George W. M. Reynolds - The Mysteries of London

"Your lordship will reflect," said the Minister, now really alarmed—"your lordship will reflect—maturely—seriously——"

"It requires no reflection to teach me my duty."

"But, my dear earl——"

"My lord?"

"The peace of the country frequently depends upon the information which we acquire in this manner."

"Then had the peace of the country better be occasionally menaced, than that the sacred envelope of a letter should be violated?"

"Your lordship is too severe," said the Minister.

"No—my lord: I am not, under the circumstances, severe enough. Behold the gross injustice of the system. The law forbids us to transmit sealed letters through any other medium than the Post-office; and yet that very Post-office is made the scene of the violation of those sacred missives. My lord, it is impossible to defend so atrocious a proceeding. Now, my lord, I have spoken as warmly as I feel."

"Really, my dear earl, you must not permit this little business to go any further. You shall have for your friends every satisfaction they require: their correspondence shall be strictly inviolate in future. And now, my lord," continued the Minister, with a smile whose deceptive blandness Mr. Greenwood would have envied, "let me request attention to another point. The Premier has placed your lordship's name on the list of peers who are to be raised to a more elevated rank ere the opening of the next session; and your lordship may exchange your coronet of an earldom against that of a marquisate."

"Her Majesty's government," replied the earl with chilling—freezing hauteur , "would do well to reserve that honour in respect to me, until it may choose to reward me when I shall have performed a duty that I owe my country, and exposed a system to express my full sense of which I dare not now trust my tongue with epithets. Good morning, my lord."

And the Earl of Warrington walked proudly from the room.

On the following day a cabinet council was held at the Home Office.

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IT was evening; and Lady Cecilia Harborough was seated alone in the drawing-room of the house which she and her husband occupied in Tavistock Square.

A cheerful fire blazed in the grate: the lamp upon the table diffused a soft and mellow lustre through the apartment.

Lady Cecilia's manner was pensive: a deep shade of melancholy overspread her countenance; and at times her lips quivered, and her bosom heaved convulsively.

She was evidently attempting to struggle with feelings of a very painful nature.

"Slighted—neglected—perhaps despised!" she at length murmured. "Oh! what an indignity! To have yielded myself up entirely to that man—and now to be cast aside in this manner! For months past have I observed that his conduct grew more and more cool towards me;—his visits became less frequent;—he made appointments with me and did not keep them;—he remonstrated with me for what he called my extravagance, when I asked him for money! Ah! how I endeavoured to close my eyes to the truth:—I forced myself to put faith in his excuses for absence—I compelled myself to be satisfied with his apologies for not keeping his engagements. Fool that I have been! Had I reproached—wept—stormed—and quarrelled, as other women would have done, he would yet be my slave: but I was too pliant—too easy—too docile—and he has ended by contemning me! I wanted spirit—I was deficient in courage—I practised no artifice. I should have refused him my favours when he was most impassioned; I should have tantalized him—acted with caprice—set a high value upon the pleasures which he enjoyed in my arms. Oh! it is cruel—cruel! I have been the pensioned harlot of that man! He commanded the use of my person as he would that of the lowest prostitute in the street. I was too cheap—too willing—too ready to meet him half way in the dalliance of love! I caught a fine bird—and by leaving his cage open, have allowed him an opportunity to fly away! The indignity is insufferable! For weeks I had not asked him for a shilling—for weeks I had not spoken to him on the subject of money. And now—to-day—when I require a hundred guineas for urgent matters, to be refused! to be denied that paltry sum! Oh! it is monstrous! And not to come himself to explain—but to send a cool note, expressing a regret that the numerous demands he has had upon him lately render it impossible for him to comply with my request! A worn-out excuse—a wretched apology! And for him, too, who absolutely rolls in riches! I never could have believed it. Even now it appears a dream! Ah! the ungrateful monster! It is true that he has supplied me at times in the most generous manner—that he redeemed my jewels for me a second time, some months ago, when Rupert played me that vile trick by plundering me during my absence;—but, alas! the jewels have returned to their old place—and who is to redeem them now ?"

Lady Cecilia paused, and compressed her lips together.

She felt herself slighted—perhaps for some rival: and whose sufferings are more acute than those of a neglected woman? who experiences mental pangs more poignant?

Lady Cecilia felt herself degraded. She now comprehended that she had been made the instrument of a heartless libertine's pleasures; and that he coolly thrust her aside when literally satiated with her charms.

This was a most debasing conviction—debasing beyond all others, for a patrician lady!

Never did she seem so little in her own estimation: she felt polluted;—she saw that she had sold herself for gold: she remembered how willingly, how easily she surrendered herself on the first occasion of her criminality; and she despised herself, because she felt that Greenwood despised her also!

She had no virtue—but she had pride.

The highest bidder might enjoy her person, so voluptuous was she by nature—so ready also was she to make any sacrifice to obtain the means of gratifying her extravagance.

Love with her was not a refinement—it was a sensuality.

Still she had her pride—her woman's pride; for even the most degraded courtezan has that ; and it was her pride that was now so deeply wounded.

She knew not what course to pursue.

Should she endeavour to bring Greenwood back to her arms?

Or should she be revenged?

If she resolved upon the former, what wiles was she to adopt—what artifices to employ?

If she decided upon the latter, what point in her neglectful lover was vulnerable—what weapon could she use?

A woman does not like to choose the alternative of vengeance, because such a proceeding implies the absence of all hope and of all power of recalling the faithless one.

And yet what was Lady Cecilia to do? That refusal of the money which she had requested, appeared expressive of Mr. Greenwood's determination to break off the connexion.

In that case nothing remained to her but vengeance.

Such were her thoughts.

Her reverie was interrupted by the sudden entrance of her husband Sir Rupert Harborough. His face was flushed with drinking—for he had dined, with his friend Chichester, at a tavern; and his cares had forced him to apply with even more than usual liberality to the bottle.

He threw himself into a chair opposite to his wife, and said, "Well, Cecilia, I have got very bad news to tell you."

"Indeed, Sir Rupert?" she said, in a tone which signified that she also had her annoyances, and would rather not be troubled with his .

"I have, on my honour!" cried the baronet. "In fact, Cecilia, I must find a thousand pounds to-morrow by twelve o'clock."

Lady Cecilia only laughed ironically.

"You make merry, madam, at my misfortunes," said Sir Rupert; "but I can assure you that the present is no laughing matter."