The Tale of Chloe: An Episode in the History of Beau BeamishMeredith, George
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The Tale of Chloe: An Episode in the History of Beau Beamish
Meredith, George
English fiction -- 19th century
He delivered these words loudly to his men, and turned an effulgent gaze
upon the duchess, so that for a minute she was fascinated and did not
consult her hearing; but presently she fell into an uneasiness; the signs
increased, she bit her lip, and after breathing short once or twice, 'Was
it meaning me, Mr. Beamish?' she said.
'You, madam, are the person whom we 'delight to honour,' he replied.
'Duchess of what?' she screwed uneasy features to hear.
'Duchess of Dewlap,' said he.
'It's not my title, sir.'
'It is your title on my territory, madam.'
She made her pretty nose and upper lip ugly with a sneer of 'Dew--! And
enter that town before all those people as Duchess of . . . Oh, no, I
won't; I just won't! Call back those men now, please; now, if you
please. Pray, Mr. Beamish! You'll offend me, sir. I'm not going to be
a mock. You'll offend my duke, sir. He'd die rather than have my
feelings hurt. Here's all my pleasure spoilt. I won't and I sha'n't
enter the town as duchess of that stupid name, so call 'em back, call 'em
back this instant. I know who I am and what I am, and I know what's due
to me, I do.'
Beau Beamish rejoined, 'I too. Chloe will tell you I am lord here.'
'Then I'll go home, I will. I won't be laughed at for a great lady
ninny. I'm a real lady of high rank, and such I'll appear. What 's a
Duchess of Dewlap? One might as well be Duchess of Cowstail, Duchess of
Mopsend. And those people! But I won't be that. I won't be played
with. I see them staring! No, I can make up my mind, and I beg you to
call back your men, or I'll go back home.' She muttered, 'Be made fun of
--made a fool of!'
'Your Grace's chariot is behind,' said the beau.
His despotic coolness provoked her to an outcry and weeping: she
repeated, 'Dewlap! Dewlap!' in sobs; she shook her shoulders and hid her
face.
'You are proud of your title, are you, madam?' said he.
'I am.' She came out of her hands to answer him proudly. 'That I am!'
she meant for a stronger affirmation.
'Then mark me,' he said impressively; 'I am your duke's friend, and you
are under my charge here. I am your guardian and you are my ward, and
you can enter the town only on the condition of obedience to me. Now,
mark me, madam; no one can rob you of your real name and title saving
yourself. But you are entering a place where you will encounter a
thousand temptations to tarnish, and haply forfeit it. Be warned do
nothing that will.'
'Then I'm to have my own title?' said she, clearing up.
'For the month of your visit you are Duchess of Dewlap.'
'I say I sha'n't!'
'You shall.'
'Never, sir!'
'I command it.'
She flung herself forward, with a wail, upon Chloe's bosom. 'Can't you
do something for me?' she whimpered.
'It is impossible to move Mr. Beamish,' Chloe said.
Out of a pause, composed of sobs and sighs, the duchess let loose in a
broken voice: 'Then I 'm sure I think--I think I'd rather have met--have
met his skeleton!'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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