The Virginians by William Makepeace Thackeray (kiss me liar novel english txt) 📖

resumed the reading of his paper, whilst, in the deepest despondency, poor Sampson left him.

My Lady Maria meanwhile had heard that the chaplain was with her brother, and conjectured what might be the subject on which they had been talking. She seized upon the parson as he issued from out his fruitless interview with my lord. She drew him into the dining-room: the strongest marks of grief and sympathy were in her countenance. “Tell me, what is this has happened to Mr. Warrington?” she asked.

“Your ladyship, then, knows?” asked the chaplain.

“Have I not been in mortal anxiety ever since his servant brought the dreadful news last night?” asked my lady. “We had it as we came from the opera—from my Lady Yarmouth's box—my lord, my Lady Castlewood, and I.”

“His lordship, then, did know?” continued Sampson.

“Benson told the news when we came from the playhouse to our tea,” repeats Lady Maria.

The chaplain lost all patience and temper at such duplicity. “This is too bad,” he said, with an oath; and he told Lady Maria of the conversation which he had just had with Lord Castlewood, and of the latter's refusal to succour his cousin, after winning great sums of money from him, and with much eloquence and feeling, of Mr. Warrington's most generous behaviour to himself.

Then my Lady Maria broke out with a series of remarks regarding her own family, which were by no means complimentary to her own kith and kin. Although not accustomed to tell truth commonly, yet, when certain families fall out, it is wonderful what a number of truths they will tell about one another. With tears, imprecations, I do not like to think how much stronger language, Lady Maria burst into a furious and impassioned tirade, in which she touched upon the history of almost all her noble family. She complimented the men and the ladies alike; she shrieked out interrogatories to Heaven, inquiring why it had made such (never mind what names she called her brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, parents); and, emboldened with wrath, she dashed at her brother's library door, so shrill in her outcries, so furious in her demeanour, that the alarmed chaplain, fearing the scene which might ensue, made for the street.

My lord, looking up from the book or other occupation which engaged him, regarded the furious woman with some surprise, and selected a good strong oath to fling at her, as it were, and check her onset.

But, when roused, we have seen how courageous Maria could be. Afraid as she was ordinarily of her brother, she was not in a mood to be frightened now by any language of abuse or sarcasm at his command.

“So, my lord!” she called out, “you sit down with him in private to cards, and pigeon him! You get the poor boy's last shilling, and you won't give him a guinea out of his own winnings now he is penniless!”

“So that infernal chaplain has been telling tales!” says my lord.

“Dismiss him: do! Pay him his wages, and let him go,—he will be glad enough!” cries Maria.

“I keep him to marry one of my sisters, in case he is wanted,” says Castlewood, glaring at her.

“What can the women be in a family where there are such men?” says the lady.

“Effectivement!” says my lord, with a shrug of his shoulder.

“What can we be, when our fathers and brothers are what they are? We are bad enough, but what are you? I say, you neither have courage—no, nor honour, nor common feeling. As your equals won't play with you, my Lord Castlewood, you must take this poor lad out of Virginia, your own kinsman, and pigeon him! Oh, it's a shame—a shame!”

“We are all playing our own game, I suppose. Haven't you played and won one, Maria? Is it you that are squeamish of a sudden about the poor lad from Virginia? Has Mr. Harry cried off, or has your ladyship got a better offer?” cried my Lord. “If you won't have him, one of the Warrington girls will, I promise you; and the old Methodist woman in Hill Street will give him the choice of either. Are you a fool, Maria Esmond? A greater fool, I mean, than in common?”

“I should be a fool if I thought that either of my brothers could act like an honest man, Eugene!” said Maria. “I am a fool to expect that you will be other than you are; that if you find any relative in distress you will help him; that if you can meet with a victim you won't fleece him.”

“Fleece him! Psha! What folly are you talking! Have you not seen, from the course which the lad has been running for months past, how he would end? If I had not won his money, some other would? I never grudged thee thy little plans regarding him. Why shouldst thou fly in a passion, because I have just put out my hand to take what he was offering to all the world? I reason with you, I don't know why, Maria. You should be old enough to understand reason, at any rate. You think this money belonged of right to Lady Maria Warrington and her children? I tell you that in three months more every shilling would have found its way to White's macco-table, and that it is much better spent in paying my debts. So much for your ladyship's anger, and tears, and menaces, and naughty language. See! I am a good brother, and repay them with reason and kind words.”

“My good brother might have given a little more than kind words to the lad from whom he has just taken hundreds,” interposed the sister of this affectionate brother.

“Great heavens, Maria! Don't you see that even out of this affair, unpleasant as it seems, a clever woman may make her advantage,” cries my lord. Maria said she failed to comprehend.

“As thus. I name no names; I meddle in no person's business, having quite enough to do to manage my own cursed affairs. But suppose I happen to know of a case in another family which may be applicable to ours. It is this. A green young lad of tolerable expectations, comes up from the country to his friends in town—never mind from what country: never mind to what town. An elderly female relative, who has been dragging her spinsterhood about these—how many years shall we say?—extort a promise of marriage from my young gentleman, never mind on what conditions.”

“My lord, do you want to insult your sister as well as to injure your cousin?” asks Maria.

“My good child, did I say a single word about fleecing or cheating, or pigeoning, or did I fly into a passion when you insulted me? I know the allowance that must be made for your temper, and the natural folly of your sex. I say I treated you with soft words—I go on with my story. The elderly relative extracts a promise of marriage from the young lad, which my gentleman is quite unwilling to keep. No, he won't keep it. He is utterly tired of his elderly relative: he will plead his mother's refusal: he will do anything to get out of his promise.”

“Yes; if he was one of us Esmonds, my Lord Castlewood. But this is a man of honour we are speaking of,” cried Maria, who, I suppose, admired truth in others, however little she saw it