Stray Pearls: Memoirs of Margaret De Ribaumont, Viscountess of Bellaise by Yonge (summer reads txt) 📕

gone the length of praising Mr. Hampden and Sir Thomas Fairfax to complete the work; instead of which I stupidly bethought me of Eustace’s warning not to do anything that might damage Margaret and her son, and I restrained myself.

The matter was only deferred till the next morning, when I was summoned to my mother’s chamber, where she sat up in bed, with her best Flanders-lace nightcap and ruffles on, her coral rosary blessed by the Pope, her snuff-box with the Queen’s portrait, and her big fan that had belonged to Queen Marie de Medicis, so that I knew something serious was in hand; and, besides, my brothers Solivet and Walwyn sat on chairs by the head of her bed. Margaret was not there.

‘My daughter,’ said my mother, when I had saluted her, and she had signed to me to be seated, ‘M. le Comte de Poligny has done you the honour to demand your hand for his son, the Chevalier; and I have accepted his proposals, since by this means the proces will be terminated respecting the estates in Picardy, and he will come to a favourable accommodation with your brother, very important in the present circumstances.’

I suppose she and Solivet expected me to submit myself to my fate like a good little French girl. What I did was to turn round and exclaim: ‘Eustace, you have not sold me for this?’

He held out his hand, and said: ‘No, sister. I have told my mother and brother that my consent depends solely on you.’

Then I felt safe, even when Solivet said:

‘Nor does any well-brought-up daughter speak of her wishes when her parents have decided for her.’

‘You are not my parent, sir,’ I cried; ‘you have no authority over me! Nor am I what you call a well-brought-up girl—that is, a poor creature without a will!’

‘It is as I always said,’ exclaimed my mother. ‘She will be a scandal.’

But I need not describe the whole conversation, even if I could remember more than the opening. I believe I behaved very ill, and was in danger of injuring my own cause by my violence; my mother cried, and said I should be a disgrace to the family, and Solivet looked fierce, handled the hilt of his sword, and observed that he should know how to prevent that; and then Eustace took my hands, and said he would speak with me alone, and my mother declared that he would encourage me in my folly and undutifulness; while Solivet added: ‘Remember we are in earnest. This is no child’s play!’

A horrible dread had come over me that Eustace was in league with them; for he always imperatively cut me short if I dared to say I was already promised. I would hardly speak to him when at last he brought me to his own rooms and shut the door; and when he called me his poor Nan, I pushed him away, and said I wanted none of his pity, I could not have thought it of him.

‘You do not think it now,’ he said; and as I looked up into his clear eyes I was ashamed of myself, and could only murmur, what could I think when I saw him sitting there aiding in their cruel manoeuvres,—all for your own sake, too?

‘I only sat there because I hoped to help you,’ he said; and then he bade me remember that they had disclosed nothing of these intentions of theirs in the letters which spoke of an accommodation. If they had done so, he might have left me in Holland with some of the English ladies so as to be out of reach; but the scheme had only been propounded to him on the previous morning. I asked why he had not refused it at once, and he pointed out that it was not for him to disclose my secret attachment, even had it been expedient so to do. All that he had been able to do was to declare that the whole must depend on my free consent. ‘And,’ he said, with a smile, ‘methought thereby I had done enough for our Nan, who has no weak will unless by violence she over-strain it.’

I felt rebuked as well as reassured and strengthened, and he again assured me that I was safe so long as he lived from being pressed into any marriage contract displeasing to me.

‘But I am promised to M. Darpent,’ was my cry. ‘Why did you hinder me from saying so?’

‘Have you not lived long enough in France to know that it would go for nothing, or only make matters worse?’ he said. ‘Solivet would not heed your promise more than the win that blows, except that he might visit it upon Darpent.’

‘You promised to persuade my mother,’ I said. ‘She at least knows how things go in England. Besides, she brought him here constantly. Whenever she was frightened there was a cry for Darpent.’

Eustace, however, thought my mother ought to know that my word was given; and we told her in private the full truth, with the full approbation of my mother, the head of the family, and he reminded her that at home such a marriage would be by no means unsuitable. Poor mother! she was very angry with us both. She had become so entirely imbued with her native French notions that she considered the word of a demoiselle utterly worthless, and not to be considered. As to my having encouraged Avocat Darpent, une creature comme ca, she would as soon have expected to be told that I had encouraged her valet La Pierre! She was chiefly enraged with me, but her great desire was that I should not be mad enough, as she said, to let it be known that I had done anything so outrageous as to pass my word to any young man, above all to one of inferior birth. It would destroy my reputation for ever, and ruin all the chance of my marriage.

Above all, she desired that it should be concealed from Solivet. She was a prudent woman, that poor mother of mine, and she was afraid of her son’s chastising what she called presumption, and thus embroiling himself with the Parliament people. I said that Solivet had no right over me, and that I had not desire to tell him, though I had felt that she was my mother and ought to be warned that I never would be given to any man save Clement Darpent; and Eustace said that though he regretted the putting himself in opposition to my mother, he should consider it as a sin to endeavour to make me marry one man, while I loved another to whom I was plighted. But he said that there was no need to press the affair, and that he would put a stop to Darpent’s frequenting the house, since it only grieved my mother and might bring him into danger. He would, as my mother wished, keep out attachment as a secret, and would at present take no steps if I were unmolested.

In private Eustace showed me that this was all he could do, and counseled me to put forward no plea, but to persist in my simple refusal, lest I should involve Clement Darpent in danger. Had not Solivet ground his teeth and said order should be taken if he could believe his sister capable of any unworthy attachment? ‘And remember,’ said Eustace, ‘Darpent is not in good odour with either party, and there is such a place as the Bastille.’

I asked almost in despair if he saw any end to it, or any hope, to which he said there always was hope.