Tom Kirkton was the son of a thrifty and prudent Scottish clergyman, who had educated him for the Church, in the hope that he might be his assistant and successor; but the wild life led by Tom when at college, a natural impetuosity of temper, a genius for everything but application—rash adventures and excitements—with stories of nights spent in gambling and carousing, and rumours of various intrigues d'amour, led to his formal expulsion by the Reverend Principal, and ultimately drove him into the ranks of the Scots Greys.
Time and experience had somewhat tempered the reckless tenor of his ways, and, though his boisterous manner was rather startling at times, I could not but deem myself fortunate in having a companion so well educated as he.
The story of Charters was indeed a singular one.
Five miles north-east of Dumfries there stands a tall, square, and ancient fortress called the Castle of Amisfield, between the two head streams of the Lochar. For centuries this great tower had been the stronghold and residence of the Scoto-Norman family of Charters, of whom my comrade, the corporal, was the last representative.
In that tower he was born and reared, until he joined the army as an officer. At the age of eighteen he found himself a lieutenant in the 1st Dragoon Guards, and the inheritor of a splendid fortune, which he lavished in London with the reckless prodigality of a Timon. He was at that time on leave of absence, seeking a transfer into a light dragoon regiment.
When rambling one night near Hydepark Corner, he heard the cries of a lady whose carriage had been stopped by footpads. He hurried to her rescue, and narrowly escaped a pistol-shot; but, closing with the fellow who fired it, struck him down, on which his companions fled, leaving Charters in possession of the field of battle.
The rescued lady proved to be a foreigner of very attractive face and figure, with bright blue eyes, and a profusion of fair hair, amid which, as well as on her neck and arms, many diamonds were sparkling. She was richly dressed, and was returning, apparently, from a ball.
"You will permit me, madam, to escort you home?" said Charters, bowing, hat in hand.
She entreated that he would not give himself so much trouble.
"But, madam," urged Charters, "those fellows may return, and I cannot rest until I know that you are safe in your own residence."
"But which is your way, sir?"
"Your way is mine, madam—nay, I insist upon it." And with great gallantry he sprang up beside the servant on the footboard behind the carriage, and the lady, pleased, perhaps, to see that he was a handsome young man, made no further objection to his escort.
"Drive home," said she.
Pleased with the adventure, and considerably attracted by the personal charms of the lady, especially by her broken English, which had a child-like lisp in its sound, Charters slipped a handsome douceur into the hand of the footman as the carriage rumbled along, and asked the name of his lady; but the man proved to be a foreigner also, and replied in German, of which the questioner knew not a word.
"Good!" said Charters; "the mystery increases."
Indeed it grew greater still when the carriage, after traversing the Park by the bank of the Serpentine, drew up before the lighted portal of a large and handsome edifice of brick, having no less than three spacious quadrangles, ornamented with columns, quoins, and elaborate cornices of stone. Charters immediately recognised Kensington Palace. Save the porch—near which stood two sentinels of the Foot Guards in their boxes—and one or two windows, the whole façade of the building was enveloped in darkness, for the king was absent, having gone on what proved to be his last visit to Hanover.
Charters assisted the fair unknown to alight, and led her to the door of the palace, with an air of confidence so perfect, that anyone might have supposed the house to be his own. Then she perceived that he wore the Windsor uniform, at that time the usual dress of all officers when on leave or on half-pay. Attracted, no doubt, by his air, which, though gentle and soft to her, was proud, dashing, and careless, she paused upon the threshold to thank him for his ready courage and escort—then, after a little pretty hesitation, added, that she could not think of permitting him to retire without joining her at supper.
"I cannot but accept, madam," said he, kissing her right hand, from which she had coquettishly drawn the kid glove, as if, perhaps, to show its beauty.
"You have no fear?" she whispered, with a soft side-glance in her clear blue eye, as she took his proffered arm.
"None, madam; moreover, I am the foe of all restraint and prejudice."
"Then you should not have become a soldier."
"I can understand the restraints of the service, but I cannot abide the shallow and hackneyed usages of society."
It seemed to Charters that her little hand pressed his arm rather palpably at that moment, and she whispered—
"If seen here—if known—"
"By whom?" asked Charters, hastily. "You have no husband, I hope?"
"No—nor lover—none here at least," replied the lady, laughing, as she threw off her white silk capuchin or hood, and then Charters saw quite enough of fair ringlets, and a neck and shoulders of great beauty and wondrous delicacy, to remove any scruples or fears which had occurred to him. He was in for an adventure now, and felt himself compelled to go through with it. A retreat was not to be thought of.
"By what name am I to have the honour of addressing you?" asked Charters, in a half-whisper, as they sat down to supper, with the German valet in close attendance, and in a snug little room in that portion of the palace which had been built by the Lord Chancellor Finch. It was panelled and richly gilded, and from the walls one or two dark Holbeins looked grimly down upon their tête-à-tête. "Pray tell me, madam," he urged; "for I am dying of curiosity."
"Call me Sophia," said the lady, looking down for a moment, and then bending her bright eyes on him smilingly; "and you?" she inquired.
"I am Lieutenant Charters, of the 1st Dragoon Guards," replied the other. "Sophia?" he repeated, in a soft, low voice, as he mentally ran over all the names of the female members of the royal family, for he concluded that his new friend must be a princess at least. Thus some very wild ideas began to float through his busy brain; but at that moment he could remember no Sophia among all the ladies who were about the Court.
Amid all the rings that glittered on her hand—and a beautiful little hand it was—he could see no plain marriage hoop; so his mind felt considerably relieved on that score. The valet in attendance wore the royal livery; but an earl's coronet and the letter Y were on all the plate, and graven somewhat ostentatiously, too.
Though some years his senior, this lady, by the charm of her manner, her wit, and conversation, bewildered Charters so much, that in less than an hour he was desperately in love with her; but she seemed resolved to preserve her incognita, and they separated, with an arrangement, however, to meet next day in Hyde Park, at an early hour, and before it was thronged by promenaders.
In short, they met frequently there, and oftener still in the green alleys of old Kensington Gardens—I mean that portion of them which was laid out by Wise, the gardener of Queen Anne; and Charters' love for his unknown became a confirmed passion, so much so that he thought of visiting the Horse Guards and withdrawing his application for a transfer to a light dragoon regiment, as he now anticipated with dread a separation from his captivating Sophia.
As she expressed a wish to visit the opera one night, he begged permission to escort her there; and on their entrance all eyes were turned towards them. Her fine hair was dressed to perfection; her bright eyes sparkled; her soft cheek was flushed with pleasure, and the richness of her dress and the splendour of her diamonds so enhanced her fair and remarkable beauty, that Charters was enchanted and felt proud of her.
Yet he could not conceal from himself that she was the object of more than common—and more than well-bred—interest. The ladies whispered to each other behind their fans, and some of the gentlemen looked at Sophia so boldly and so laughingly, that Charters felt inclined to teach them a rough lesson, if he could but fix upon one or two in particular.
They had seats next the royal box, which was empty, as the king was still absent, though expected to arrive at St. James's next day.
The opera over, Charters escorted Sophia to her carriage, and proposed to accompany her home, for he was resolved to remain in a state of suspense no longer. If her rank was so great that she concealed her name from him, why accompany him to the opera, where she was certain of recognition? The mystery was now greater than ever!
On attempting to step into her carriage she said—
"You must not—you cannot come with me—to-night at least."
"Why?" he asked, with surprise.
"The king returns to-morrow from Hanover."
"The king!" repeated Charters, in a bewildered manner. "What has he to do with the love I bear you—the love you have made me so happy by accepting."
"Alas! I cannot tell you here; but we must meet no more," said she, sighing deeply.
The pressure of carriages compelled them to separate. Sophia sank back upon her cushioned seat, and covered her face with her handkerchief, as if she wept bitterly. The heart of Charters was filled with acute sorrow and vague alarm; but could he have seen her fair little face, he would have found it convulsed with—laughter!
"Hallo, Charters! so your fair one is gone?" said some one whose voice he recognised; and turning angrily, he found himself face to face with Frederick Shirley, a cornet of his own regiment. "A rare scrape you are in!" the cornet added, with a loud laugh.
"How so, sir?" asked Charters, sharply.
"What on earth tempted you to appear in an opera box with that woman?"
"That woman?" he repeated, fiercely; "what woman—who?"
"She who just left you in that absurd turn out—for it is absurd—horses, harness, and all," continued the unabashed Shirley; "coronets, plating, and panels."
"Who is she?" asked Charters, somewhat crestfallen.
"What—is it possible that you do not know?" queried Shirley, with an air of utter bewilderment.
"I know that she is adorable, and is called Sophia——"
"Sophia Amelia de Walmoden, Countess of Yarmouth, and bosom friend of his majesty the king!" added Shirley, with another burst of laughter, as he took the arm of Charters and led him away.
Charters was stupified!
He had been thus fooled by the mere mistress of this very unattractive king, some of whose "amorous sallies" in Hanover had excited her jealousy, and she was now anxious to revenge herself by exciting his in turn; for she was certain that the Defender of the Faith would hear of her appearance at the opera with a handsome young cavalry officer. So Charters trembled with rage at the thought of his own folly, and began to school himself—however difficult and unpalatable the task—to hate her as much as he had formerly loved her.
Shirley's laughter galled him to the soul at first; but afterwards, over their wine, he showed about a dozen of little pink and peagreen notes, which he had received from his faithless Walmoden, all signed "Sophia."
His appearance in public with the Countess of Yarmouth had given rise to much speculation and gossip in the vicinity of Kensington Palace, and St. James's too; and Shirley was unwise enough to boast frequently of having seen the notes in the possession of Charters; consequently, the latter soon found a secret influence at work against him at headquarters, and that there was little chance of obtaining either a transfer to another corps, or an extension of leave. This was unpleasant, as his funds were so much impaired by extravagance, that he could scarcely rejoin the Dragoon Guards.
While he was in this dilemma, Shirley called at his hotel one morning, and mentioned in confidence, that if he would give up Walmoden's letters, he would find, on looking at the Gazette, the position of his affairs materially altered.
Further information he stated himself to be unable, as yet, to afford; so poor Charters, though not of a temper to be threatened even by the king, was scared by the thought of his creditors, and gave up the letters of the Countess to Shirley.
Impatiently he waited for the next Gazette; but on opening it, how great was his astonishment and rage to find the following notice:—
"1st Dragoon Guards. Cornet Frederick Shirley to be Lieutenant, vice Charters, who resigns!"
For some time he could scarcely believe his eyesight. Then he called for his horse and rode to the Horse Guards; but neither the Commander-in-Chief nor the military secretary would receive him, and for weeks he remained a prey to despair and mortification. He sought in vain for the perfidious Shirley, who kept sedulously out of his way, and had now left London.
"My commission, the pride of my heart, was gone," said Charters with a sigh, as he concluded his story; "and by my own folly and extravagance, together with the active assistance of others, my fortune was nearly gone too. Friends disappeared as my purse emptied, and ere long I knew not what to do, or whither to turn me.
"As for Shirley, my lieutenancy availed him but little, as he was dismissed from the service soon after for declining to go out with a brother officer. Gradually he became a gambler, a blackleg—in fact, a common robber in London, and his fate was a fearful one; so in my heart, I now forgive him.
"Was he executed?" I inquired.
"Worse. His brother, Sir Jasper Shirley, being out of town, at his place in Hants, the household plate was lodged, as usual, at his banker's. It was valuable, for among it was a princely service he had received from the empress-queen when he was our Ambassador at Vienna; and when a sudden order came to the wary old butler, desiring him to get it all out, as Sir Jasper was returning to town, he showed the letter to my ci-devant friend, Fred Shirley, who said 'it was all right, as his brother would be in London to-morrow.'
"The butler, however, still had his secret fears; and after bringing home the plate, borrowed from a friend a bulldog—a surly and savage brute of great strength and ferocity, which he chained to the chest over night.
"Shortly before daybreak, a dreadful noise was heard in the apartment where the plate lay. Lights were procured—the butler and other servants hurried to the place, and found that a window had been forced by the usual implements of a housebreaker, who lay on the floor dead, but still warm, and in a pool of blood, for his throat and tongue were completely torn out by the fangs of the ferocious dog; and who think you he proved to be? Sir Jasper's younger brother—Frederick Shirley.
"So," added Charters, through his clenched teeth, "so perished he who betrayed me!
"Drinking, gambling, and reckless dissipation among the condottieri of London society, soon brought me like the prodigal of old to the husks and the swine trough; till one day, when my better angel triumphed over the evil spirit who had guided me so long, I conceived the idea of endeavouring to regain, by mere force of merit, the commission of which I had been so lawlessly deprived.
"Inspired by this resolution, so consistent with my warm and sanguine temperament, I enlisted in the Scots Greys; but my evil genius still follows me, for I have never got beyond the rank of corporal.
"I am not the man I once was, and may never rise higher. Perhaps I am too reckless, too much soured in temper, and too much of a misanthrope, to deserve a commission, or it may be that the secret vengeance of the king and his devil of a Walmoden, still pursues me even here. I cannot see my future, but, happily,
"'There is a Providence doth shape our ends,
Rough hew them how we will.'”