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Mass Spectrometry Based Metabolomics A Practical
Guide 1st Edition Sastia Prama Putri Digital Instant
Download
Author(s): Sastia Prama Putri, Eiichiro Fukusaki
ISBN(s): 9781482223767, 1482223767
Edition: 1
File Details: PDF, 8.53 MB
Year: 2014
Language: english
 Mass
Spectrometry-Based
Metabolomics
A Practical Guide
 Mass
Spectrometry-Based
Metabolomics
A Practical Guide

Edited by
Sastia Prama Putri
Eiichiro Fukusaki
CRC Press
Taylor & Francis Group
6000 Broken Sound Parkway NW, Suite 300
Boca Raton, FL 33487-2742

© 2015 by Taylor & Francis Group, LLC

CRC Press is an imprint of Taylor & Francis Group, an Informa business

No claim to original U.S. Government works

Version Date: 20140911

International Standard Book Number-13: 978-1-4822-2377-4 (eBook - PDF)

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 Dedication

This book is dedicated to

Aisha
 Contents
Preface.................................................................................... ix
About the Editors................................................................. xi
Contributors....................................................................... xiii

Chapter 1: Metabolomics in a Nutshell............................. 1

Sastia Prama Putri and Eiichiro Fukusaki

Chapter 2: Design of Metabolomics Experiment............ 9

Sastia Prama Putri, Fumio Matsuda, and Takeshi Bamba

Chapter 3: Sample Preparation........................................ 37

Yoshihiro Izumi, Walter A. Laviña, and Sastia Prama Putri

Chapter 4: Gas Chromatography/Mass

Spectrometry Analysis: Nontargeted
Metabolomics Based on Scan Mode Analysis.............. 103
Hiroshi Tsugawa and Arjen Lommen

Chapter 5: LC/QqQ/MS Analysis: Widely Targeted

Metabolomics on the Basis of Multiple Reaction
Monitoring...........................................................................137
Fumio Matsuda and Hiroshi Tsugawa

Chapter 6: Statistical Analysis........................................171

Hiroshi Tsugawa and Takeshi Bamba

Chapter 7: Case Studies....................................................217

Walter A. Laviña, Yusuke Fujieda, Udi Jumhawan, Sastia
Prama Putri, and Eiichiro Fukusaki
Index..................................................................................... 269

vii
 Preface
In the last decade of the 20th century, biological research has
seen a vast accumulation of genomic and transcriptomic infor-
mation that contributed greatly to the rapid advancement of
functional genomics, a field where dynamic aspects resulting
from the integration of genomic and transcriptomic knowledge
as opposed to the static aspects based on genome information
are deemed more substantial and essential. However, this
may not be sufficient for the complete elucidation of more com-
plicated quantitative phenotypes. Metabolites, resulting from
the interaction of the system’s genome with its environment,
are not merely the end product of gene expression but also
form part of the regulatory system of various biological pro-
cesses in an integrated manner. Hence, profiling of metabo-
lites is a promising tool for addressing this limitation.
Metabolomics, the global quantitative assessment of metab-
olites in a biological system, is considered the answer to the
problem of analyzing complicated quantitative phenotypes.
In addition, integration of metabolomics information into the
upstream “omics” such as genomics, transcriptomics, and pro-
teomics would be very important albeit more difficult than
expected. Metabolomics involves three different technical ele-
ments, namely biology, analytical chemistry, and informatics.
Several analytical methods have been utilized for metabolo-
mics and among them, mass spectrometry is one of the most
important techniques due to its high sensitivity and quanti-
tative capability. Mass spectrometry-based metabolomics can
be a very demanding technique for biologists without special
experience in quantitative mass spectrometry, thus the pur-
pose of this book is to explain the complicated know-how of
metabolomics. A number of case studies are also introduced
for easy understanding of the metabolomics workflow and its
practical applications in various research fields. Based on our
extensive experience in mass spectrometry-based metabolo-
mics, I decided to summarize our past achievements in the
establishment of robust and reproducible protocols from sample

ix
x Preface

preparation to data analysis. This book lays out the fundamen-

tal concepts and principles in metabolomics research (Chapter
1) and can act as a good practical guide to start metabolo-
mics research. The whole workflow is also extensively covered
in this book that includes experimental design (Chapter 2),
preparation of biological samples (Chapter 3), analysis using
various instruments (Chapter 4 and Chapter 5), and data pro-
cessing and data analysis (Chapter 6). In addition, case stud-
ies are illustrated in Chapter 7.
Finally, I would like to express my special gratitude to our
editors and publisher for providing us with the opportunity of
writing this book. I hope that this book will be useful for aca-
demicians and researchers of all disciplines in their metabo-
lomics pursuits.

Eiichiro Fukusaki
 About the Editors
Dr. Sastia Prama Putri is an assistant professor at
the Graduate School of Engineering, Osaka University.
She received her PhD from the International Center for
Biotechnology, Osaka University, in which she worked on the
discovery of novel bioactive compounds from natural products.
Her current research includes the application of metabolo-
mics technology for optimizing biofuel production. She is also
involved in food metabolomics studies focusing on food authen-
tication and quality evaluation. She is the current chair of the
Early Career Members Network (ECMN) of the Metabolomics
Society and a board member of the Metabolomics Society.

Professor Eiichiro Fukusaki is a full professor at the

Graduate School of Engineering, Osaka University. Previously,
he was a deputy chief researcher at Nitto Denko Corporation
before returning to an academic career. He has published more
than 200 journal articles, book chapters, and reviews. He also
holds 25 domestic and 10 international patents. His research
collaborators include over 30 academic institutions and major
companies from various fields, such as electrical, pharmaceu-
tical, and medical as well as the food industry. He received the
Japan “Saito” Award from the Society of Biotechnology Japan
in 2004.

xi
 Contributors
Dr. Takeshi Bamba Udi Jumhawan
Bioresource Engineering Bioresource Engineering
Laboratory Laboratory
Department of Advanced Department of Advanced
Science and Biotechnology Science and Biotechnology
Graduate School of Graduate School of
Engineering Engineering
Osaka University, Japan Osaka University, Japan

Dr. Yusuke Fujieda Dr. Walter A. Laviña

Asubio Pharma Co., Ltd. Bioresource Engineering
Kobe, Japan Laboratory
Department of Advanced
Prof. Eiichiro Fukusaki Science and Biotechnology
Bioresource Engineering Graduate School of
Laboratory Engineering
Department of Advanced Osaka University, Japan
Science and Biotechnology
Graduate School of Dr. Arjen Lommen
Engineering RIKILT Wageningen UR
Osaka University, Japan Wageningen, The Netherlands

Dr. Fumio Matsuda

Dr. Yoshihiro Izumi Metabolic Engineering
Bioresource Engineering Laboratory
Laboratory Department of Bioinformatics
Department of Advanced Engineering
Science and Biotechnology Graduate School of
Graduate School of Information Science and
Engineering Technology
Osaka University, Japan Osaka University, Japan

xiii
xiv Contributors

Dr. Sastia Prama Putri Dr. Hiroshi Tsugawa

Bioresource Engineering Metabolome Informatics
Laboratory Research Team
Department of Advanced Metabolomics Research
Science and Biotechnology Group
Graduate School of RIKEN Center for Sustainable
Engineering Resource Science
Osaka University, Japan Yokohama, Kanagawa, Japan
 1
Metabolomics
in a Nutshell

1
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 "Thus some weeks passed away. One evening I had solicited
permission to go out for a few minutes to take a letter to the post
for my father (for the servants would do nothing to oblige the junior
teachers), when one of the eldest boarders in the establishment (the
Honourable Miss Adeline Enfield) accosted me in the passage, and,
in a hasty whisper, said, 'Dear Miss Hutchinson, will you put this
letter in the post for me?'—'Certainly,' I replied.—'You need not say a
word about it, you know,' added Miss Enfield; and she glided away.—
I did not think very seriously of the matter, knowing that it was
against the rules of the establishment for the young ladies to write
to their friends or parents without allowing Mrs. Lambkin to inspect
their letters; and as I considered this to be a harsh regulation, I did
not hesitate to oblige Miss Enfield—especially as she had addressed
me in so kind a tone. I accordingly posted her letter, and thought no
more of the subject. But the next time I was going out, Miss Enfield
repeated her request, and again ran away ere I could reply. I noticed
that this letter was addressed to the same person as the former one
—namely, 'Captain Cholmondeley, Barracks, Knightsbridge;'—but
supposing that he might be a relative, I did not hesitate to post the
epistle.
"That same night, after I had retired to my garret, the door was
opened softly, and the Honourable Miss Enfield entered. She was in
her night clothes; and, placing her finger on her lip to enjoin
caution, she said, 'My dear Miss Hutchinson, you can do me such a
favour, if you will?' '—Certainly I will, if I can,' was my answer.—'Oh!
you can very easily,' continued the young lady, who, by-the-by, was
a sweet pretty girl, and very interesting: 'a letter will come
addressed to you, by the first post to-morrow morning.'—'Indeed!' I
said; 'and how do you know that?'—'Because, though the envelope
will be addressed to you, the letter inside will be for me,' she
answered, laughing.—'And what would Mrs. Lambkin say if she knew
it?' I asked.—'She cannot know it unless you tell her; and I am sure
you will not do that, dear Miss Hutchinson,' returned the Honourable
Miss Enfield.—'I will oblige you this time,' I said, after some
consideration; 'but pray do not let this take place again.'—Then she
kissed me so affectionately, I was really pleased to have made a
friend of her; for I was so forlorn and unhappy in my situation—
though I never let my father know how completely we had been
deceived in Mrs. Lambkin's disposition.
"On the following morning the letter came: and when I could find
an opportunity, I gave the contents (which was a small note carefully
sealed) to Miss Enfield. She thanked me with a sweet smile. Three or
four days afterwards, another letter came addressed to me, with
another enclosure for Miss Enfield. I was determined not to give it to
her during the day, because I could find no opportunity to speak to
her unobserved. Accordingly, as I anticipated, she came up to my
room in the evening, after we had all retired to rest. I then gave her
the note, but with a firm and decided assurance that I would not be
the intermediate of any further correspondence carried on in so
secret a manner. She cried very bitterly at my resolve, and by means
of some tale which it is not worth while to repeat, but which seemed
to me satisfactory at the time, induced me to convey a letter to the
post for her next day, and receive the answer in the usual manner. I
foolishly allowed myself to be over-persuaded, and fulfilled her
wishes in both respects. I must observe that her letter was
addressed to the same person as the two preceding ones.
"She was very grateful to me for my kindness, and treated me
with marked attention. Being the daughter of a noble house, her
conduct towards me produced a pleasant effect in respect to the
three senior teachers, who, seeing that Miss Enfield courted my
society, began to treat me more as their equal than they had
hitherto done. Mrs. Lambkin also grew less harsh towards me; and
my position acquired some degree of comfort.
"One evening, after I had retired to my garret, Miss Enfield paid
me another visit. She had another favour to ask me. 'The day after
to-morrow,' she said, 'I shall have leave to go out for a little
shopping. Will you accompany me?'—I replied that I should do so
with much pleasure.—'Very well,' she said; 'leave me to manage it. I
will ask Mrs. Lambkin to-morrow night, when she has been out of
the room three or four times——.'—'I do not understand why you
should choose that moment,' I said.—'Oh!' was the answer, 'when
she has had her third or fourth glass, she can refuse me nothing;
and she is sure to ask whom I will have of the teachers to
accompany me.'—'Her third or fourth glass!' I exclaimed.—'Yes, to be
sure,' returned Miss Enfield. 'What! I thought every one knew that
she drinks like a fish; although she does do it on the sly. Her
husband was a dreadful drunkard.'—'Indeed! I am sorry to hear
this,' I observed. 'Moreover, I thought that her husband was a most
respectable person.'—'Oh! I dare say Mrs. Lambkin has been telling
you that nonsense about her husband's death,' said Miss Enfield,
laughing. 'The truth is, he was coming home one night most terribly
the worse for liquor, when he became involved in a dispute with a
bad woman; and when the police interfered, he made a desperate
assault upon them, and was killed by an unlucky blow with one of
their bludgeons.'—'She told quite a different tale to my father,' I
observed.—'Yes, because your father is a clergyman, and may
recommend some boarders to her house,' returned Miss Enfield. 'Did
she not also seem mighty civil and polite before him?'—I confessed
that she did.—'And the moment his back was turned, did she not
turn also?'—This I likewise admitted.—'She cannot keep her temper
long, you see. But I must go now, for fear Miss Muddle should
awake, and happen to find out that I have left my bed. Good night,
dear Miss Hutchinson. The day after to-morrow we will go out
shopping together.'
"Then the Honourable Miss Enfield withdrew, leaving me greatly
astonished at what I had heard. I lay awake the greater part of the
night, reflecting on all that she had told me; and when I thought of
this young lady's rank, youth, beauty, and brilliant prospects, I felt
sad at the idea that the purity of her soul had been in the least
degree interfered with by tales of drunken men, bad women, and
police-riots, as well as by the example of an intemperate school-
mistress. Miss Enfield's communication had shed a new light upon
my mind. The term 'bad woman' set me thinking what it could
mean; and at last I comprehended its signification. Oh! how I
shuddered when that first consciousness of the real extent to which
female frailty can reach, grew more and more defined in my
imagination, until I understood its deep shade of guilt. The first step
towards teaching the youthful mind to become infidel, is to suffer it
to know that there live men, in Christian countries, who deny the
truth of revealed religion:—the first step towards inducing a young
girl to harbour impure thoughts, is to show her that female depravity
has, in its worst sense, an indubitable existence!
"The Honourable Miss Enfield was as good as her word. She
obtained permission to go out shopping, and also for me to
accompany her. It was three o'clock, on a beautiful spring afternoon,
when Miss Enfield and myself sallied forth together. 'The best shops
lie in this direction,' I observed, pointing towards the left.—'Oh! no,
my dear Miss Hutchinson,' she said, with a merry laugh: 'the spot
that will suit me is in this direction;'—and she took the road to
London. I made no objection; my duty was to accompany her for the
sake of appearances—not precisely to take care of her, because,
although eight months younger than I, she was as tall and as
matured in form as myself. Indeed she was very precocious, but, as
I have before said, very pretty.
"We passed by several linen-drapers' shops; but the Honourable
Miss Enfield entered none of them. At length we reached Hyde Park.
'Do let us take a walk here, my dear Miss Hutchinson,' she
exclaimed: 'see how beautiful the trees already seem; and what a
freshness there is in the air!'—I assented; and we entered the Park.
Presently Miss Enfield burst out into a joyous laugh. I inquired the
reason; but she only looked archly at me, and renewed her
merriment. Scarcely had I time to question her a second time
concerning her joyousness, when she pressed my arm significantly;
and I beheld two tall, fine-looking military men approaching. I cast
my eyes downwards, for I perceived that they were looking
attentively at us; but in a few moments I heard one of the officers
exclaim, 'It is my dearest Adeline! I felt convinced that she would
not disappoint me.'—'Not for worlds, Cholmondeley,' she replied;—
and, in another moment, she had left me and was hanging on the
officer's arm.—'Now, Dunstable, you do the amiable with Miss
Hutchinson,' said Captain Cholmondeley to his companion; and
before I could recover from the stupefaction into which these
proceedings threw me, I found myself arm-in-arm with a handsome
young officer, whom I soon afterwards ascertained to be Lord
Dunstable.
"For some time I walked on in profound silence, conscious that I
was doing wrong, but unable to muster up the courage sufficient to
withdraw from the false position in which Miss Enfield's intrigue had
placed me. At length the gentle tones of a kind but manly voice
penetrated through the chaos of ideas which agitated in my brain.
'Wherefore so silent, Miss Hutchinson?' said the young officer: 'does
my boldness in constituting myself your companion offend you? If
so, I will instantly release you from the unpleasant contact of my
society.'—I made no answer, but burst into tears.—'By heaven! you
are a sweet girl,' he continued; 'and I feel that I can love you
sincerely. But dry those lovely eyes: there are persons about who
may observe us.'—He was right: I wiped away the tears; and, after
hazarding a few brief replies to his remarks, I insensibly fell into
conversation with him. By degrees I lost the restraint and
embarrassment which had at first possessed me; and ere I had been
half an hour in his society, I laughed heartily at his lively sallies and
sprightly observations. In the mean time Adeline was walking at a
considerable distance in front, with the Honourable Captain
Cholmondeley.
"Nearly two hours passed away in this manner; and then I insisted
upon returning to Belvidere House. We accordingly overtook Miss
Enfield and the Captain; and I signified my desire, observing that
Mrs Lambkin would be angry did we remain absent much longer. 'We
will not part with you, ladies,' said the Captain, 'unless you promise
to lighten our darkness again with your presence ere we are all a
week older.'—'This day week we could manage it again,' immediately
observed Miss Enfield.—I murmured an objection.—'If you do not
come, my dearest Miss Hutchinson,' whispered Lord Dunstable to
me, 'I shall either hang or drown myself.'—I smiled; and Adeline,
who was watching my countenance, cried, 'Oh! Lydia is such a dear
good-natured creature, and we are such friends, I am sure she will
not refuse.'—Again I smiled; and this was taken for an assent on my
part. Then the two gentlemen looked round, and, perceiving no
strangers near at the present, they bade us farewell in a most
tender manner:—I mean that Captain Cholmondeley pressed Adeline
in his arms, while Lord Dunstable literally glued his lips to mine. And
I——Oh! my resistance was but feeble!
"Miss Enfield and myself then retraced our steps towards Belvidere
House; but to save appearances, she purchased some articles at the
first linen-draper's shop that we came to. 'Ah! Miss Adeline,' I said,
as we proceeded homewards, 'what have we both been
doing?'—'Enjoying ourselves very much, dear Lydia,' answered the
young lady, laughing heartily. 'I am sure you ought not to complain,
for you have made the conquest of a lord, handsome, and
wealthy.'—'But what will he think of me?' I exclaimed.—'That you are
a very pretty, amiable, delightful girl,' rejoined the Honourable Miss
Enfield.—'And all this was planned on your part, Miss Adeline?' I
said.—'Call me Adeline in future,' answered Miss Enfield; 'for now
you and I are sworn friends. Yes; the whole matter was pre-
arranged so far as my meeting with Cholmondeley was concerned;
and as I told him in my last note that you would accompany me, he
was too gallant not to engage a friend to take charge of you while
he and I were conversing together.'—'Are you going to be, married
to Captain Cholmondeley?' I inquired.—'He has promised to demand
my hand of my parents the moment I leave school,' replied Adeline:
then after a pause, she added, 'And if you play your cards well, you
may become Lady Dunstable.'—This assurance electrified me: it filled
me with new hopes, new visions, new aspirations. In a few moments
I saw myself (in imagination) the wife of a Lord, my father a Bishop,
through my husband's influence, and my brother a rich gentleman to
whose addresses no heiress would turn a deaf ear!
"I could not sleep all that night! I considered my fortune already
assured; and I declare most solemnly that I felt more delight, in the
visions of prosperity and bliss which I conjured up, on account of my
father and brother, than for the sake of myself. The week passed
away: I did not oppose Miss Enfield's intimation to me that we
should keep our appointment with the two officers; and, permission
having been obtained as before, we sallied forth. Hyde Park was
soon gained; and we were not kept waiting a moment by our beaux
—for they were already at the place of meeting. They received us
with evident delight; and as Lord Dunstable pressed my hand
tenderly, my eyes met his—a deep blush suffused my countenance—
and I felt that I already loved him.
"Adeline walked apart with the Captain: and I remained with Lord
Dunstable. He spoke to me more freely, but not less respectfully,
than on the former occasion. He assured me that he had thought of
nothing, since we last met, save the prospect of seeing me again;
and he forced from me an avowal that I too had not altogether
forgotten him! We had been thus together for half an hour, when it
began to rain. The Honourable Captain Cholmondeley and Adeline
then turned and joined us. 'This rain is a great nuisance,' said the
Captain: 'it is impossible to keep the ladies out in it; and it is equally
impossible to part with them so soon.'—'What is to be done?' asked
Lord Dunstable.—'My private residence is close by,' said the Captain;
'and if the ladies would take shelter there, until the rain is over, they
shall be treated with as much respect as if they were at
home.'—'Well, on that condition,' exclaimed Miss Enfield, 'we will
assent.'—I was about to offer some remonstrance, when Lord
Dunstable whispered a few tender words in my ear; and the
objection died upon my lips.
"The Honourable Captain Cholmondeley's private dwelling was in
the immediate vicinity of Sloane Street; and thither we repaired. A
servant in livery opened the door: we were conducted into an
elegantly furnished dining-room, and a cold collation was speedily
served up. Champagne was poured out; and, not aware of its
strength, I drank two glasses without much hesitation. The Captain
told the servant to leave the room; and I remember that we
laughed, and chatted, and ate, and drank as happily as if Adeline
and myself were in no way tied to time. But presently my senses
became obscured; my head swam round; and I was ready to fall
from my seat. I have a faint idea of beholding Adeline sitting on the
Captain's knee; and then I recollected no more, until I awoke in the
morning!
"But, my God! to what did I awake? Oh! even now I shudder as I
recall to mind my sentiments on that occasion! I was in bed—in a
strange bed; and by my side was Lord Dunstable. Then I
comprehended that my dishonour had been effected! I uttered a
scream—a wild, terrific, appalling scream! Lord Dunstable caught me
in his arms, and said all he could to soothe me. He pleaded the
extent of his love, called heaven to witness that he looked upon me
as his wife, and swore by all he held sacred to make me so in the
eyes of the law as soon as he could complete certain arrangements
necessary to such a change in his condition. He spoke with so much
apparent sincerity, used so many arguments to convince me of his
love, and expatiated so eloquently upon the happiness which we
should enjoy when united, that my grief was absorbed in a wild
delirium of bliss!
"Then came the sudden thought, 'What was to become of me in
the meantime?'—'You can return to Belvidere House,' answered Lord
Dunstable: 'Miss Enfield will make it all right for you.'—'Return to
Belvidere House!' I exclaimed: 'impossible!'—'Nay, it is very possible,'
rejoined my lover: 'Adeline, who is an uncommonly sharp girl,
arranged it all last evening before she left. She said that she should
let herself into Belvidere House by the back way, and that she should
proceed straight into the parlour, where she should assure Mrs.
Lambkin that you, Lydia, had come home with such a dreadful
headach, you were obliged to go straight up to bed.'—'That excuse
will do for last night,' I said, wringing my hands in despair: 'but this
morning?'—'All is arranged equally well,' answered my noble lover. 'It
is only now six o'clock: you are to be in the neighbourhood of the
school by half-past seven; Adeline will steal out and join you: then
you can both walk boldly up to the door, enter, and say that you
have been out together for a little stroll, in accordance with a
permission to that effect which Adeline declared she would obtain
from Mrs. Lambkin last night, when that respectable lady was in her
cups.'—These stratagems produced a great relief to my mind,
because I saw that they were entirely practicable. But, even in that
moment of my agitated soul, I could not help reflecting upon the
deep artifice which lurked in the bosom of so young a creature as
the Honourable Miss Enfield.
"I rose and hastily dressed myself. Then I took leave of Lord
Dunstable. He renewed all his protestations of sincerity, unalterable
love, and honourable intentions; and we arranged a plan of
correspondence and future meetings. I stole from the house,
unperceived by any of the inmates, and proceeded at a rapid pace
towards the school. But how changed was my soul—how altered
were all my thoughts! I fancied that every one whom I met, read the
history of my shame in my countenance! Then I consoled myself
with Lord Dunstable's assurance that I was his wife in the sight of
heaven, and soon should receive that hallowed name in the eyes of
man.
"At a short distance from the school, I met Miss Enfield. I cast
down my eyes, and blushed deeply. She laughed merrily. 'Oh!
Adeline,' I exclaimed, 'to what has all this intriguing brought
me?'—'My dear Lydia,' she returned, 'our positions in that respect
are equal; and, as our lovers will keep their words and marry us,
where is the harm?'—I stared at the young lady with the most
profound astonishment. How were our positions equal in reference
to our lovers? She speedily cleared up my doubts. 'If you continue to
blush and turn pale alternately, twenty times in a minute, as you are
now doing,' she said, 'we shall both be suspected. We must exercise
the greatest caution; for if it were discovered that we surrendered
ourselves to our lovers——.'—'We!' I repeated, contemplating her
with increasing astonishment.—'My dear Lydia,' she continued, 'do
you suppose that I was more virtuous than you, or the captain less
tender than the nobleman? I certainly would not have accepted the
invitation to visit Cholmondeley's private abode, if I had foreseen the
consequences. But what is done cannot be undone; and we must
make the best of it.'—I offered no reply: I saw that we were both
completely at the mercy of those who had taken advantage of us,—
that our positions were indeed equal in this one respect; and I
fervently hoped that we might not live to rue the adventures of the
last twelve hours!
"The Honourable Miss Enfield had so well arranged matters, that
we entered the house without having excited the least suspicion of
my absence throughout the night. And now commenced a new
species of existence for me. My whole life suddenly appeared to be
wrapped up in the promise which Lord Dunstable had given me to
make me his wife. We corresponded often; and his letters to me
invariably contained a note from the Honourable Captain
Cholmondeley to Miss Enfield. A fortnight after the meeting which
was so fatal to my honour, Adeline obtained permission for us to go
out again; and we proceeded to Hyde Park, where our lovers joined
us. An invitation to the Captain's private residence was again given;
the weather was, however, fine—we could walk in the Park—and I
positively refused. But Adeline and Cholmondeley disappeared for
more than an hour! Dunstable was as kind and tender to me as I
could wish: still he did not volunteer a single observation concerning
our marriage; and, when I gently alluded to it, he declared that he
was hastening his arrangements. Then he changed the conversation.
At length the Captain and Adeline returned; and we parted with our
lovers, promising to meet them again in a fortnight.
"The two weeks passed away: we met again; and on this occasion
the invitation to Cholmondeley's house was renewed—insisted upon
—and, alas! accepted. I will not dwell upon this portion of my
narrative. Suffice it to say that Cholmondeley's residence was
converted into the scene of unlawful pleasure and voluptuousness,—
that Adeline with her lover in one room, and myself with Dunstable
in another, entered upon a career of wantonness, which grew more
insatiable as it progressed!
"Seven months had passed since the first meeting in Hyde Park;
and Lord Dunstable never spoke of marriage—never started the
subject of his own accord. I often questioned him on the point; and
he invariably replied that his arrangements were not yet complete.
At length the dream of hope and pleasure in which Adeline and
myself had existed for half-a-year, was suddenly dissolved. Hastily-
written letters were one morning received by us from our lovers,
stating that they were about to proceed on a continental tour; that
they had not leisure to meet us for the sake of taking leave; but
that, on their return at the expiration of a few months, they should
be delighted to renew the intimacy. Not a word of marriage in either
letter!
"That night, at eleven o'clock, Adeline came to my garret. I was
reduced to despair; and could offer her no consolation, although she
needed it even more—oh! far more than I. The moment she found
herself alone with me, she gave way to a paroxysm of grief—a
convulsion of anguish, which alarmed me. I implored her to restrain
her emotions, or we should be overheard. She sank upon my bed;
and I soon perceived that she was enduring great bodily pain in
addition to deep mental affliction. An idea of the terrible truth
flashed through my brain: she was in the agony of premature
labour!
"I had not even suspected her condition until that moment. I was
bewildered—I knew not what to do. At length I thought it advisable,
at all hazards, to alarm the house, and procure medical attendance.
But as I was rushing towards the door for that purpose, Adeline
caught me by the hand; and, turning towards me her countenance—
her ghastly pale countenance, with an expression of indescribable
anguish and alarm, she said, 'For God's sake, remain with me! If
another be made acquainted with my shame, I will not survive this
disgrace.' I locked the door cautiously, and returned to the bed-side.
And there—in a miserable garret, and in the depth of a cold winter's
night,—with a nipping frost upon the window, and the bright moon
high in the heavens,—there, attended only by myself, did the
delicately-nurtured Adeline Enfield give birth to a male child. But the
little infant's eyes never opened even for a moment upon this world:
it was born dead!
"An hour afterwards Adeline dragged herself back to the room in
which she slept. That was a fearful night for us both: it was for me—
it must have been for her! I never closed my eyes: this terrible event
weighed upon my soul like a crime. I felt as if I had been the
accomplice in some awful deed of darkness. The cold and placid
moon seemed to reproach me—as if its bright orb were heaven's
own all-seeing eye!
"I could not endure that calm—unvarying—steadfast light, which
appeared to be a glance immoveably fixed upon me. It drove me
mad—it pierced my brain. That cloudless moon seemed to shine on
none of earth's denizens, save myself. Methought that from its
empyrean height it surveyed every nook, every crevice of my lonely
garret; and at length so icy became its gaze, that I shuddered from
head to foot—my teeth chattered—my limbs grew rigid. There was a
deep conviction in my soul that the eye of God was upon me!
"I knelt down at last, and tried to pray. I called upon heaven—I
called upon my father—I called upon my brother, to pardon me!
Then once more I turned my eyes towards the moon; and its
reproachful, chilling glance seemed to penetrate to the depths of my
secret soul,—singling me, me out for its maddening scrutiny,—
marking me alone, of all the human race, for its calm, but bitter
contemplation.
"At length the orb of night was no longer visible from my window,
although its silver flood still inundated the dwellings and the country
of which my garret commanded a view. Then I grew more tranquil:
—but I could not sleep!
"Never was morning more welcome to the guilty imagination
haunted by the fearful apparitions of the night, than it was to me. I
composed myself as well as I could; but when I surveyed my
countenance in the glass, I was dismayed by its awful pallor—its
haggardness—its care-worn look. I did not dare plead illness, as an
excuse for keeping my chamber; because I was too anxious to
ascertain what course Miss Enfield would pursue to escape those
inquiries that her appearance, I felt convinced, must elicit. Besides,
there was something in my box which—but of that no matter at
present.
"I accordingly descended to the breakfast-room. The moment I
entered, I cast a hurried glance around, and beheld Adeline seated
in her usual place, chatting gaily with Miss Muddle, the senior
teacher. We exchanged rapid and significant looks; and I moved in
silence to my own chair. But I fully comprehended the indescribable
efforts which Adeline was forced to make in order to prevent herself
from sinking with exhaustion. Others noticed her extreme pallor, and
spoke of the slight indisposition which she declared she experienced:
but I saw how ill—how very ill, weak, and languid she really was.
And I was pale and suffering too; and no one inquired what ailed
me. This result of indifference on the part of all save Adeline,—and
of prudence on her side,—was actually a great source of comfort to
me; for had I been questioned, I know not how I should have
replied. My confusion was extreme as it was; and yet I had much
less to tremble for than Adeline.
"The breakfast was over; and we all repaired to the school-room.
As we were proceeding thither, Miss Enfield drew me aside for a
moment, and said in a hurried whisper, 'For heaven's sake, keep my
secret, dearest Lydia: the honour of a noble family depends upon
your prudence!'—I pressed her hand in acquiescence.—'I will ever be
your friend, dearest Lydia,' she repeated.—Then we separated to
take our respective places in the school.
"The usual routine was progressing in its monotonous and
wearisome manner, when Jessica, the upper servant-maid, suddenly
burst into the room, and, addressing Mrs. Lambkin, said, 'Ma'am,
there's three silver tea-spoons missing; and as we've been
quarrelling about it down stairs, I beg that all our boxes may be
searched. Of course I don't mean the young ladies; or yet the senior
teachers, ma'am.'—The loss of three silver spoons was sufficient to
rouse Mrs. Lambkin's ire; and she vowed that Jessica's suggestion
should be immediately acted upon. The boxes must be searched. I
felt as if struck by a thunderbolt.
"Mrs. Lambkin summoned Miss Rhodes, Miss Jessop, and myself
to accompany her. Then Adeline rose, and exclaimed, 'Surely, Mrs.
Lambkin, you will not subject these three young ladies to the
indignity of examining their trunks?'—'Yes, but I will though,' cried
Mrs. Lambkin, her anger getting the better of her respect for the
scion of aristocracy.—Adeline sank back in her seat: and never—
never shall I forget the imploring, despairing, heart-rending glance
which she darted upon me, as I followed the school-mistress from
the room.
 "The servants' boxes were all searched, one after the other; and
no spoons were discovered. Then Miss Rhodes was subjected to the
same degradation. When the scrutiny in respect to her trunk was
concluded,—and, of course, without any success in respect to the
lost articles,—she said, 'Madam, I beg to give you one month's
warning that I intend to leave your establishment.'—'Oh! very well:
just as you like,' returned Mrs. Lambkin.—Miss Jessop's room then
passed through the ordeal. No spoons. 'Madam,' said Miss Jessop, 'I
beg to give you one month's notice, according to the terms of our
agreement. I know that my parents will not blame me, after this
insult.'—'Very well, miss,' cried Mrs. Lambkin; 'you'll repent of
leaving a good situation before you're six months older.' Then,
turning towards me, she said, 'This won't prevent me from searching
your boxes, miss; and I shall not die of grief if you give me notice
also.'—'Such is not my intention, madam,' I replied, hoping that my
submissiveness would plead in my favour, and prevent her from
visiting my room.—'No; I should think not,' she retorted; and she
walked straight away to the garret which I occupied.
"Miss Rhodes and Miss Jessop had gone down stairs; Jessica, Mrs.
Lambkin, and myself were alone together. During the few minutes
that intervened between the search in my small boxes and the visit
to my large trunk, I revolved in my mind the only alternatives which
a certain discovery that I now saw to be inevitable, would leave me:
namely, to shield Miss Enfield by accusing myself; or to save myself
by exposing her. Then I thought whether I really should save my
own honour by this latter course; for, although my frailty had led to
none such consequences as those which were connected with
Adeline, nevertheless she might proclaim me to have been the
paramour of Lord Dunstable. Moreover, I remembered her appealing,
despairing look;—I called to mind all the promises of friendship and
assistance which she had made me; I knew that she belonged to a
noble, wealthy, and influential family; and I had such confidence in
the generosity and grateful nature of her disposition, that I felt fully
persuaded she would never abandon me.
"But, oh! I did not thus reason so calmly nor so deliberately as I
am now speaking. My brain was a whirlwind—my soul was a chaos;
and it was only with considerable mental effort, that I could separate
and classify my ideas in the slightest degree. And now the school-
mistress approached my trunk: she raised the lid—I leant against the
wall for support. My clothes were tumbled out on the floor: at the
bottom of the box was a small bundle, wrapped round with linen
articles. The school-mistress drew it forth—a terrific scream escaped
my lips—the corpse of the infant rolled upon the floor!
"Jessica gave vent to an exclamation of horror and alarm, and was
rushing towards the door, when Mrs. Lambkin, recovering from the
sudden shock which this spectacle had occasioned, held her back,
saying, 'In the name of God be cautious; or my establishment will be
ruined!' Then turning towards me, her lips quivering and white with
rage, she said, in a low hollow tone, 'No wonder you are so pale and
ill this morning! But must I look upon you as the murderess
——.'—'Oh! no, no, madam,' I exclaimed, falling on my knees, and
joining my hands together; 'that child was born dead. Listen to me,
and I will tell you all; I will confess every thing!'—'There appears to
be but little now to confess,' returned Mrs. Lambkin; 'and I have no
time for idle conversation. The honour of my institution is seriously
compromised: I will pay you the amount due to you, and you can
leave my service this minute. It will be your fault if the real cause
ever transpires.'—'Ah! madam,' I exclaimed, 'shall I not then be
looked upon as the thief who stole your spoons?'—'No,' answered
the school-mistress. 'I will declare in the presence of the entire
establishment that my search has proved ineffectual in all quarters;
and I will even allow you the merit of having left of your own accord,
for the same reason which prompted Miss Rhodes and Miss Jessop
to give me notice.' Mrs. Lambkin then turned towards Jessica, to
whom she enjoined the strictest secrecy concerning the discovery of
the dead child.
"At one moment, when on my knees before Mrs. Lambkin, I was
about to confess the whole truth: but, now perceiving the turn which
matters had taken, and that she herself was most solicitous to hush
up the affair for the credit of her establishment, I saw that no
exposure awaited me, and that I might save Adeline from disgrace
and ruin without farther compromising myself. I accordingly
intimated my readiness to leave on condition that the real motive
should never transpire. Then I thrust my things back again into the
trunk: but the corpse of the child, wrapped in linen, I left lying on
the floor. 'Put every thing into the trunk—that, and all!' said Mrs.
Lambkin.—'Not for worlds, madam,' I exclaimed, 'would I remove my
effects elsewhere, with that amongst them!'—"Wretch!' she cried,
'would you have me dispose of your bastard's corpse for you?'—This
insulting question brought the blood into my cheeks. Oh! it was too
much to be thus reviled for a disgrace which did not really belong to
me. Mrs. Lambkin saw how I was agitated, and, dreading a scene,
she said in a low tone, 'You can remain here till to-morrow, Miss
Hutchinson. If you choose to walk out this evening, when it is dark,
you have my permission. But, in the meantime, you will have the
kindness to keep your box carefully locked.'—I understood the hint,
and bowed acquiescence.
"We descended to the school-room once more. The moment I
entered I darted a glance towards Adeline which convinced her that
she was saved. The one she gave in return was replete with
gratitude. Oh! how much had I sacrificed, and how deeply had I
suffered for her!
"The day passed slowly away. Fortunately the missing spoons
were found in the evening: they had merely been mislaid by the
cook or scullery-girl. I retired to my chamber at an earlier hour than
usual: the presence of the school-mistress was irksome to me in the
room below. In a short time Adeline came to me. She had stolen
away to have an opportunity of conversing with me. Then I narrated
to her all that had occurred in the morning. She threw herself upon
my neck, and thanked me with tears in her eyes for having saved
her from the depths of disgrace. She called me her 'sister'—her
'friend'—her 'dearest, dearest friend;' and vowed she would never
forget the immense service which I had rendered her. Then I felt
glad that I had acted as I had done. She even offered to go out,
when the other inmates of the house had retired to rest, and dispose
of the corpse of the child—her own child; but I knew that it would
be death to one in her condition to venture abroad in the night-air. I
accordingly undertook to perform that task also. We next conversed
on my own prospects. I was averse to return home: I dreaded the
numerous questions which my father and brother were certain to put
to me. Adeline, who was an uncommonly worldly-minded girl for her
age, instantly suggested that I should take a respectable lodging in
London, and she would undertake to procure for me a situation as a
nursery-governess. The Christmas holidays were at hand: she would
be returning in the course of ten days to her parents' house in
Belgrave Square; and she assured me that she should then have an
opportunity of exercising her influence in my favour. To these
proposals I assented; and she withdrew.
"When the house was quiet, I put on my bonnet and cloak,
concealing beneath the latter the corpse of Miss Enfield's child. I
then slipped out by the back way, and striking into the bye-lanes
leading towards Brompton, at length reached a pond, into which a
muddy ditch emptied itself. The moon was bright, and thus enabled
me to discover a spot fitted for my purpose. I placed two or three
large stones in the bundle containing the body of the child: then I
threw the whole into the pond. The dark water splashed and
gurgled; and in a few moments all was still once more.
"I now breathed more easily; but it was not without some
difficulty that I found my way back to Belvidere House.
"On the following morning I took my leave of the inmates of that
establishment. I received the money that was due to me; and I
requested Mrs. Lambkin to allow me to leave my boxes until I should
send for them in the evening. To this she assented; and I repaired
by the omnibus to London. Miss Enfield had given me the necessary
advice to guide me in searching for a lodging; and I engaged a room
in the house of a respectable widow in Bury Street, St. James's. Her
husband had been an upper servant in the family of Lord and Lady
Rossville (Miss Enfield's parents); and, by using Adeline's name, I
was immediately received with civility by the widow.
"I sent a porter for my boxes; and then my first care was to write
a letter to my father. This I found to be no easy task. I recoiled from
the idea of sending a tissue of falsehoods to that dear, confiding
parent. Nevertheless, the duty was imperative. I accordingly
concocted a letter, in which I informed him 'that having been
grievously insulted by Mrs. Lambkin, I had left her service; but that I
had met with a sincere friend in the Honourable Miss Adeline Enfield,
one of the young ladies of the establishment, who had taken a great
interest in me, and had not only promised to procure me a situation
as a nursery-governess in a wealthy family, but had also
recommended me, in the interval, to the care of a most respectable
widow.' By return of post I received my father's answer. He regretted
my precipitation in leaving Mrs. Lambkin until I had written to
consult him; but admitted that the provocation in searching my
boxes was grave. He expressed his entire confidence in my
discretion, and declared his delight at the friendship I had formed
with Miss Enfield. But he charged me to return home the moment I
experienced the least difficulty in obtaining another situation. He
concluded by stating that either he or Edgar would have repaired to
London to see me; but that the expense was an almost insuperable
barrier to such a step, their limited means being considered.
"Ten days elapsed; and then I knew that Miss Enfield must have
returned home for the Christmas holidays. I accordingly expected an
early visit from her. Nor was I mistaken. A magnificent equipage one
afternoon drove up to the door; and Adeline stepped out. In a few
moments she was seated in my little room. 'You see that I have not
forgotten you, dear Lydia,' she exclaimed. 'I have told my mother,
Lady Rossville, such a fine story about you,—how good and kind you
always were to me, and how Mrs. Lambkin persecuted you without
any reason,—that she has permitted me to visit you; and, more than
that, she has recommended you to Lady Penfeather as a nursery-
governess. There is Lady Penfeather's address; and you may call on
her to-morrow afternoon. I have already said so much to her
ladyship concerning you, and assured her of the respectability of
yourself and family with such effect, that you will be received
immediately.'—I cordially thanked Adeline for this goodness on her
part; and she insisted so earnestly upon pressing on me a sum of
money to enable me to improve my wardrobe, that I could not
refuse her offer. She then embraced me, and took her leave.
"I will not dwell tediously on this portion of my narrative. On the
following day I called upon Lady Penfeather, and was received very
graciously. After some conversation, she engaged me at a salary of
twenty guineas a-year; and I was to remove to her house
immediately. She was an easy, affable, good-natured person—about
thirty-six years of age, and not very handsome. Her husband, Sir
Wentworth Penfeather, was three or four years older than herself,
and was a fine, tall, good-looking man. They had three children,
whose ages were between six and ten: the two eldest were girls,
and the youngest a boy. These were to be my pupils. I hastened
back to my lodging, and wrote a letter to my father informing him of
my good luck. Then I settled with my kind landlady, and removed to
Sir Wentworth Penfeather's residence in Cavendish Square.
"I was very well treated in this family. The servants were all civil
and attentive to me; and the children were as ready to learn as
children of such an age could possibly be. Sir Wentworth was very
frequently in the apartment where I sate with them; and he was
particularly kind in his manners toward me. He even laughed and
joked, and conversed with me in a very friendly way. But in the
presence of his wife, he was reserved, and never addressed a word
to me. At length his attentions, when unperceived by Lady
Penfeather, grew daily more significant; and he paid me many
compliments on my beauty. I discouraged his familiarity as much as
possible; but he soon grew more bold, and one day declared in plain
terms that he adored me. I rose and left the room.
"Three months had now passed; and I had never seen Adeline
since she called upon me at my lodging. I knew that she was not to
return to Mrs. Lambkin's establishment, her education being
completed (completed indeed!); and I felt hurt that she had not
found a leisure moment either to call or write to me. I accordingly
wrote a note requesting to see her. I was anxious to obtain another
situation, and thus escape from Sir Wentworth Penfeather's
importunities. On the following day Adeline called, and desired to
see me alone. I was struck by her cold and distant manner. 'Miss
Hutchinson,' she said, 'you must not be astonished at my conduct in
not visiting you. You did me a great service: I have returned the
obligation by procuring you a good situation. There are now no
debts on either side. Our ways lie so totally different in the world,
that were I to maintain an intimacy with you, my behaviour would
be subject to the most annoying comments. We have both of us a
deep interest in keeping each other's secrets. Were you, in a
moment of anger against me, to state that it was my child that was
discovered in your trunk, who would believe you? whereas, if you
proclaim our respective amours with Captain Cholmondeley and Lord
Dunstable, you publish your own shame at the time you denounce
me. I am sorry to be compelled to speak thus to you; but I should
have thought that your own good sense would have taught you the
immeasurable distance which lies between you and me. Henceforth
we are mere acquaintances, and nothing more.'
"With these words the honourable Adeline Enfield sailed out of the
room, leaving me lost in astonishment—absolutely bewildered—at
her behaviour. Then I felt for the first time the bitter ingratitude of
the world, and I wept. Oh! I wept abundantly. My head had fallen
forward on the table near which I was sitting; and I was giving way
to my sorrow, when I heard Lady Penfeather's voice in the passage.
She was saying, 'This way, my lord: I am sure you will be delighted
to see the dear children. They are all so fond of your lordship! Really
it is quite an age since we have seen you!'—'I have been on the
continent with my friend Cholmondeley,' was the answer: but the
voice in which it was delivered touched the tenderest chord in my
heart. In another moment the door opened, and Lady Penfeather
entered, followed by Lord Dunstable. 'This is the little school-room,
you see, my lord,' she said; 'and this is my governess, Miss
Hutchinson. But where are the children?'—'Miss Hutchinson!'
exclaimed Lord Dunstable; 'Oh! we are old acquaintances: I have
had the honour of meeting Miss Hutchinson before. I used to visit at
her father's house, at—at—;' and he hesitated.—'At the Parsonage,
near Guilford, my lord,' I instantly added, my courage reviving when
I felt my hand tenderly pressed in his.—'Ah! to be sure,' he
exclaimed; 'and how is my respectable friend, your father?' he
continued, casting a significant look upon me.—I answered the
query; and Lady Penfeather was quite satisfied with the manner in
which Lord Dunstable's knowledge of me was accounted for. His
lordship went on talking to me about Guilford, (which, I really
believe, he had never seen in his life); and Lady Penfeather went
herself into the next room to fetch the children.
"The moment her back was turned, Lord Dunstable said to me in a
hurried whisper, 'Dearest Lydia, you look more beautiful than ever! I
have never ceased to think of you since we last met. I have much to
say to you: will you meet me to-morrow afternoon, somewhere? Say
in the Pantheon, (it is not very far from hence) at three o'clock
precisely?'—I murmured an affirmative; and at that moment Lady
Penfeather returned, accompanied by the children. Lord Dunstable
affected to admire them very highly; and the mother was quite
charmed with his amiability. I could not help noticing how much his
continental tour had improved him; indeed, I had never seen him
looking so handsome before: my heart was once more filled with the
fondest hopes;—for I really loved that man.
"When his lordship retired, he shook hands with me again, and we
exchanged significant glances. The pleasure I experienced at this
unexpected meeting, and the interest he manifested in my behalf,
banished from my mind the disagreeable impression created by
Adeline's unfeeling conduct towards me. Oh! how slowly passed the
hours until the time of our appointment drew nigh! I was so
completely my own mistress in Lady Penfeather's family, that I could
go out when I chose; and thus I had no difficulty in repairing to the
rendez-vous. Lord Dunstable was there; and he advanced to meet
me with pleasure depicted on his countenance. I took his arm, and
we retired to the picture-gallery, where there happened to be but
few loungers at the moment.
"He began by saying 'What must you have thought of my conduct
in leaving England so abruptly?'—'It gave me very great pain,' I
answered; 'and, after all your promises to me, I considered that I
had reason to be both dissatisfied and unhappy.'—'Let me speak
candidly to you,' he continued. 'I am so circumstanced, in
consequence of being entirely dependent on my father, that
marriage is for the present impossible. But I love you very sincerely,
and absence has augmented my attachment. Are you happy where
you are?'—I then candidly acquainted him with Sir Wentworth
Penfeather's conduct towards me, and stated my determination to
leave my present situation as soon as I could obtain another.—'Sir
Wentworth,' continued Lord Dunstable, 'is the greatest scoundrel in
respect to women, in London. If you do not yield to his wishes, he
will slander you to his wife in private: and you will be turned away
some fine morning without knowing why, and without a
character.'—'Can he be so base?' I exclaimed, alarmed at this
information.—'He is indeed,' replied Dunstable.
"Then, in a language so plausible—so earnest—so seductive, that I
am unable to give you an idea of its speciousness, he proposed that
I should at once place myself under his protection. At first I scorned
the offer: he implored me to listen to him; he declared that he loved
me to distraction, and that the moment his father was dead he
would marry me. I wavered—he redoubled his entreaties, prayers;
and at length he wrung from me a consent to his proposition! It was
agreed that I should invent some excuse to quit Lady Penfeather in
the course of the week; and Dunstable promised in the meantime to
provide suitable apartments for me. Then we separated.
"But do not imagine that I did all this without a pang, when I
thought of my poor father and my brother! Oh! no—I wept bitter,
burning tears at my weakness, after I quitted my lover; and I
resolved to recall my promise to accept his protection. In this better
frame of mind I returned to Cavendish Square. The moment I
entered, the servant who opened the door informed me that Lady
Penfeather desired to speak to me. I proceeded to the drawing-
room, where her ladyship was sitting. Sir Wentworth was also there.
I immediately suspected that there was something wrong. Lady
Penfeather said, in a cold and freezing tone, 'Miss Hutchinson, I have
no farther need of your services. Here is the amount due to you,
together with a quarter's salary in addition, as I have not given you
a quarter's notice.'—'This is somewhat peremptory, madam,' I
observed, when I could recover from this sudden and unexpected
announcement.—'I should be even justified in turning you out of the
house, without the quarter's salary, Miss,' retorted the lady: 'but I do
not wish to behave too harshly to you; I would not, however, advise
you to apply to me for a character.'—'My God!' I exclaimed; 'what
have I done?'—'The levity of your conduct has been noticed by Sir
Wentworth,' returned Lady Penfeather.—'Sir Wentworth!' I repeated,
unable to believe my own ears; and then, in a moment, Lord
Dunstable's words flashed to my memory.—'Yes, Miss Hutchinson,'
continued Lady Penfeather; 'and as I recalled to mind the significant
glances which you exchanged with Lord Dunstable yesterday, I
deemed it my duty to have you watched this afternoon. Do you
desire to know any more?'—'It is perfectly true that I have been with
Lord Dunstable ere now,' I exclaimed, my blood boiling with
indignation: 'but it is because I would not listen to the infamous
proposals of your husband, madam, that I have been maligned, and
am treated thus.'—Sir Wentworth started from his seat, livid with
rage; and her ladyship ordered me to quit the room. I perceived that
all attempts at explanation in respect to her husband's conduct were
vain; and I accordingly obeyed this mandate.
"I now resolved to return straight home to my father. I accordingly
repaired, with my baggage, in a hackney-coach to the White Horse
Cellar, for the purpose of taking the first conveyance to Guilford. But
my evil star interfered to prevent this prudential arrangement; for it
happened that as I alighted at the coach-office in Piccadilly, Lord
Dunstable was passing at the moment. I shrank back to avoid him;
but he saw me, and was immediately by my side. I then told him all
that had occurred at the Penfeathers', and acquainted him with my
firm resolution to return home. Need I say how he implored me to
abandon this determination? need I describe the earnestness with
which he besought me not to make him miserable for life? His
language was eloquent—he was handsome—I loved him—I was
weak—and I consented to pass a few days with him ere I returned
to my father.
"Alas! those few days were prolonged into a few weeks. I did not
dare to write home: I fondly hoped that my father imagined me still
to be in Lady Penfeather's establishment; and I felt convinced there
was no chance of his coming to London so long as he entertained
this impression. Lord Dunstable continued very kind to me. He had
hired magnificent apartments for me in Jermyn Street, and allowed
me a carriage, besides a handsome weekly allowance. He passed
with me all the time he could spare from his regimental duties; but
he never went abroad with me—except to a private box at the
theatre on two or three occasions; and then he was so afraid of
being seen by his relations, that I was quite miserable.
"Several times I made up mind to leave him and return home; for
the remembrance of my beloved father and brother cut me to the
quick. But how could I seek their presence,—I who was now polluted
not merely through the treachery of my lover, but also through my
own weakness! Nevertheless, day after day I resolved to abandon
my present mode of life—retrace my steps to the home of my
childhood—throw myself at my father's feet—confess all my errors—
implore his blessing—and devote the remainder of my existence to
penitence and virtue. Then my lover would make his appearance;
and all my prudent designs would flit away as if they had never
been.
"But one morning I was aroused from this dream of irresolution—
vacillation—weakness—and crime. I was seated alone at breakfast,
whiling away an hour with the newspaper. Suddenly my eyes fell
upon an advertisement at the head of the second column of the first
page. Oh! never shall I forget the agony of my feelings—the deep,
deep anguish of my soul, as I read these words:—'L. H., your father
is at the point of death. Your afflicted brother implores you to return
home. For God's sake, delay not; or it will be too late! All shall be
forgiven and forgotten.'—And in the corner was the name of my
father's village!
"For an instant I felt as if I should go raving mad. My brain
seemed actually to whirl. Oh! what a wretch did I conceive myself to
be! Another moment, and I became all activity—hurrying the small
preparations which were necessary for my departure. The terrible
words, 'Delay not, or it will be too late!' seemed fraught with an
electric impulse. A post-chaise and four were immediately ordered: I
took with me but a small parcel containing necessaries;—all the
trinkets, all the jewels, all the valuables which Dunstable had given
to me, I sealed up and left behind me. I moreover penned a hasty
note to bid him farewell for ever!
"I lavished gold upon the postillions to induce them to spare not
their horses. The chaise rushed along like the wind. God knows what
were my feelings during the few hours which that terrible journey
lasted. I cannot attempt to describe them. Oh! if indiscretion and
crime have their enjoyments, they are also doomed to experience
bitter—bitter penalties. And my punishment was now at hand. It was
not so long since I had journeyed along that road with my father—
when he first conducted me up to London. Then we had travelled by
the coach, and not so rapidly as I was now retracing the same path.
Then, too, I had marked many of the most prominent features on
the road and in the adjacent country,—here a church—there a
picturesque farm—a cottage—a mill—or a hamlet! As I was hurried
along in the post-chaise, I looked ever and anon from the window;
oh! there were the same objects I had before observed;—there they
were, apparently unchanged;—but I—my God—was I the same?
"But it was as I drew nearer and nearer to the little village where I
was born, that my eyes encountered a thousand objects which
aroused feelings of the most acute anguish within me. There was a
beautiful hill to the summit of which I had often climbed in my
youthful days, accompanied by my brother. There was the stream
which turned the huge wheel of the water-mill in the valley, and the
path along whose banks was a favourite walk of my father's. The
wheel was turning still: my eye could trace the path on the river's
margin;—but the days of innocence, in which I had rambled there—
a fond, loving, and confiding girl, hanging on my father's arm, or
skipping playfully away from him to pluck the wild-flowers in the
fields—those days of innocence, where were they? The chaise rolled
on; and now the spire of the village church, peeping above the
mighty yew-trees which surrounded the sacred temple, met my
view. But, ah! what was that sound? The bell was speaking with its
iron tongue: its well-known clang boomed over hill and valley.
Merciful heavens! it was a knell! 'Oh! no—no,' I exclaimed aloud,
clasping my hands together in bitter agony; 'it cannot be! God grant
that it is not so!'
"And now the chaise rolled through the village: the humble
inhabitants rushed to their doors—Ah! how many faces that I knew,
were thrust forth to gaze at the equipage. I can picture to myself
that when the condemned malefactor, on the morning of his death,
is advancing towards the scaffold, he closes his eyes just at the
moment when he feels that he has reached that point whence his
glances might embrace all its hideous reality. Urged by a similar
impulse, I covered my face with my hands the instant the chaise
swept from the main-road towards the home of my childhood. I
dared not glance in that direction!
"But in a few moments the vehicle stopped. The knell from the
church-tower was still ringing in my ears: by an almost superhuman
effort I withdrew my hands from my countenance, and cast a
shuddering look towards the house. My terrible apprehensions were
confirmed: the shutters were all closed; and I saw in a moment that
there was death in that abode!
"From that instant all consciousness abandoned me for several
hours. Indeed, it was not until the next morning that I awoke as it
were from a hideous dream,—and yet awoke to find it all a fearful
reality. I was in bed: my poor brother—pale and care-worn—was
leaning over me. In a short time I learnt all. My father was indeed
no more. He had breathed his last while I was yet on my way to
implore his dying blessing. And he had left me his blessing—he did
not curse me, although I had been the cause of his death! Nor did
my brother reproach me: on the contrary, he whispered to me words
of consolation, and even of hope! Poor father—beloved brother!
"But I cannot dwell upon this portion of my narrative: it rends my
heart—lost, guilty, wretched as I am,—it rends my heart to recall
those terrible events to mind! Suffice it to say that Lady Penfeather
had written to my father, to state that she had been compelled to
discharge me at a moment's notice 'in consequence of the levity of
my behaviour;' and she had added that, 'in spite of the excellent
admonitions and example of herself and Sir Wentworth,' she was
afraid I had formed evil acquaintances. This letter was enough to
induce a parent even less loving than my poor father, to hasten
immediately to London, where he commenced a vigilant search after
me. He traced me to the White Horse Cellar; and there, by dint of
inquiry, he discovered that I had met a gentleman with whom I had
gone away. He proceeded to Mrs. Lambkin, with the feeble hope
that she might know something about me; and that lady told him
sufficient (without, however, mentioning a word about the discovery
of the dead infant in my box) to confirm his worst fears that I was
indeed a lost and ruined creature! After passing several weeks in
London in a vain and ineffectual search after his still dearly-beloved
daughter, the poor old man had returned home, heart-broken—to
die!
"And I gazed upon his cold clay—and I followed him to the grave
which was hollowed for him near the walls of that church wherein
for twenty years he had preached the ways of virtue—those ways
which he himself had so steadily pursued. Oh! when the minister
came to those solemn words 'Earth to earth, and ashes to ashes,'—
and when the cold clay rattled down upon the coffin-lid,—what
feelings were mine! You may probably divine them; but the world
has no language that can express them!
"Scarcely was my father consigned to his last home, when my
brother demanded of me a full account of my late proceedings. He
could not believe that one who had been reared with such care, and
in whose soul such sublime moral lessons had been inculcated, could
have erred willingly. He expressed his conviction that some infernal
treachery had been practised towards me. I threw myself upon his
breast: I wept—and I told him all,—all, as I have now related these
particulars to you. On the following morning he had left home when
I descended to the breakfast-table. His absence alarmed me sorely;
I was full of vague and undefined apprehensions. Alas! how speedily
were they confirmed! Four days afterwards I received a letter from a
surgeon in London, breaking to me the fearful news 'that my brother
had died of a wound received in a duel with a certain Lord
Dunstable.'—A certain Lord Dunstable;—as if I did not know him too
well!
"Was I, then, the murderess of my poor father and my noble-
hearted brother? If my hand had not struck a dagger into their
hearts, my conduct had nevertheless hurried them to the grave. I
hated—I abhorred myself. But the bitterness of my reflections was in
some degree mitigated by the hasty preparations which I was
compelled to make for an immediate return to London. I had not
money enough to enable me to take a post-chaise; and I was
therefore obliged to wait for the Portsmouth coach, which passed
through the village on its way to the metropolis. I had already made
up my mind what course to adopt. Now that my father and brother
were no more, I could not bear the idea of remaining in the place
where we had all been once so happy together: I moreover knew
that the parsonage-house would soon be required by the new curate
who had been appointed as my late father's successor. I accordingly
sent for the village lawyer, and gave him instructions to realize in
ready money all the little property which had become my sad
inheritance. I told him that in a few days I would let him know my
address in London; and that he was to forward me the proceeds of
the sale. But I retained a few relics to remind me of my departed
relatives; and as I wept bitterly over them, I took a solemn vow that
my future conduct should prove the sincerity of my repentance for
the past!
"The coach made its appearance soon after mid-day: there was
not a single person inside; and thus I was enabled to pour forth,
without restraint, that grief—that acute anguish which I experienced
at being compelled, by my own misconduct, to quit for ever the
place of my birth. Oh! then I felt how hard, how bitter it was to
arrive at the conviction that I had no longer a home! I was now
wretched in the extreme: I had lost those who were nearest and
dearest to me! Not to me was it given to close the eyes of the
author of my being: not to me was it allowed to receive the parting
sigh of that brother who had met his death in the cause of his
sister's outraged honour! Wretch that I was;—I had no longer a
friend—and no longer a home!
"The coach, on its arrival in London, stopped at the White Horse
Cellar. I took a cab, and immediately proceeded to the house of the
surgeon who had written to me. There it was that my brother had
breathed his last! The duel had taken place in the neighbourhood of
Bayswater: my brother received his adversary's ball in the breast;
and although he lived for some hours afterwards, he never spoke
again. Lord Dunstable conjured the surgeon to show the unfortunate
young man every attention, and then took his immediate departure
for the continent. But, from motives of delicacy, neither poor Edgar
nor his lordship had communicated to the medical man the cause of
the duel. It was only by means of papers found about my brother's
person that the surgeon discovered that he had a sister, and
ascertained where that sister lived. In the hurry, alarm, and
confusion which followed the duel, the surgeon had forgotten to
demand, and Lord Dunstable was too bewildered to communicate,
any particulars relative to the family or friends of the young man
who had fallen in the hostile encounter. Thus, had it not been for
certain memoranda which were discovered in my poor brother's
pocket-book, the surgeon would not have known to whom to write,
and I might have remained for months—or even years—in ignorance
of that dear relative's untimely fate. Full well did I comprehend the
delicacy of his own conduct: he had not left a written trace which
might expose my shame by revealing the motives that had led to the
duel!
"There was a coroner's inquest; but, as it was stated that I was
not in London at the time when the hostile encounter took place, I
was not examined. Thus were my feelings spared a most painful
ordeal! The funeral took place;—and the earth closed over the
remains of him who was cut off in the flower of his youth—a victim
to my misdeeds! The kindness of the surgeon's family had hitherto
made me their guest; but on the day after the mournful obsequies, I
perceived the necessity of adopting some decided course, so as to
intrude no longer on that generous hospitality. But the worthy
surgeon questioned me closely; and finding that I had only recently
been left an orphan, and was totally friendless, he insisted that I
should pass a few weeks longer with his family, until he could obtain
for me a situation as governess. I wrote to the lawyer of my native
village; and by return of post he forwarded me an order on a London
banker for thirty-seven pounds—the poor proceeds of the sale of the
furniture in the parsonage house.
"Six months passed away: during that period I was treated with
the utmost kindness by the surgeon and his family. But misfortune
suddenly overtook that excellent man. The villany of a false friend
plunged him from affluence into comparative poverty. This abrupt
change preyed so deeply on his mind, that he put a period to his
existence. His brother—a man of morose disposition and selfish
character—undertook to provide for the widow and her children; and
I was then compelled once more to shift for myself. I took an
affectionate farewell of those who had behaved so well towards me,
and removed to a humble lodging, where I soon experienced all the
wretchedness of my lonely and unfriended position. I inserted
advertisements in the newspapers, for the purpose of obtaining a
situation as teacher in a school or governess in a respectable family;
and although I received many replies, I failed to give a satisfactory
account of myself. I could not refer to Mrs. Lambkin, nor to Lady
Penfeather; and I found that my orphan condition excited but little
sympathy in my favour. Thus a year—an entire year—passed; and at
the end, I found myself without hope, and without resources. I knew
not what would become of me. At length I mustered up all my
courage, and proceeded to Rossville House. I inquired for Miss
Adeline Enfield. The servant demanded my name, and left me
standing in the hall for nearly ten minutes until his return. I was
then shown into a small but magnificently furnished parlour; and
almost immediately afterwards Adeline made her appearance. She
advanced towards me with the most chilling hauteur of manner, and
desired to know 'my business.'—'Oh! Miss Adeline,' I exclaimed,
'have I no claims upon your friendship?'—'You must remember what
took place between us the last time we met,' she answered. 'If you
require pecuniary assistance, I will succour you for the last time; but
circumstances compel me to decline seeing you, or even knowing
you in future.'—'And is this the way you treat me after all I suffered
on your account?' I said, bursting into tears. 'Do you not reflect that
your reputation is in my hands?'—'If you menace me, Miss
Hutchinson,' she said, 'I shall know how to treat you. In a word, who
would believe your story were you to proclaim it? You would only
draw down upon yourself the vengeance of my family by
endeavouring to shift your own disgrace on to my shoulders. The
whole world would denounce you as a common impostress.'—An
instant's reflection showed me that these assurances were strictly
true. But my pride was hurt, and my feelings were poignantly wrung
by the blackness of Adeline's ingratitude. Pushing aside her hand
which tendered me a purse of gold, I exclaimed, 'From this moment,
Miss Enfield, I consider myself absolved from all motives of secrecy
on your account;'—and, before she could utter a word of reply, I left
the room.
"I hurried back to the house where I lodged. The landlady met me
upon the threshold of the door. 'Come, young woman,' she said, 'can
you pay the fortnight's rent you owe me?'—'I have been
disappointed,' was my reply: 'but in a few days——.'—'People are
always being disappointed when they owe money,' she exclaimed. 'I
shall keep your things till you settle your rent; and I shall let the
room to those who can and will pay.' And she banged the door in my
face. This cruel calamity reduced me to despair. I turned away from
that inhospitable abode,—not with tears, for there is a grief too
profound to find a vent by the eyes—but with an utter hopelessness
that was distraction!
"I had eaten nothing since the morning: I was hungry, and I had
not a farthing in my pocket. It was moreover cold; and I knew not
where to sleep that night. Oh! then how bitterly did I regret the
ebullition of pride and feeling which had prevented me from
accepting the purse which Adeline had proffered me! It was now too
late to conciliate her: I had used menaces; and I felt convinced that
it would be impossible to make my peace with that proud and
determined spirit. I wandered about the streets in a state of mind
which every moment suggested suicide. Then did all the happiness
of home and of the days of innocence recur to my memory with a
force that nearly crushed me! I thought of my dear departed father
and my noble-hearted brother—both hurried to the grave by my
wickedness! Evening came—and I was still a wanderer in the streets,
without a hope—without a feasible project! Hour after hour passed:
midnight was proclaimed by the iron tongues of the thousand towers
of this mighty city;—and I sank exhausted on the step of a door in
Gerrard Street, Soho. I then became insensible.
"When I awoke, I was in a comfortable bed; and the day-light
streamed through the windows of a nicely-furnished room. I started
up, and glanced around me. On a small table by the side of the bed
stood a decanter with some port wine, and a bowl half-filled with
broth. I immediately judged by those appearances, and by my own
sensations, that the kind hand of charity had administered
sustenance to me, as well as providing me with an asylum. From
those objects on the table my eyes wandered round the room; and I
was surprised and shocked to observe that the pictures on the walls
were of a somewhat indecent description. The unpleasant reflections
which this circumstance occasioned were interrupted by the
entrance of an elderly woman,—very stout, with small grey eyes,
and a red nose. She seemed to have literally flung on the cotton-
gown which she wore; and a dirty night-cap was perched on the top
of her head. She advanced with a good-natured smile towards the
bed, and, surveying me with great apparent satisfaction, exclaimed,
'How do you feel, my poor child? I am delighted to see you looking
so much better! Dear me, what a state you were in when I found
you, in the middle of the night, on the step of my door.'—'Ah!
madam,' I said, extending my hand towards her, 'how can I ever
repay you for this goodness?'—She pressed my hand warmly, and
declared that she was charmed at being able to serve so sweet a
young creature. Then she asked me a great many questions; and I
gave her to understand that I was the orphan daughter of a
clergyman; that I had failed to obtain the renewal of my
engagements as a nursery-governess: that I had been turned into
the streets by my landlady, who had detained my boxes; and that I
should have perished had it not been for the kindness and
benevolence of my present benefactress. When I had concluded this
statement of as much of my past life as I chose to reveal, the elderly
lady exclaimed, 'And so you are a clergyman's orphan, my dear?
How very singular! Poor curates' daughters are always falling into
difficulties. But cheer up, my dear: I will be a friend to you. And first
tell me the address of your hard-hearted landlady: I will send at
once and redeem your things for you.'—I gave her the information
which she asked, and once more expressed my profound gratitude
for her goodness towards me. She patted my cheek, and then left
the room, observing that she would send me up breakfast. In a few
minutes a good-looking and smartly-dressed servant entered the
chamber, bearing a tray containing coffee, hot rolls, eggs, and the
usual concomitants of a good meal. 'What is the name of your
excellent mistress?' I inquired.—'Mrs. Harpy,' was the reply, given
with a smile the nature of which struck me as being somewhat
strange.—'What is she?' I asked.—'She keeps a very respectable
boarding-house,' answered the servant.—I did not like to put any
farther questions; and the girl withdrew.
"I ate a very hearty breakfast, and then lay down again; for I was
not quite recovered from the fatigues of the preceding day. I fell into
a doze; and when I awoke, Mrs. Harpy was once more standing by
the side of the bed. 'Here are your things, my dear,' she said: 'I paid
your landlady fifteen shillings. That was for two weeks' rent owing,
and a week she claimed because you had left without giving notice.
She gives an excellent character of you, and proves all you have told
me to be quite true. I am really as fond of you as if you were my
own daughter. You are looking much better; and a nice little boiled
fowl, with a glass of Port, will set you to rights. What time do you
like to dine, dear?'—'My good lady,' I replied, 'you are heaping
favours upon me, and I have not the means of paying you for any
one of them.'—'Don't talk of that, my dear girl,' ejaculated Mrs.
Harpy. 'I'm sure it is quite a pleasure to do any thing for you. But,
by-the-by,' she added, 'you may just as well give me a memorandum
for what I am paying for you; and as I shall be able to procure some
nice, easy, genteel avocation for you, you can reimburse me at your
convenience.'—Of course I was delighted at this opportunity of
testifying my honest intentions and good-will; and I instantly affixed
my signature to a slip of paper which she produced from her pocket.
Mrs. Harpy kissed me very affectionately; and then, casually
observing that she kept a very genteel boarding-house, concluded
by saying that she would ask some of the young ladies to come up
after dinner and keep me company for an hour or two.
"At four o'clock the pretty servant made her appearance with the
boiled fowl and a small decanter of wine; and when the things were
cleared away, the young ladies were duly ushered in. There were
five of them. Their ages varied from seventeen to twenty-three; and
they were all remarkably good-looking. It however struck me as
somewhat singular that they were every one dressed in extremely
low-bodied gowns, so as to exhibit a great deal more of the bust
than was consistent with my notions of decorum. But as they were
very affable and kind in their manners, and 'dear'd' me with much
apparent sincerity, I ceased to think of that peculiarity. Presently
Mrs. Harpy sent up a bottle of wine and some fruit, with her kindest
compliments; and then the young ladies laughed and enjoyed
themselves in the happiest manner possible. They drank the wine
with great freedom and relish; and by degrees their conversation
turned upon the topic of love. With this subject they were quite
familiar; and the more they drank, the more license they allowed
their tongues. They spoke of the kindness of Mrs. Harpy, of the
gaiety of the life which they led in her establishment, and of the high
acquaintance which they enjoyed. They seemed to know every
young lord and wealthy gentleman about town, and compared the
various qualifications of those personages. Their discourse became
more and more animated in proportion as their imaginations were
warmed with the wine; and at length they allowed such observations
to escape them which made me blush. I was surprised at their levity,
and had already begun to entertain strange suspicions of their
virtue, when a bell suddenly rang on the landing. They all started
up, and rushed out of the room—leaving me a prey to the reflections
which their remarkable conduct had very naturally excited.
"I kept my bed, by Mrs. Harpy's advice, all that day; but I did not
feel sleepy in the evening, after the young ladies had left me;—and
even if the contrary were the case, I should not have been able to
indulge a wish for repose, for after eleven o'clock the whole
establishment seemed to be in a constant bustle. People ran up and
down stairs; doors were banged; shouts of laughter awoke every
echo in the place; glasses rattled on trays that were carried to the
different rooms; and the boisterous mirth of men rose at intervals
above the other sounds and noises. This confusion, as it appeared to
me, continued until about two o'clock; and then the house became
quiet. My suspicions were seriously excited relative to the
respectability of Mrs. Harpy's establishment; but I endeavoured to
quiet them by all the arguments I could conceive in that lady's
favour, and which were prompted by my gratitude towards her. At
length I fell asleep.
"In the morning the servant brought me up my breakfast. I asked
her the meaning of the bustle I had heard during the night. She
answered carelessly, 'Oh! Mrs. Harpy is very gay, Miss, and is fond of
company.'—After breakfast I got up, and had just dressed myself,
when a door was opened violently on the opposite side of the
landing, and a male voice exclaimed, 'Well, if the old woman won't
give me credit for a miserable bottle of champagne, after all the
money I've spent in the place, I'll never set foot in it again. So good
bye, 'Tilda. Here's a sovereign for you, my girl. It's the last time I
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