The Young Duchess; or, Memoirs of a Lady of Quality — page 294: what you’re looking at

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280 occasionally together; and the meetings which were at first accidental, were soon followed by in- terviews purposely arranged and brought about. Time passed; and I had been about two years in the workhouse, so that I was between fourteen and fifteen, when there was one day a fearful ex- plosion. Thomas Robinson, whom the master and matron, the schoolmaster and guardians, the chaplain and the surgeon all thought such a saint, or at least such a pattern of morality, was ac- cused of having led me into error. The charge was true enough: we were fond of each other— and contriving to obtain another interview, we resolved to escape from the workhouse. This we did; and as Robinson had received some occa- sional little dowcewrs from his admirers and patrons, he had about three pounds in his pocket. This money enabled us to purchase other clothes instead of our workhouse garbs, and to pay the first week’s rent of a very humble lodging. You may suppose how utterly inexperienced in the ways of the world we both were, when I tell you that we buoyed ourselves up with the hope that we might get a living,—Thomas by teaching, and I by my needle. But at the end of the week he had not a single pupil, nor I a stitch of work to do. Another week passed, and our hopes were sadly damped. A third—and utter destitution stared us in the face. We were starving; and our landlady threatened to turn us adrift into the street unless we liquidated the arrears of rent. I could not bear to see him weeping and pining on my account :—he on the other hand could not en- dure the thought of my cheeks turning pale through want.. We both went out at the same time,—he declaring to me that he would make one mere effort to obtain employment; and I affirming that I should do the same towards pro- curing needlework. Yet we seemed to mistrust each other, and our hands remained clasped, and our looks continued a Iong time mingled in mourn- fulness and in doubt ere we separated. But at length we tore ourselves, as it were, asunder, and went different ways. Two hours afterwards I re- turned with gold in my hand. I cannot describe the conflicting sensations which filled my soul: it seemed as if I were a prey to the excitement arising from a wild unnatural joy strangely and fearfully blending with the harrowing torture of a breaking heart. I reached the lodging: a con- stable had just called to know whether it was true that a certain Thomas Robinson lived there, or whether he had given a false address at the station-house? He had been caught in the act of endeavouring to steal a ring while asking to be shown some articles of jewellery at a gold- smith’s shop. And thus,” added Hester, abruptly, and at the same time her voice grew thick’ and husky as if it were struggling with the emotions that rose up into her very throat,—‘‘ and thus,” she said, “we both fell into the path of crime on the same night and within the same hour!” ‘* And what became of him?” asked Pon- chard. . Hester did not immediately answer the question : her countenance remained averted for nearly a mi- nute; but the Frenchman could tell by the quick heavings of her. bosom that she was a prey to feelings that were agitating her profoundly. Sud- denly she looked towards him egain: for an in- stant it seemed as if she ground her white teeth in . THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. a paroxysm of concentrated rage; and then she abruptly ejaculated, ‘‘ More wine!” Ponchard filled her a bumper, which she at once tossed off; then with a forced laugh, she exclaimed, ‘1 wish it was brandy !” “Would you like to go and get yourself some ” asked the Frenchman. ‘No, no—not now. I prefer being with you. ” ‘*‘T should think the people of the house would soon return ?” said Ponchard. ‘Why do you seem so anxious for them to come back?” demanded Hester sharply. ‘Oh, nothing particular. I told you just now that I had a word or two to say to them—and that’s all. Butcome,” continued Ponchard, “ you have not finished your narrative, Hester. What did they do to the unfortunate young fellow ?” ‘¢T did not know at the time whether the con- stables made a mistake, or whether they were tell- ing wilful stories,” resumed the young female, ‘¢ when on the following day, they coolly told the magistrate that they knew the prisoner well, that he was a notorious young thief, and had been Jurk- ing about the ‘neighbourhood after no good for some time past. Iwas in the court; I endea- voured to speak, but I could not: —the very rage which impelled me to give utterance to an indig- nant denial of those charges, also had the effect of choking my voice. - As for Thomas himself, he maintained a profound silence : he would not speak aword. He afterwards told me, when I visited him in Newgate, that he thought it better that as little as possible should be kriown in reference to our antecedents aud all ,.the circumstances con- nected with us ;—for who could tell how both or either of us might some day be recognised and claimed by parents, relatives, or friends? ‘Well, Thomas was committed for trial, and was sen- tenced to four months’ imprisonment in the City Compter, to be afterwards transferred for a term to the Parkhurst Reformatory in-the Isle of Wight. So the poor fellow was doomed to a felon’s gaol; and I—— “ And you, Hester?” asked Ponchard, speaking in a low and hesitating manner, as if ‘from mo- tives of delicacy he more than half feared to put the question. “And I? Oh! I,”. added the girl, now burst- ing out into an hysterical laugh, “I adopted the only course that was open tome. The young lad to the gaol—the young girl to the streets! What other end could the story have?” There was a deep silence for more than a mi- nute; and then Hester Sergeant cried, with a strange, wild, unnatural abruptness, ‘‘ What a fool I am to suffer myself to get so maudlin and sentimental! I have made you dull too! Come, let us drink.” Ponchard was about to ask her whether all the details of her story were really true, when on bending his eyes upon the girl, he saw that there was something in her looks which testified unmis- takably to the genuine veracity of all she had told him. So instead of putting the question he at first meditated, he simply asked, “‘ Have you ever since seen the unfortunate lad ?” “‘No—nor have I ventured to inquire after him,” she responded. ‘‘ Whatever he may be, it is utterly impossible that I could ever have the courage to carry my own polluted self into his presence. Perhaps he may still be in Parkhurst: COMO YN Wn) Colin