Yes and no, Volume 1 (of 2)

“And you never were at a ball before, my dear Helen?” said Lady Latimer, as they drove into town that day. “How you will enjoy it, and what a sensation you will create! Why, it will make that old, rural, dirty Mr. Stedman, dance like Pan himself to have you for a partner.”

“I hope you won’t be angry at what I am going to say. But I wish you would excuse my going to this ball to-night. I am delighted to come here, or go any where that procures me the pleasure of being with you, but I can be no resource to you in a ball-room; and though your kindness endeavours to make me forget my own insignificance, yet at a meeting of this sort, utterly unknown as I am, I cannot help thinking I must be de trop—at festivities too, to which I cannot be considered a party.”

“If a party, not a very friendly one, I am afraid,” said Lady Latimer, smiling. “Have a care, or I will tell Germain that I fear we have a traitor in the camp, whose wishes were with the fallen. Nay, now you belie my words, for your cheeks are of Germain’s colour, sure enough. But no more excuses for to-night at least; I will fulfil Macbeth’s threat, and make ‘the green one red.’”

“Nay, you wrong me if you think I can do otherwise than rejoice in your success; and I hope that you won’t attribute my conduct to any such ingratitude, when I own that so thoroughly was I convinced that I should be in your way to-night, that I have brought no ball-dress with me.”

“Nor have I,” said Lady Latimer, “so you will be as well off as I am—but wait a little,” added she, observing that Helen looked surprised at this declaration.

“Any cases come for me from London?” asked Lady Latimer, upon alighting at her lodging.

“Yes, two, my lady,” readily replied the soubrette.

“Now for them, then. There, my dear Helen, did you ever see any thing so beautiful? the colour quite appropriate, all trimmed with the véritable feu d’enfer; not those awkward imitations of which one has been ashamed during the election—both precisely alike you see—this was my little surprise for you; you had no suspicion when I observed how well my dresses fitted you, that I meant to send for this as a little cadeau for you, that we might both appear exactly the same to-night.”

There was so much genuine good-nature mixed up with the frivolous importance which Lady Latimer attached to this little affair, that Helen could not bear to disappoint her by refusing to use, on this appropriate occasion, the beautiful dress which she had taken such pains to procure for her.

Lady Latimer having quite made up her mind that there was but one person who could dress both their heads in a manner at all worthy of the occasion, Miss Mordaunt had retired first, and had returned to the drawing-room, her toilette finished, the beautiful dress even exceeding Lady Latimer’s expectations, and her fine hair interspersed with corresponding bows of feu d’enfer. She was expecting to have long to await alone the result of her friend’s somewhat soigné labour, when a bustle was heard in the passage below.

Lady Latimer’s servants never did more than was absolutely necessary at home, and upon an occasion like the present, they would have thought it quite out of character to be in the way; therefore it was the soubrette of the house who announced that “a gemman wished to speak to Miss;” and without waiting a reply, ushered Oakley into the room.

It would be hardly possible to imagine a more attractive object than Helen Mordaunt then appeared—a form and features in which were happily blended the brilliant with the delicate; a countenance marked at once with strength of mind and innocence of heart; and all those innate charms enhanced by the efforts of art, which in this instance had luckily united the correct in fashion with the becoming in taste.

But if, instead, a loathsome and disgusting object had unexpectedly crossed his path, Oakley’s countenance, upon beholding it, could not have undergone a more sudden change in expression than when he found her, whom he had come to console and support under affliction, more radiant than ever, decked out, as he thought, insultingly, in his rival’s colours. Helen’s surprise at first keeping her silent, he began with suppressed emotion: “The person I see, is so unlike the Miss Mordaunt I expected to find, that I know not how I can sufficiently apologize for my intrusion.”

“I will not deny that I am indeed much astonished to see you here, and thus—” said she, looking at his splashed and disordered appearance; “but from all I have known of Mr. Oakley, I have no doubt that he has some good reason to give for what indeed——”

“All you have known of Mr. Oakley—perhaps you know as little in truth of what Mr. Oakley really is, as he now finds to his cost he knew of Miss Mordaunt. We may have been equally deceived.”

“This is very strange,” said Helen, alarmed. “I entreat you to recollect yourself, Mr. Oakley. Lady Latimer will be down presently, and if you have any thing to say, I beg it may be in her presence.”

“Yes, Lady Latimer—she it is that has wrought this change in you—a cold, unfeeling coquette, who, simply to gratify her vanity would compromise her own character. Why should she respect that of her friend?—she it is that, at a time when you ought to be far otherwise attired, has for her own purposes decked you out in these trappings of her fickle admirer, the frivolous Germain.”

“Whatever Mr. Germain’s character may be, it is not for me to defend it; but I must say, that I feel confident his conduct would never have been such as in the last few minutes I have blushed to witness. Oh, for shame, Mr. Oakley!” added she, gathering courage as she proceeded, “if no generous regard for my unprotected situation prevents your forcing upon my unwilling ear erroneous constructions upon my conduct, why should you imagine that I can hear without resentment an unprovoked libel upon the character of my best friend and benefactress, and that too from one who has no claim upon me beyond that of a common acquaintance, and whom gratitude to my protectress, will be sufficient to make me henceforth treat as a stranger.”

Helen’s feelings had been thoroughly roused by an overpowering sense of injustice; and whilst her eye flashed indignantly upon Oakley with an expression so different from its habitual mildness, the recollection of his uncle’s portrait came involuntarily across him. He felt for a moment subdued by the tone she took; but there was much of what she said peculiarly galling to his impetuous disposition in its present fevered state. The unfavourable comparison drawn between himself and Germain, excited a feeling, which combined with the previous ranklings of envy, the additional pang of jealousy. The rejection of him as a stranger, with which she concluded, conspired to overthrow the little command he still had upon himself, and he replied:—

“What other claims upon your favour I may have foolishly imagined I had established, it is useless now to inquire, but you may live to feel that the gratitude you profess towards Lady Latimer is as nothing compared to that which you ought to have acknowledged towards me.”

“Gratitude to you!—for what? Can you possibly mean to allude to attentions, which it would be as unworthy in you to urge, as degrading to me to admit, as establishing such a claim?—Gratitude to you! I owe you none.”

“What!” said Oakley wildly, “—none that I readily cancelled my uncle’s tacit rejection of his child—none that I gave to the offspring of shame an honourable position in the world by continuing to your surviving parent the pension of her guilt?”

“Good God, he’s mad!” exclaimed Helen, a sudden conviction of that appalling nature coming upon her, from the vehemence of his manner, and the apparent incoherence of what he uttered. She darted by him to the door, and succeeded in making her escape up stairs. Her first idea was to seek protection in Lady Latimer’s apartment, but she hesitated even at the door, from an unwillingness herself to explain and detail, particularly at the present moment, all that had just passed; she therefore retired to her own room, where she remained some minutes in a deplorable state of agitation. She then heard Oakley, who had made no attempt to follow her, rapidly descending the stairs, and immediately after, the housemaid brought her a letter in her mother’s hand directed to Oakley, enclosed in an envelope, in which was scrawled in pencil these few lines:—

“I can in no way make reparation for what I have done, nor expect you to forgive me, when I can never forgive myself. The enclosed will explain that I came with other intentions than wantonly to insult you, though it will not, and cannot, excuse the brutal perversion of my errand. May heaven support you under those afflictions, which it is my curse to have aggravated!”

E. O.

The comparative sanity of this note, and the tone of obligation with which she found her mother addressing him, were far from consolatory to Helen; for they opened to her the dreadful suspicion that there was some foundation for the mysterious connexion with Oakley at which he had hinted. This harrowing thought did not however at the moment take much hold upon her mind, as every other idea was superseded for the time by the present calamity which her mother’s letter imparted, that she was ill, very ill, and desired her immediate return.

It was with the determination just formed, that her departure should not be delayed another moment, that she was found by Lady Latimer, whose toilet was at length finished, and who entered her room engrossed with the expectation of that admiration she knew she so well deserved. Helen immediately communicated to her the intelligence she had received of her mother’s illness, though she did not add the means by which she had learnt it.

Lady Latimer was much disappointed, and at first attempted to remove the impression of its serious nature, by saying—

“Oh! I dare say it is of no consequence; your fears have exaggerated things; to-morrow we shall be returning, and then, certainly, if you like, you can go home.”

But upon raising her candle to Helen’s face, the desolating effects of agitation she there observed, which had been in no small degree caused by the scene she had undergone, but which Lady Latimer attributed entirely to the news she had received, showed that she was not to be trifled with. She therefore at once offered one of her own carriages and servants to be immediately ordered to convey Miss Mordaunt upon her way homewards, if she wished to set off without delay. This having been thankfully accepted, Lady Latimer left the room, saying that she would herself stay at home till every thing was ready, in order that she might see that all possible expedition was used.

Helen immediately commenced, with no small degree of impatience, throwing off the unlucky ball-dress, which had certainly excited any thing but admiration in the only person by whom it had been seen; and soon were scattered neglectfully about the room, flowers, ribbons, and similar paraphernalia, which would have made the fortune of any milliner, and the happiness of any young lady in the county. Under Lady Latimer’s own immediate direction, the preparations for the journey were completed in an incredibly short time, and after a most affectionate farewell, the two friends separated, Helen to commence her sad and solitary return homewards, Lady Latimer to gladden the expectant eyes of the brilliant ball-room.

END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.

LONDON:
IBOTSON AND PALMER, SAVOY STREET, STRAND.