The Mysteries of London. George W. M. Reynolds
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."
"And I unfortunately have no more diamonds and jewellery for you to rob me of," returned the lady.
"No, Cecilia—but you are my wife; and the disgrace that falls upon your husband would redound on yourself."
"Oh! if you be afraid of rusticating in the Queen's Bench prison for a season, I would advise you to make yourself easy on that head; because—"
"Because what, Cecilia?"
"Because I can assure all your friends and acquaintances that you are merely passing the winter in Paris."
"Ridiculous!" cried the baronet impatiently.
"Not so ridiculous as you imagine," returned Lady Cecilia. "You are accustomed, you know, to leave home for weeks and months together."
"Lady Cecilia, this is no time for either ill-feeling or sarcasm. If we have no love for one another, at least let us sit down and converse calmly upon the urgency of our present situation."
"Our situation?" ejaculated Cecilia.
"Yes—ours," repeated the baronet emphatically. "In one word, Cecilia, can you possibly raise a thousand pounds?"
To a person who had not the means of obtaining even the tenth part of that sum, and who had herself been disappointed that very evening in her endeavour to procure a hundred guineas, the question put by the baronet appeared in so ridiculous a light, that—in spite of her own annoyances—Lady Cecilia threw herself back in her chair, and burst into a loud and hearty laugh.
Sir Rupert rose and paced the room in an agitated manner; for he was totally at a loss what course to pursue. His only hope was in his wife; and yet he knew not how to break the fatal news to her.
"My God! Cecilia," he exclaimed, after a pause, during which he resumed his seat, "you will drive me mad!"
"You have become very sensitive of late, Sir Rupert; and yet I was not aware that you were so weak-minded as to tremble upon the verge of insanity. Certainly your conduct has never led me to suppose that you were over sane."
"My dear Cecilia, cease this raillery, in the name of every thing sacred," cried the baronet. "I tell you that ruin hangs over me—ruin of the most fearful nature—ruin in which your own name, as that of my wife, will be compromised—"
"Then tell me at once what you dread, and I will tell you whether I can assist you; for I know perfectly well that you require me to do something."
"Do not ask me what it is, Cecilia; but say—can you procure from any quarter—from any quarter, mind—a thousand pounds?"
"Absurd! Sir Rupert," answered the lady. "I have no means of helping myself at this moment—much less of providing so large a sum to supply your extravagance. This is a debt of honour, I presume—a debt contracted at the gambling table."
"No—it is far more serious than that, Cecilia; and you must exert yourself. If I do not have that amount by twelve to-morrow, the consequences will be most fatal. I know you can borrow the money for me—you have resources, no matter where or how—I ask no questions—I do not wish to pry into your secrets—"
"You are really very considerate, Sir Rupert. You do not wish to pry into my secrets: but you would not hesitate to pry into my drawers and boxes, if you thought there was any thing in them worth taking."
And as she uttered these words, a smile of superb contempt curled her vermilion lips.
Sir Rupert was maddened by this behaviour on the part of his wife; and with difficulty could he restrain his feelings of rage and hatred.