Henrietta Temple by Benjamin Disraeli (my miracle luna book free read txt) 📖

look at the house when I pass by. Don't fiddle the pens; I hate people who fiddle. Where is Gregory? where is my bell' Where is the page? Naughty boy! why do not you come? There, I do not want anything; I do not know what to do. The wicked men! The greatest favourite I had: he was so charming! Charming people are never rich; he always looked melancholy. I think I will send to the rich man I dine with; but I forget his name. Why do not you tell me his name?'

'My dear Lady Bellair, what is the matter?'

'Don't ask me; don't speak to me. I tell you I am in despair. Oh! if I were rich, how I would punish those wicked men!'

'Can I do anything?' said Lord Montfort.

'I do not know what you can do. I have got the tic. I always have the tic when my friends are in trouble.'

'Who is in trouble, Lady Bellair?'

'My dearest friend; the only friend I care about. How can you be so hard-hearted? I called upon him this morning, and his servant was crying. I must get him a place; he is such a good man, and loves his master. Now, do you want a servant? You never want anything. Ask everybody you know whether they want a servant, an honest man, who loves his master. There he is crying down stairs, in Gregory's room. Poor, good creature! I could cry myself, only it is of no use.'

'Who is his master?' said Lord Montfort.

'Nobody you know; yes! you know him very well. It is my dear, dear friend; you know him very well. The bailiffs went to his hotel yesterday, and dragged him out of bed, and took him to prison. Oh! I shall go quite distracted. I want to sell my china to pay his debts. Where is Miss Twoshoes?' continued her ladyship; 'why don't you answer? You do everything to plague me.'

'Miss Grandison, Lady Bellair?'

'To be sure; it is her lover.'

'Captain Armine?'

'Have I not been telling you all this time? They have taken him to prison.'

Miss Temple rose and left the room.

'Poor creature! she is quite shocked. She knows him, too,' said her ladyship. 'I am afraid he is quite ruined. There is a knock. I will make a subscription for him. I dare say it is my grandson. He is very rich, and very good-natured.'

'My dear Lady Bellair,' said Lord Montfort, rising, 'favour me by not saying a word to anybody at present. I will just go in the next room to Henrietta. She is intimate with the family, and much affected. Now, my dear lady, I entreat you,' continued his lordship, 'do not say a word. Captain Armine has good friends, but do not speak to strangers. It will do harm; it will indeed.'

'You are a good creature; you are a good creature. Go away.'

'Lady Frederick Berrington, my lady,' announced the page.

'She is very witty, but very poor. It is no use speaking to her. I won't say a word. Go to Miss Thingabob: go, go.' And Lord Montfort escaped into the saloon as Lady Frederick entered.

Henrietta was lying on the sofa, her countenance was hid, she was sobbing convulsively.

'Henrietta,' said Lord Montfort, but she did not answer. 'Henrietta, he again said, 'dear Henrietta! I will do whatever you wish.'

'Save him, save him!' she exclaimed. 'Oh! you cannot save him! And I have brought him to this! Ferdinand! dearest Ferdinand! oh! I shall die!'

'For God's sake, be calm,' said Lord Montfort, 'there is nothing I will not do for you, for him.'

'Ferdinand, Ferdinand, my own, own Ferdinand, oh! why did we ever part? Why was I so unjust, so wicked? And he was true! I cannot survive his disgrace and misery. I wish to die!'

'There shall be no disgrace, no misery,' said Lord Montfort, 'only for God's sake, be calm. There is a chattering woman in the next room. Hush! hush! I tell you I will do everything.'

'You cannot; you must not; you ought not! Kind, generous Digby! Pardon what I have said; forget it; but indeed I am so wretched, I can bear this life no longer.'

'But you shall not be wretched, Henrietta; you shall be happy; everybody shall be happy. I am Armine's friend, I am indeed. I will prove it. On my honour, I will prove that I am his best friend.'

'You must not. You are the last person, you are indeed. He is so proud! Anything from us will be death to him. Yes! I know him, he will die sooner than be under an obligation to either of us.'

'You shall place him under still greater obligations than this,' said Lord Montfort. 'Yes! Henrietta, if he has been true to you, you shall not be false to him.'

'Digby, Digby, speak not such strange words. I am myself again. I left you that I might be alone. Best and most generous of men, I have never deceived you; pardon the emotions that even you were not to witness.'

'Take my arm, dearest, let us walk into the garden. I wish to speak to you. Do not tremble. I have nothing to say that is not for your happiness; at all times, and under all circumstances, the great object of my thoughts.'

He raised Miss Temple gently from the sofa, and they walked away far from the observation of Lady Bellair, or the auricular powers, though they were not inconsiderable, of her lively guest.


CHAPTER XX.


_In Which Ferdinand Receives More than One Visit, and Finds
That Adversity Has Not Quite Deprived Him of His Friends_.


IN THE mean time morning broke upon the unfortunate Ferdinand. He had forgotten his cares in sleep, and, when he woke, it was with some difficulty that he recalled the unlucky incident of yesterday, and could satisfy himself that he was indeed a prisoner. But the bars of his bedroom window left him not very long in pleasing doubt.

His friend, the little waiter, soon made his appearance. 'Slept pretty well, sir? Same breakfast as yesterday, sir? Tongue and ham, sir? Perhaps you would like a kidney instead of a devil? It will be a change.'

'I have no appetite.'

'It will come, sir. You an't used to it. Nothing else to do here but to eat. Better try the kidney, sir. Is there anything you fancy?'

'I have made up my mind to go to gaol to-day.' 'Lord! sir, don't think of it. Something will turn up, sir, take my word.'

And sooth to say, the experienced waiter was not wrong. For bringing in the breakfast, followed by an underling with a great pomp of plated covers, he informed Ferdinand with a chuckle, that a gentleman was enquiring for him. 'Told you your friends would come, sir.'

The gentleman was introduced, and Ferdinand beheld Mr. Glastonbury.

'My dear Glastonbury,' said Ferdinand, scarcely daring to meet his glance, 'this is very kind, and yet I wished to have saved you this.'

'My poor child,' said Glastonbury.

'Oh! my dear friend, it is all over. This is a more bitter moment for you even than for me, kind friend. This is a terrible termination of all your zeal and labours.'

'Nay!' said Glastonbury; 'let us not think of anything but the present. For what are you held in durance?'

'My dear Glastonbury, if it were only ten pounds, I could not permit you to pay it. So let us not talk of that. This must have happened sooner or later. It has come, and come unexpectedly: but it must be borne, like all other calamities.'

'But you have friends, my Ferdinand.'

'Would that I had not! All that I wish now is that I were alone in the world. If I could hope that my parents would leave me to myself, I should be comparatively easy. But when I think of them, and the injury I must do them, it is hell, it is hell.'

'I wish you would tell me your exact situation,' said Mr. Glastonbury.

'Do not let us talk of it; does my father know of this?'

'Not yet.'

''Tis well; he may yet have a happy day. He will sell Armine.'

Glastonbury shook his head and sighed. 'Is it so bad?' he said.

'My dearest friend, if you will know the worst, take it. I am here for nearly three thousand pounds, and I owe at least ten more.'

'And they will not take bail?'

'Not for this debt; they cannot. It is a judgment debt, the only one.'

'And they gave you no notice?'

'None: they must have heard somehow or other that my infernal marriage was off. They have all waited for that. And now that you see that affairs are past remedy; let us talk of other topics, if you will be so kind as to remain half an hour in this dungeon. I shall quit it directly; I shall go to gaol at once.'

Poor Glastonbury, he did not like to go, and yet it was a most melancholy visit. What could they converse about? Conversation, except on the interdicted subject of Ferdinand's affairs, seemed quite a mockery. At last, Ferdinand said, 'Dear Glastonbury, do not stay here; it only makes us both unhappy. Send Louis with some clothes for me, and some books. I will let you know before I leave this place. Upon reflection, I shall not do so for two or three days, if I can stay as long. See my lawyer; not that he will do anything; nor can I expect him; but he may as well call and see me. Adieu, dear friend.'

Glastonbury was about to retire, when Ferdinand called him back. 'This affair should be kept quiet,' he said. 'I told Louis to say I was out of town in Brook-street. I should be sorry were Miss Temple to hear of it, at least until after her marriage.'

Ferdinand was once more alone with the mirror, the loo-table, the hard sofa, the caricatures which he hated even worse than his host's portrait, the Hebrew Bible, and the Racing Calendar. It seemed a year that he had been shut up in this apartment, instead of a day, he had grown so familiar with every object. And yet the visit of Glastonbury had been an event, and he could not refrain from pondering over it. A spunging-house seemed such a strange, such an unnatural scene, for such a character. Ferdinand recalled to his memory the tower at Armine, and all its glades and groves, shining in the summer sun, and freshened by the summer breeze. What a contrast to this dingy, confined, close dungeon! And was it possible that he had ever wandered at will in that fair scene with a companion fairer? Such thoughts might well drive a man mad. With all his errors, and all his disposition at present not to extenuate them, Ferdinand Armine could not refrain from esteeming himself unlucky. Perhaps it is more distressing to believe ourselves unfortunate, than to recognise ourselves as imprudent.

A fond mistress or a faithful friend, either of these are great blessings; and whatever may be one's scrapes in life, either of these may well be sources of consolation. Ferdinand had a fond mistress once, and had Henrietta Temple loved him, why, he might struggle with all these calamities; but that sweet dream was past. As