passing from my care to your's madam, is not worthy of an answer.'

Somewhat indignantly I reminded him, that an abuse of power might be the forfeiture of power; and that the law, useless as it is for the relief of general oppression, might reach this particular instance.

'I despise your threats, madam,' said Mr. Valmont, 'as I do your intreaties. The will of the Hon. Honorius Valmont delegated to me the care of her person till the age of twenty-one. Then, whoever aspires to the protection of a disgraced dishonoured woman may claim it; but till then, madam, I swear that, in the solitude and confinement of this castle, she shall weep for her errors. Depend upon it, madam, whilst you favour us with your abode in any part of this country, the rigour of her imprisonment shall be tenfold.' And, so saying, he rang the bell furiously; and would have departed.

'Hold, Sir, one moment,' cried I – and then, after a pause, I promised to quit the country instantly if he would suffer me to converse one quarter of an hour with Mrs. Valmont.

'O! pray show this lady to your mistress's dressing room,' said he, sneeringly, to the servant that appeared. 'It would be well in your wisdom, madam, to make Mrs. Valmont's influence of consequence before you attempt to gain Mrs. Valmont's influence.'

Mrs. Valmont, having worn out the variety of fancied indispositions, is now fairly dying of inanity. She was neither surprised at my visit, nor at all interested by that which she herself called the lamentable state of her niece.

Mrs. Valmont was attended by her confidential servant, whom I requested to remain in the apartment, for I judged I should from her gain more information than from her lady. And I judged rightly. She was not only willing, but eager, to tell me all she knew.

It seems Mr. Valmont has had two interviews with his niece. The first was on her leaving you in the Ruin, when Mr. Valmont was irritated, by her persisting to declare herself married, to strike her. She did throw herself into the moat, but she received no injury. From that time, he ordered her to be confined. In the second interview, a painful circumstance, relating to Sibella, transpired, in consequence of which her uncle abruptly commanded her from his presence. The discovery he had made wounded him almost to madness; and his first transports of rage have subsided into a constant gloomy moroseness. At times he has been seen to weep. The circumstance I speak of has been whispered from one to another throughout the family; and in this way alone travelled to Mrs. Valmont – for mortified pride would choak Mr. Valmont's attempt, were he inclined to give the secret utterance. I can trace the operations of his pride, but I am lost with respect to his tears; for Sibella never possessed any of his affection.

My tears flowed without restraint when I learned this distressing circumstance, and heard also that our Sibella droops under her uncle's cruelty. She eats little, sighs deeply, but weeps seldom. 'Twas unnecessary to enjoin silence to her domestics, for she never attempts to speak to them. They frequently hear her talk of some letter which she holds up between her clasped hands, as she traverses her apartment in extreme agitation; and then she exclaims —He never never wrote it! Once a day she is conducted to the terrace; but her wood and all her beloved haunts are forbidden.

You, Murden, could not have borne the apathy with which these and other particulars were repeated; nor could Mrs. Valmont with all my reasoning be prevailed on to suppose that she who had been so long governed should now infringe on her obedience, and endeavour to give aid and comfort to her ill treated niece.

I had quitted Mr. Valmont in anger. I quitted Mrs. Valmont in sorrow. As I crossed the square court in front of the building, I stopped and looked up with an eye of tears to Sibella's windows. No pale melancholy form appeared to my salute. 'Does Miss Valmont,' said I to the servant attending me, 'inhabit the same apartments as formerly?' The man looked round every way, and replied in the affirmative.

Scarcely was I reseated in the carriage, when I began to accuse myself as wanting friendship and humanity when I foolishly promised Mr. Valmont to quit the country; Murden would not have done this, thought I; then Murden is the fittest person to repair the error; and before I arrived at B – , I had resolved to engage you to take her from this proud this cruel uncle.

I have only now to tell you why I hastened on to London – to procure her an asylum. The very term proves to you that Mrs. Ashburn's house is out of the question. If you know Mrs. Beville, the sister of Davenport, you know a very amiable woman, who will open her arms and heart for the reception of Sibella. It is not my design to make either her retreat or the means used in her escape a secret; but, if it is possible to prevent Clement Montgomery's seeing her, that I will do. To shield her from Mr. Valmont, we must oppose authority. It was a strange over-sight in me not to learn the name of her other guardian.

Let me beseech you, my dear friend, to arm yourself with fortitude. If the circumstance to which I allude in a part of this letter betrays its own authenticity to you, I know your heart will be rent with agony. Yet, persevere! – Ah! I need not say that! in itself, it includes every incitement to her relief.

Use no speed on my account, for I shall be unknown in that obscure village seven miles the other side of B – , where you must stop for me. Let me know when I may be there; and, in waiting for you, I can have no other impatience than of being assured you are in safety.

LETTER XXI

FROM CAROLINE ASHBURN TO SIBELLA VALMONT

Your Caroline Ashburn, My Sibella, your own Caroline, who loves you with her whole heart, sends Murden to your relief. Need I add a stronger recommendation? Ah, no! Thus commissioned, you will instantly assure yourself he is benevolent, noble, just, and has not one fault in his nature, that counteracts the propriety of choosing him for your protector.

I have lately been in the castle, Sibella. I have seen your cruel uncle, your insensible aunt: but she for whose sake I encountered them was secluded from my view. I know every particular of your situation. Yes, my love, every particular. – There, you have endured enough. Come away! Follow the footsteps of your guide! They will conduct you to liberty. Happiness may overtake us by and by.

My own hand should lead you to the dreary hermit's cell – My smiles should cheer you – for Murden is not apt now to smile, yet, believe me, his heart will rejoice in your deliverance, though his eye may talk of nothing but woe – But I dare not come. Your uncle has spied. Were he to find me in the neighbourhood, he would suspect a plan to relieve you; and by some new manoeuvre counteract it. We have but this one means in our power, for your uncle is irreconcileable.

When Murden gives you this letter, commit yourself wholly to his direction. He will bring you, my Sibella, with all convenient dispatch to a little village called Croom, fifteen miles from your uncle's castle. There your Caroline's arms will receive you; and my affection tells me we shall never again be separated. A short farewel, Sibella.

LETTER XXII

FROM GEORGE VALMONT TO CLEMENT MONTGOMERY

Sir,

On the very day I received your answer to my last letter, I discovered a circumstance which rendered that answer quite unnecessary, except to prove that you are not only a villain but a cowardly villain.

I should have given to myself the satisfaction of telling you thus much before, but I delayed for two reasons; the first, till I had completely banished every struggling effort of the affection I once had for you, almost the only affection I ever had in my life; and the second, perhaps a very consoling one to you, until I had executed the deed which comes herewith, by which under certain annexed conditions you are entitled to the possession of 200l. for life. However you may be obliged by the action, you have but little obligation to the motive. – I hate and detest you cordially; but I would not, for my honour's sake, give up to absolute beggary, my own – my only son.

Yes, sir, my son. Not legitimate, I confess, but natural in the strongest acceptance of the term. I cared not ten straws for your mother; yet, from your birth, I felt a strange propensity to love you. I schemed and planned for your advantage. For your sake alone, I contrived a project by which all the united wealth of the Valmont house would have been showered on your head. I intended, mark me, sir, I determined you should marry my niece, and take my name, burying the disgrace of your birth in the nobleness of my possessions. And, as I abhorred that a man who bore my name should abandon himself to the love of society, I sent you into the world as poor and adopted, that you might experience its disappointments and know how to value your proper happiness. – Amply have you rewarded my extreme love and constant labour!

I patiently undergo this statement, because I would have you see exactly where you might have stood, and where you stand now. – The conditions of your present independence are, that you never come into my presence: If you once intrude by letter or otherwise I wipe away the allowance and every trace of consideration for you: Also, the instant you form any species of intercourse with Miss Valmont, the deed is cancelled. Even this paltry sum, as it is mine shall not help to support infamy, ingratitude, and treachery. – Make the comparison, Sir, between 200l. and 18,000l. per annum! – Ha! does it gall you? – So may it ever! May rest fly from your pillow and contentment from your heart; and men you will know what I have experienced, since I discovered the indelible stain you have fixed on my family.

My equally worthless niece, perhaps, may, when she is her own mistress, be inclined to reward your conduct with her hand; for, if I may judge by her reception of your letter when I gave it her, she is not more the fool of inclination than of credulity. – Remember, she never possesses one penny of mine.

If you really have any friend of the name of Murden, pray offer him my very sincere thanks. But for his timely interference, I might have given you a part of your intended inheritance before I discovered your scoundrel-like conduct.

In the moment of acknowledging you my son, I renounce you for ever. I cast you from my affection and memory. And, should you henceforth think of me, know that you have an inveterate implacable enemy, in your father,

LETTER XXIII

FROM ARTHUR MURDEN TO CAROLINE ASHBURN

Madam,

I date my letter from the farm. Richardson is my confidant. He has a sincere generous mind. I stood before him confessed in all my folly. He will give me his utmost aid.

Do not again call me inexorable, dear Miss Ashburn. I have yielded greatly indeed to you. I consulted a physician at Barlowe-Hall. As we are so speedily to meet, it would be useless to conceal from you that, wherever it had its beginning, the disorder is not now confined to my mind. Youth, the physician said, was in my favour. The continent might do me service. He ordered some medicine; regulated my diet; and, when I told him of my leaving the Hall immediately, he shook my hand: – Conviction speaking from his countenance, that it was his last salute to me.

A few restorative medicines furnished me with strength to reach the farm. – Here my purpose nerves me. – But why do you bid me fortify my heart? Oh, my dear madam, it has been long since fortified! From the fatal night when she gave herself to the arms of Clement, my heart became callous, impenetrable to the dart of any new calamity.

And sometimes too I smile, Miss Ashburn. It is amazing into what familiar habits of intimacy I and the misery that abides with me have fallen.

Fear me not, madam. – In this enterprise, I have all the determination of will – all the vigour of health. – Everything is prepared – last night, accompanied by Richardson, who from his zealous apprehensions for my safety, would not suffer me to go alone, I visited the rock. – No interrupters have been there. The cell, the stone, and the passage are still at our devotion. – Richardson is too honest to make an improper use of the secret of this Ruin; nay, he was the first to remind me, it would be just when our purpose was effected to give Mr. Valmont its description.