The Lass and the Lady; or, Love's ladder. A tale of thrilling interest

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,-• 7s/J/ . _' THE 1'ASS AND THE 3LABY: OM LOfEl 3LABBEB MT (7?7y?l£M7r (yMœ/l7& Q/_m_v (yTKkfr,, rz*__7tuv2s /#7bZt6<e4J __ /6vœ?2>- J^TTa^ew. !L® KI IDS si. Mc Gowau kCa Printers. 18S3. THE LASS AND THE LADY; OR, LOVE'S LADDER. A TALE OF THRILLING INTEREST. BY ERNEST CHARLES JONES, Esq. LONDON: PRINTED FOR THE PROPRIETORS, BY M'GOWAN & CO., GREAT WINDMILL STKEET. 1855. ■. DIRECTIONS TO THE BINDER. Page. The Last Throw ...... 1 Vignette to face ditto ...... ,-j. Ha ! ha ! She's the virtuous lodger .... 77 Stop ! You forget me .... . 129 The Hour of Retribution . . . . . 131 That looks Suspicious . . . . . . 192 The Moment of Trial ...... 241 Do ydu see that ....... 294 Meeting his Match ...... 330 Is this our Greeting ? . . . . . , 358 A Struggle for Life ...... 3gg No Queen's Evidence ...... 393 Where else should I be ? . . . . 437 The Plot . . . . . . • 45g The Beginning of the End . . . . . 472 The Escape ....... 553 The Italian Tavern ...... 558 Yonder ! . ..... 607 An Act of Despair ...... 616 The Happy Meeting ...... 661 The Lost Child Restored ..... 690 The Struggle on the Boos . . . . .

Parti THE LAST NEW NOVEL. Price Gd. Thirty-two Pages of Letter Press, and a Steel Engraving, in each j Sixpenny Part. TIIE LASS AND THE LADY: OR, LOVE'S LADDER. BY ERNEST CHARLES JONES, Esq., AUTHOR OF "THE WOOD SriRIT;" "LOUD LINDSAY;" "MY LIFE; or, OUR SOCIAL STATE;" "BliLDAGON CHURCH;" "THE PAINTER OF FLORENCE," &c. Out on the thought, that man can sleep I Out on thy thought that heart can keep With such a dream, and not awake! Secret so burning — and not break! — E.C. J. Hands, that wero parted by a breath ; Hearts, that part not, even in death ; Hopes, that have been crushed by man; Courage, such as never can ; Truth, not calumny can stain; Faith, that duubt assails in vain ; Beauty, such as summons hale ; Strength, that might have baffled siite ; On mournful life's tempestuous tide ; Met — loved — and bravely struggling died.

E. C. J. ADD RESS The truths of real life are stranger than the fictions of Romance, and, generally, far < more instructive. Of such, these pages aro composed. Intimate with the relations and I the habits of the wealthy children of fortune, the arena of the great and the domestic | vices of society In their gorgeous halls will bo revealed by the author ; and the contrast '■f the uusophisticated, though less educated, heart held before the reader in thrilling j scenes of passion aud misfortune. He writes to instruct aa well as to amuse ; the i'liilosophy of Life, though pourtrayed in hues of sire, is the groundwork of the picture. Through many a trying scene he asks the reader to follow his recording pen — through the palace of the high, and the cottage of the lowly — through the glow of false passion, and the calm, clear light of pure and saving love — through the meshes of heartless iiitiifue and through the dark and terrible catastrophes that ever intercept the march of crime.

Chapter I. Valet And Master

Recal the torrent of a life-time passed, And on the cataract's brink arrest the wave ; Restrain the current of the headlong blast That drives the vessel on its marbly grave ; Assuage the heart that beats too hot and fast ; The victim from his headlong passion save : — Alike impossible to be repressed The storm that rends the world or racks the breast! " I AM uncommonly out of spirits to-night, Charles," said Mr. Henry Grafton to his valet, as he -was about retiring to rest. " And so soon to be married, sir ! for shame ! " replied the latter, with that respectful jocularity which the practised minister to the confidential ease and vices of the rich and great so well knows how to assume. A languid smile passed over the faded but handsome countenance of the master — and merged into a long and wearied yawn — type of the pleasures of his class — a gleam of morbid enjoyment, ending in ennui.

Henry Grafton was the son of a rich merchant, who had made his fortune by some very " low" branch of trade and by clever — speculations, but retired with ; 2 colossal wealth in the prime of life, the remainder of which he spent in trying to introduce himself into what is called high society, and educating his son in the sparkling and fashionable accomplishments which were, he thought, best calculated to fit him for its brilliant circles. In this the father was certainly successful. Henry's head was educated at the expense of his heart — though, naturally, neither wicked nor unfeeling — and Mr. Grafton had soon the pleasure of seeing his son as admirable a proficient in elegant rouerie, as any doting father could desire. The rich young plebeian was courted by the more questionable coteries of the haul ton, consisting principally of old dowagers of lofty family, who had showy daughters, titled and penniless, to marry off; and the young scions of aristocratic houses, who honoured Henry with their titled friendship, on condition of honouring his purse also, by sharing some what largely in its contents.

All this his father smiled at. It was strange that a business-man should like to see his son thus lightly spend the precious earnings of a busy life— but that son was, in the first place, an only child, and moreover, Mr. Grafton had accumulated hia fortune more by cou/js de main than by patient industry. Living in an era of rabid speculation, he had won im mensely, and lost but triflingly, — and, true to the adage, that — " What is lightly got is lightly spent" — he was liberal, and somewhat careless, with the wealth acquired. Moreover, that wealth was colossal, and could afford some diminution. Therefore the old gentleman felt rather proud thaa annoyed when he had to pay his son's extravagant debts— he grumbled to the tradesmen or sharpers who came, he said — " Young rascal ! What business had you to trust him — eh ?

I have a great mind not to pay you !" Then the tradesmen and shar pers answered — " Oh ! sir ! who would not trust the son of Mr. Grafton to any amount?" — This was the weak point of purse-proud vanity. — " And how did you know that I would pay his debts ?" Then came another — " Oh, sir! the honour of the family ! The distinguished ■position you and your son hold in society" — and the debt was paid at once with quite a feeling of gratification, while the duns and knaves went away laughing at their double dupes. Another time, Mr. Henry would come home in a very peculiar state in Lord Vervain Borrowticker's cab. When the pale-faced scape-grace appeared at breakfast the next morning, Mr. Grafton assumed the stern air of offended paternal virtue. " What have you been doing with yourself last night, sir?

A pretty thing to disgrace yourself in this way !" " Oh ! sir !" replied the young man of the world, who was wide awake to the governor's weak side, " I am very sorry, but I could not help it. The fact is, I was at the Duchess of Grandam's ball, and Borrowticker asked me to finish the night at the Hon. Dalrymple Fine's — " " What Fine ?" interrupted the father, endeavouring to look very stern indeed. " The son of the Master of the Horse," rejoined thc son very quietly, knowing his advantage, " and, really, when there, we all got rather merry— they would drink, you know, trying some old wine Fine had just got from the French ambassador, and Borrowticker was much worse than I, he lying under the table — and so Fine sent me home in Borrowticker's cab." " And you lost all your money, I suppose ?" said tho worthy father, relaxing considerably.

J " Well — well— I confess — Fine and I lost " " Hark ye I sir ! if you play any of thes'e tricks any more I will stop your allowance, dishonour your debts, and turn you adrift. Now go about your business, and see if you cannot behave more decently. Not a six pence more shall you have from me." The hopeful son went out, but before ho had closed the door the father called him back. " What are you going to do to day, sir ?" " Why, nothing : I was going to the opera with Fine, •but I have not the means, you know. Fine and I — " "Hum! Here is a cheque for .£100 — now go about your business, and — " The joyful youth did not wait for the remainder, hut slipped out of the room, convinced that he had done his business as cleverly and successfully as his duns had effected theirs with the governor a day or two before.

" A spirited lad that !" said the father, when young hopeful was out of sight. " Knows how to get into the best society — [so he called the titled harpies annually let loose in fresh numbers on the world to destroy the morals, health, happiness, fortune, and life of countless victims of their seducing vices] — he will come to dis tinction yet — the Master of the Horse — much may rise from that — I must see and get him a place at Court — old Fizzles owes me £10,000 — I will renew the bill if he will — yes ! yes ! we will see." But, in the midst of his projects, Mr. Grafton died, leaving his son the heir to his immense wealth. It may be supposed that, with such an education, Henry Grafton, at an early age the master of a vast fortune, was but little exempt from the vices of the world in which he mixed.

But he was not naturally bad-hearted. We are greatly what education makes us ; and having^been taught to consider many vital sins merely in the light of amiable weaknesses and fashion able follies, he committed those acts, which he would have spurned most religiously had he ever been instructed to view them in their true light. He thus passed through the full career of vice and dissipation, and had pretty well exhausted every pleasure by the time he had reached the age of thirty years, the period in which he is first intro duced to our readers. One thing deserves to be re marked — he had contrived not to ruin his fortune — as many a young aristocrat would have done, probably from the fact of constitutionally deriving a certain amount of business habits from his father, and the associations of his childhood.

He had now arrived at that age in which ambition somewhat takes the place of pleasure — and that feeling now prompted him to settle down in matri monial life with the collateral advantages of a high con nexion. For this purpose, he had cast his eyes round for a wife amid the penniless daughters of the aristocracy, whose mammas would not be unwilling to contaminate their escutcheon by an alliance with the wealthy and ac complished young plebeian. Among them he selected one of the highest and the handsomest — Lady Flora M'Arthur, fifth daughter of a Scotch Duke — and his suit was favoured. Lady Flora traced her descent from King Arthur of the Round Table. The pedigree, perfectly authentic in its origin, was equally well defined in its subsequent course, and the heraldic merits of the House of Kinwhiskie were pub lished wide, whenever the occasion served, as marks of wondrous honour and distinction.

Such was the position of Henry Grafton on the even- TIIE LASS AND THE LADY; ing in which we have first introduced him to the reader, lounging, already half unclad in his dressing-room, pre paratory to retiring, for it was two hours past midnight. He had just returned from a large party at the Duke's, at which he had publicly appeared as the accepted suitor of Lady Flora. ' Well, marriage don't much raise the spirits," he observed, in reply to the last observation of the valet, who was ministering to his nocturnal toilet. " Lady Flora, I hear, looked very beautiful to night, sir !" interposed the servant. " Why — yes ! she did. I say, Charles, we have had our share of beauty ; have we not ?" " Well — yes ! I believe, sir, you need fear com petition with nobody in that line." Mr. Grafton leaned back in his chair with a melancholy reflective cast of countenance.

Whether his ap proaching marriage sobered his feelings and inclined him towards thoughtfulness, or whether it was one of those hushing momentary pauses which, at his time of life, ever and anon will overtake the thoughtless, he was evidently passing his by-gone years in review. Now and then a smile fleeted over his countenance, as some old recollection crossed his brain. " I say, Charles, do you remember the French Marchioness ?" asked Grafton, while recapitulating his former escapades on the eve of his sober married life. " Ah, sir ! Do I not ?" rejoined the valet. " And that affair in Italy— it had like to have cost us dear." " It was an ugly business, sir. "Ah! It is all passed now. Well! I wonder what has become of them all" — so spoke the roue of thc hearts he had ruined — " but do you know, Charles, there is only one Lever cared about.

I really loved that girl — and — she was — pshaw ! — I say, Charles, did you ever know what real love was ?" " I did — I do L" responded the valet, and his voice trembled. Grafton looked up ; the tone had awakened some kindred echo. " Have you ever felt — a — a sort of remorse ! eh ?" " Remorse, sir ? — What is the use of it ? Remorse ? No ! by the Lord, sir, I have not ! Remorse — no. Revenge I have felt — and — " " Come, Charles, nonsense ! I remember some out breaks like this before. But tell me all about it ; perhaps I can help you — I am about to marry — I am about to lead a steady Use — I am about to become virtuous." The valet stared at his master with an ironical stare, as though wanting to see where the joke lay. " I'm serious — I am," replied Grafton, with the self satisfied air of a man who is determined to become good by word of command.

" Tell me— I am out of spirits to-night—" " Because you are going to be virtuous, sir ?" Grafton could not help smiling, and continued, as though he had not noticed — " and I should like to hear the cause of your trouble. I have mine, too." It was probably the last four words that induced the valet to comply ; for grief is communicative, it seeks confidants; at the same time it is retiring, and confides to those only who share a kindred feeling. Community of suffering is the electric wire that carries the mutual sorrow from heart to heart. " I will tell you," he said, quickly ; then added, with that bitter irony, the reflex of the life he had shared " it may amuse you. It is an old tale — a tale of love — ha ! ha ! In the village where I was born I loved a young girl, a neighbour's child. I was a farmer's son, and she a tradesman's daughter.

We had been brought up almost together ; we were playmates in our childhood, and companions afterwards. I loved her — yes, I didlove,'' — he paused, seeming to forget the presence of his master. " Did she love you ?" interposed the latter. " I thought so, but it could not have been ; for my father was ruined, and was forced to leave the village to seek a living elsewhere ; while I was gone the spoiler came — a gay young gentleman from town — and — " " Do you know his name '?" " I know the name he gave, sir ; but I afterwards found that it must have been a feigned one. When I returned she had gone — it was said she lived with him; but I doubt it, from what I since heard ; it is reported he since discarded her, and that she has roamed in misery and anguish, and now — oh, God ! who knows — " " Have you never seen her since ?"

" I am not sure ; once in the streets of London I saw a face, shrouded in rags and misery — but still so in nocent, so good — I was about speaking to her, whoever it was, when a runaway cab dashed between us — a crowd gathered, and ere I could pass, she had disappeared !" " Ah ! I think that was the time you saved me from breaking my neck — I was in the cab, and there first I came to know you." " Yes, sir. " Then, in return, if I can, I will help you find the girl." " Ah ! If I could find him." " Him. Why ?" " To crush him ! Do you think I ever forgave it ? I loved, sir. Do you think real love ever forgets or forgives ? To be cast as a withered weed under the feet of such a thing as he ! Sir ! from that moment I swore revenge — deep, implacable, and deadly. What, do you think the gilded thing was to trample on the peasant's son — to tread out my spark of life, and go on laughing ?

He has laughed long ; but something tells me I shall find HIM SOON." Grafton looked astonished. "Ah, sir !" continued the valet, " I see you are surprised ; you have not known me ; you look on me merely as the confidant of your pleasures ; well, then, sir, it will out — what has been smouldering so long will find vent at last. I am not the mean thing you think me — she jilted me — she betrayed me." " Stop ; perhaps she never loved you," said Grafton — some strange sympathy prompting him to defend the ruined girl. " But I loved her — and she broke my heart — and I swore revenge, and it soothed my passion to revenge on those like her the pangs she made me suffer, until I could gather them all upon his head. J was not quite so mean as you thought me, sir." Grafton looked thoughtful and conscience-stricken.

" Well," he said, with an effort, " now is the time to reform, and repair the past." The valet smiled as though he felt it could never be repaired. " And now, Charles, I want you to forget your own grief, for a moment, in mine. Those cursed amours rise up like ghosts in after life to haunt one ; and, you know, that o will not do now. All these things must be kept from Lady Flora ; and I am pestered at times with applica tions, and reproaches, and the danger of intrusion — and I want to avoid all this." " No doubt, sir," said the valet, and, in an under tone, " that's the way you repair the past, I suppose." " I wish them all at the devil, except one poor thing! I really did love her, and if I could — but — " " Well, sir !" " Well, that just brings me to the point. Ah ! I for got you knew nothing about it ; you were not with me then.

How long have you been with me now ?" " Three years, sir. " Three years ; true ! then that was just after the time. Well, I had an unfortunate liaison with a girl down in the country, and it is just about three years since I last saw her ; poor girl ! Well, you know, directly after you came to live with me we went abroad, and, during the interval, I, of course, heard nothing of her; indeed, she did not know where to find me !" "Poor thing!" involuntarily ejaculated the valet. Grafton looked up in surprise once more. Sympathy with a discarded mistress was hardly good breeding on the valet's part — at least in a valetory sense. " She must have felt the loss of so kind and generous a pro tector, sir," he added, with professional tact. " Well, of late she has found me out — unpleasant ! just now, too.

We've now been back twelve months, and she has heard of this marriage, and threatens actually to disturb me ; and if Lady Flora knows — " " Ah ! I understand, sir ; but if I had known I could, perhaps — " " Yes ! cursed unfortunate that I sent you over ta r Paris about that jewellery, and that you should stay such a confounded time." " I couldn't help it, sir ; Lemonier insisted on my waiting till the design of the tiara was completed." " Well, just then she found me out, and you being away I had no servant in whom I had sufficient con fidence to negociate through ; and, confound it, 1 could not bring myself to see. her personally — one is so weak — and those poor country things make such a scene, and I wish it all settled comfortably and quietly. " Oh ! no doubt, sir !" said the valet ; but a strange sarcasm lingered in his tone.

His memory was evidently busy with a kindred tale, that touched his own heart nearly. " Yes ! I wish you had been here to see her. But now she must be kept away. You will hold strict watch — and let no one of the kind have access to the house — and any letters — you understand — " " Oh, perfectly, sir," said the valet, in a tone of ill concealed bitterness. " And what is her name, 6ir — I must know, or I cannot — " " Her name is Edith." " Edith !"' — and Charles turned ghastly pale, while, with clenched hands, he stood gazing at his master. " Yes — Edith Golding. Mind you give strict orders, and have a sharp watch kept." " Golding — Edith Golding — Where did she come from, sir — where did she live ?" gasped the valet, as though he wished to confirm or to dispel a doubt — it might be either.

" At Dawwood. Poor thing, I was very fond of her." The valet started as though stung in every vein, and grasped the chair, on which his master sat, convulsively. There was something fearfully thrilling in his countenance — but Grafton saw it not — for the servant had moved to the back of his master's seat. " Ah ! I'm very tired ; I'll go to bed now, Charles ; but mind, Charles, remember this — Keep her away; for Lady Flora must not be annoyed." There came no answer. Grafton rose, took the light, and advanced to the door of his bed-chamber, which opened out of the dressing-room. In so doing, he caught a glance of the valet's white face and rigid figure. " Where were you born ?" he exclaimed, quickly, a sudden thought striking him. " At Spalding, in Lincolnshire, sir," replied the valet, with a ready and instinctive falsehood.

" Well, good night! And rest satisfied I'll help you to find your enemy," he said, as he entered his bed-room and closed the door behind him. " I've found him !" gasped the valet, starting into passionate life from his seeming trance, as lightning bursting to the surface of the clouds—" and may Heaven never forgive me if I let him go."

Chapter II. The Saloon And The Garden

What crooked path and devious track ! What feigning, scheming, counter-scheming— What looking forward — looking back — What endless stretching on the rack — What ceaseless running to and fro ! With hardly anywhere to go — What hopes and fears — and sighs and tears— What actions dark, and plot, and plan, Mark the wasted life of man, Who ends his course of troubled years As far advanced as he began. " By Jove she is beautiful !" said Captain Fitzyork to Mr. Vivian Danvers, as Lady Flora M' Arthur glided past them, leaning on Grafton's arm, down the gilded saloons of Grafton Lodge, the sumptuous villa of Mr. Grafton, in Fulham, and the eyes of the libertine hung intently on the lovely figure. " Beautiful !" said Danvers, " the word's not strong enough — she's angelic." " Well — perhaps as much as a woman can be ; but I'll warrant you she also has as much of the bodily in her composition as any of us — ha ! ha ! ha !"

" Pooh ! pooh ! Now I'll wager there's game beyond your reach. Beautiful — " " The more prone to flattery." " Well educated — " " In lace, diamonds, feathers, dancing, music, paint ing, flirting — " " A handsome husband — ' " Nothing is more tiresome — a fine view before your ; eyes wearies the soonest of all. They'll do anything for a little ugly irregularity." " Cold by nature — " " Ha ! ha ! ha !" " What do you laugh at ?" " Ha! ha! ha! ha!' " Well — you won't make any impression on her." " I will." " You won't." " The devil take me, but I will." Danvers set up for a philosopher and a virtuous man, though he did nothing to better the virtues of others, his goodness consisting in girding himself round with cold philosophical conventionalities, like a moral hedgehog. " Are you serious ?" he said.

" Upon my honour ! I've determined to make her fall desperately in love with me." His honour ! — and given on such a theme. " Now you must introduce me to her, Danvers, for though I am very intimate with the Duchess, Lady Flora is only just out, so I have not been presented to her yet." " Well, I will, but on one condition " What is that?" " That I put her on her guard, and caution her against you, as the most notorious libertine ; having a design on every pretty woman he sees. I own I owe that to my conscience and my honour!' " The fool !" exclaimed Fitzyork, aside, " that's a philosopher— who does not understand that this is the very way to whet her curiosity, and help my game." " Certainly," added Fitzyork, aloud. " This is a curious psychological study — very interest ing, very," said the fashionable philosopher to himself, in a serious tone, his " conscience and honour" allowing him deliberately to be the motive-spring for surrounding a young and beautiful, though, perhaps, miseducated girl, with dangerous and culpable temptations.

" But see, Providence favours us, for here she comes !" And, sure enough, the victim of this " philosophical experiment," all the more diabolical, because not framed by passion on the one hand nor by vice on the other ; but being the joint offspring of pride and curiosity, glided up to them, smiling, laughing, and light-hearted, listening to the airy-nothings some handsome young guardsman was whispering in her ear ; words which, though not positively wrong themselves, carried with them the taint of unhealthy associations, and formed, alas! the habitual atmosphere in which the child of fashion, wealth, and beauty lived. But she seemed moved by them as much as would be the rose-bud by the breath of tbe unentering west — swayed lightly to and fro with frolic laughter — but careless and painless when the whispering tongue had gone.

" Ab, Lady Flora, well met ! Permit me to seize an opportunity I have long desired, and to introduce my old friend, Captain Fitzyork, to pay you homage." Captain Fitzyork bowed low, with an air of casual observation. " But I'm bound to caution you, as a sage Mentor, — and you know I have that character allowed me — that my friend is a very dangerous young man, and a sad lady-killer. It is said he vows the conquest of every fair lady he meets ; and has broken more hearts, and caused more quarrels, duels, aud what not, than any man of his TIIE LASS AND THE LADY; day. Indeed, I've heard that all prudent young ladies shun the danger, and do not trust themselves long within the range of his magic influence." Lady Flora looked round, and fixed her dark flashing eyes calmly and steadily on Captain Fitzyork, with an expression of self-reliant pride.

Fitzyork felt gratified, though he concealed the feeling. Danvers had smoothed the path unconsciously. He had enlisted Lady Flora's interest, he had roused her pride ; and to show she feared no danger, she would brave it. Ah ! fatal game to walk upon the ice of resolution, while the summer passions are shrouded in the breast of youth. " Believe me, Lady Flora, Mr. Danvers is but trying to shield his own delinquencies by parading mine." " So he confesses them/' thought Lady Flora, " that's daring." " At least," said Danvers, with a grim philosophical laugh, as he turned away, " I felt bound to warn fair ladies of their danger." " And, having done so, leave them to their fate — a generous knight !" rejoined Lady Flora, " well, then, we must e'en rely on our own resources. Captain Fitzyork give me your arm, and let us join Mrs. Besulte," and Flora looked like a paladin challenging a mediæval giant.