Sorrows, renewed by the associations which pressed upon her mind,
impelled Lady Ennismore to seek her mother's apartments. Mrs. Bevan was
attending her mistress, and Julia's noiseless step glided across the
carpeted floor of the dressing-room, where Lady Wetheral lay extended
on the sofa, complaining to her attendant of her own wretched feelings.
"Bevan, I am very ill to-day: I cannot see Mrs. Tom Pynsent, or admit
any one. My nerves become worse and worse, and I am in a dreadful state
of tremour at this moment. I cannot hold my salts bottle, it falls out
of my poor nervous fingers--I am very ill to-day."
Mrs. Bevan spoke pleasing words of comfort, but her ladyship rejected
them.
"Don't talk nonsense, Bevan. I hate to hear people say things which are
not likely to occur. How can I expect to be well, when Miss Wetheral
obstinately defies my wishes, and all my children are determined to
fly in my face? I had a dream, too, last night, which increases my
disorder; I dreamt I saw Lady Ennismore brilliantly dressed, walking in
a procession; and she walked so stately in jewels, and her rank placed
her so high among the great ones, that I was proud of my daughter, and
I smiled to see her in grandeur. Poor Julia, where is she _now_!"
"She is here," exclaimed Lady Ennismore, standing before her mother,
with her thin hands crossed upon her bosom; "here is the envied
Countess of Ennismore!"
Lady Wetheral gazed upon the vision in dumb amazement.
"Look at me," continued Julia, "look at my figure, and tell me if you
believed all this would come to pass? When you assured me that wealth
and rank was happiness and virtue, did you think I should return a
fugitive, to seek shelter at your hands?"
"Julia!" gasped Lady Wetheral, "Julia! go! who are _you_?"
"Go?" exclaimed Lady Ennismore, "where shall I go? To Clara? Shall I
rest with poor Clara? Must I be laid by poor Clara, to find peace
after my sacrifice, my absence, and my griefs?"
The tremour which attacked Lady Wetheral's frame was alarming. It
precluded speech: she hid her face with her hands, as Lady Ennismore
proceeded.
"For quitting a husband's home, I may be censured and avoided by the
world, for it may never know my provocations and my struggles, but
I should not be turned from my mother's presence! I should not be
banished by the author of all my misery, as if she had no part in the
misery which I endure!"
"Do not say so--oh, do not say so! Do not blame me, as Clara did!" Lady
Wetheral sobbed aloud.
"I reproach no one," answered Lady Ennismore, mournfully. "I reproach
no one, though I was promised happiness as the wife of Ennismore. Where
is that happiness? You foretold it, mother. You said I should for ever
enjoy wealth and station, and become the envied gaze of thousands!
Where is it all?"
"Cease, cease!" cried Lady Wetheral, wrung by feelings of alarm and
self-reproach. "I wished you to marry Pynsent, Julia!"
"Cruel mother," exclaimed Lady Ennismore, as she caught her hand, and
looked earnestly in her face, "do not say so, to drive me wilder than
my poor brain feels now! Did you not hold up Ennismore to my view, as a
creature to worship? Did you not tell me his coronet was worth a daring
grasp, if I could gain the courtly bauble? Oh, you bid me secure the
lofty establishment, and I did so, and have suffered! I wish I was with
poor dead Clara! We both turned from our father, and would not heed
his mild precepts. We listened to projects which suited our ambitious
nature, though he deprecated the unholy passion. Oh, mother, you
fostered the wild and dangerous feeling! I wish I was laid by the side
of Clara! I wish I was at rest, like her!"
"Bevan, Bevan," ejaculated Lady Wetheral, "where are you?"
Mrs. Bevan curtseyed as she stood in mute astonishment behind her
lady's sofa. She was unable to speak: her eyes were riveted upon Lady
Ennismore, who still grasped her mother's hand, and still continued her
wild address.
"This has been a fearful affair! Two of us have fallen--one into the
grave, and one into living sorrow--self-banished from a heartless
home. Is it not a fearful thing?"
"Do not blame me, as Clara did--do not blame me for your flight,
Julia," said Lady Wetheral, endeavouring to withdraw her hand, but Lady
Ennismore clasped it more closely.
"I blame no one--but two of us are lost for ever. I blame no one!"
"I detested scenes--I ever detested scenes, Julia!" Lady Wetheral rose
into a sitting posture as she spoke. "I warned you from the beginning,
all of you, never to offend me by violent measures, which draw down
ridicule and disgust. Clara and yourself were married greatly, Julia!"
"Where has been our greatness?" said Lady Ennismore, despondingly.
"You were both placed in affluence," retorted her mother, with
nervous trepidation, "and your high positions were exalted above your
companions. You were greatly married--that was _my_ doing: but you have
thrown yourselves from the pinnacle of earthly honours--and that was
_your_ doing!"
"Mother, I have been betrayed, banished from my husband's
presence--unhappy, and uncared for," said Lady Ennismore, releasing
her hand, and sinking upon the floor in despair.
"I told you," continued Lady Wetheral, becoming almost vehement in her
manner, "I told you many things might occur to distress your heart, but
nothing could arise to make you an object of ridicule to the world,
except your own folly. You have flown from Lord Ennismore's house--who
will receive you? who receives a truant wife?"
"I was miserable," said the prostrate Julia.
"How few are otherwise," returned her mother, "if all secrets were
disclosed? Happiness is a nonsensical word--a rock to shipwreck
romantic hopes. We may not command happiness, but we _can_ command
external blessings. With every luxury that reflected honour upon human
beings, what right had you and Clara to be otherwise than content?"
"How cold--how cruel to speak so harshly!" ejaculated Lady Ennismore.
"Had you not rank?" continued Lady Wetheral--"had you not a princely
home--an earl's coronet? Had you not all the world can bestow, when you
fled from your husband's protection?"
"I fled from treachery and from infamy!"
"Infamy! Who dares report of infamy?" Lady Wetheral started to her
feet, and supported herself by grasping the back of a chair. "Has my
daughter, Lady Ennismore, allowed herself to become--? has the breath
of suspicion breathed upon a Wetheral!--has _one_ suspicion glanced
upon you, Julia?"
"I have flown to my father, to avoid my own reproach," cried Julia; "I
care not for the world--I have flown to escape the reproaches of my own
heart."
"Folly--madness!" observed her mother--"flown from your heart! What
heart had you which was not wedded to your station--to the eminence in
life upon which you were called to stand above your companions? Are you
not wedded to the title of Ennismore? Are you not the proud wife of a
British peer?--an earl's wife? Is not your heart hid behind the folds
of your ermine, and buried in the magnificence of your lot?"
"No, no--it is not there!" cried Julia, clasping her hands--"it
is not there! My heart was given to kindness. I would have loved
him faithfully, but I was banished from his presence--second to
his artful mother in his thoughts--betrayed by the person I most
trusted--proscribed as the mistress of his house. Many women would
have resented the indignities I have borne--but I have flown from the
temptations which surrounded me, and my father has given me shelter.
Oh! you have sacrificed me, but do not upbraid me--I have done no
wrong to any one. Why should _you_ look hardly upon me, who promised
me happiness, and have broken its fulfilment? Poor Clara! how we have
suffered for our fault. My father warned me of my wickedness!"
"Did _I_ not warn you, Lady Ennismore?" asked Lady Wetheral, with a
raised complexion, as she beheld, unmoved, poor Julia's suppliant
attitude. "Did _I_ not say, I scorned a woman who was mean enough to
seek the world's upbraiding by her conduct? You were the Countess of
Ennismore--your flight has brought down obloquy upon the name. Who will
believe the statement of a runaway? Who will believe the fugitive Lady
Ennismore has been unaccompanied in her flight? The voice of the world
will be loud in censure upon the step you have taken."
"Oh, my father, my father! save me from the world--save me from
reproaches like these!" exclaimed Julia, rising from her prostrate
attitude, and endeavouring to quit the room; but her mother caught her
dress, and detained her. There was something awful in the expression of
her countenance, as she addressed Lady Ennismore.
"If a mother sacrifices her time and endeavours to form a child's
happiness, has she not a right to expect its completion? Did I not act
for you--think for you--and labour for you? Did I not place you in
affluence and grandeur? Are you not the Countess of Ennismore? Tell me,
are you not Countess of Ennismore, the mistress of princely Bedinfield?"
"I am the unfortunate and unhappy wife of Lord Ennismore," answered
Julia, "the nominal mistress of Bedinfield, but the real proprietor of
only sorrow and degradation."
"Away with such folly!" cried Lady Wetheral, with vehemence; "let me
not hear such mad complaints, such horrible madness! Have you not
all that is coveted by human beings?--state, high rank, wealth, and
influence? What does your arrogant heart covet _now_? What do you
presume to wish, beyond the splendid lot you have obtained?"
"Happiness--I ask for happiness! I ask for my husband's heart--I ask
for domestic peace," replied Julia, pressing her forehead with her
trembling hands. "I ask for the simple pleasures of domestic peace. I
will not accept grandeur without them!"
"You have brought public remark upon the name of Wetheral," resumed her
mother, her eyes darting fire. "You have betrayed the confidence of
your mother, who hoped to see her daughter an envied creature! You have
thrown away the jewels of life, to grasp at shadows. Happiness!--_who_
is happy?--not those who are born to stand apart in grandeur--not those
upon whom the eyes of the multitude gaze in admiration. It may be a
word bandied by the humble, to balance the evils of poverty, and give
a zest to lowly destinies--but the great ones heed it not. _They_ live
in a sphere set apart from grovelling notions--they spurn the folly
of romantic, sickly fancy, to hold on their course like meteors! I am
a parent most miserable. I am deprived of all I laboured to advance.
My heart was anchored upon the glorious destiny of three children,
who have betrayed their high calling--but Bell has done the worst. A
dukedom was offered her!--a dukedom was tendered to her, I say! and the
puny coward struck it from her!--oh, that hour to a mother's heart!..."
Lady Wetheral's vehemence overpowered her strength. The sudden
and unaccountable appearance of her daughter, without any previous
warning, almost led her to suppose a spirit from the dead had risen
to taunt her with her deep disappointments. It seemed as if a spirit
from another world had sought her, to jeer and mock at her misery as
a defeated mother, and that form assumed the likeness of her banished
Julia. What! had she heard the word "infamy" spoken?--did she hear
that Lady Ennismore had flown from her husband? Was this to be added
to Clara's death, and Christobelle's ingratitude? Was she indeed to
endure this accumulated burthen of crushed hopes?--to see _all_ her
long years of anxious efforts destroyed, and behold the very beings
she had raised so high, turn to rend her? What spirit could bend under
such fearful ingratitude, that possessed one spark of _her_ indomitable
determinations?
A deep pause succeeded. Julia still listened, with her face buried in
her hands, and her dress was yet in the grasp of her mother's hand,
when a cry from Mrs. Bevan startled her. Lady Ennismore looked up in
terror. She beheld her incensed parent standing before her, in the
attitude of reproach, but her eyes were dull, and her form had become
rigid: contending passions were warring with terrible violence in her
heart.
It was a fearful and affecting scene to witness, but it could not
long last. Lady Ennismore's terror at her unfortunate mother's state
obliterated for the moment her own sorrows, and she flew to assist Mrs.
Bevan in her cares. Sir John Wetheral and Christobelle were instantly
summoned, and the Castle became a scene of alarm and confusion. Mrs.
Spottiswoode was again a true-hearted and valuable friend in their
affliction.
Lady Wetheral sunk into a long illness. Her strife of heart--the strife
of a high and determined spirit contending with bitter mortifications
in all those things which she had so fondly cherished--had nearly
proved fatal to her frame, and she was long vibrating between life
and death. But her naturally good constitution, and the unremitting
attentions of her daughters, overcame the attacks of a dangerous
malady, and gradually Lady Wetheral became again convalescent. The
body slowly acquired some portion of renewed health, but the mind was
fixed in gloomy irritability. Nothing could exceed her ladyship's
unbearable tyranny to those gentle beings who strove to soothe her
long confinement. The victims of her ambitious projects were now the
objects of constant petty and vexatious attacks. Christobelle had one
near her who could lure her disquiets into happy tranquillity--but Lady
Ennismore almost sunk under their distressing influence.
Sir John Wetheral bore all his trials with the resignation of a man
who received good and evil things from his Maker's hands, and accepted
them as means of evidencing his patience and resignation. He endured
his lady's most disagreeable taunts with the fortitude belonging to
his estimable character: he only appeared to suffer when those taunts
were levelled at the heartbroken, gentle Julia. Lady Wetheral's
tyrannical temper seemed irrecoverable even by the operation of time,
or gentle forbearance. Mrs. Bevan remarked "that her lady's eyes
and manner were peculiarly vehement in their expression, during her
reproaches addressed to Lady Ennismore." It _must_ have been a powerful
feeling which could produce such a change of manner in one whose whole
existence had been devoted to the exercise of self-command, and who had
ever deprecated the bad taste and uselessness of "scenes;" it must have
been an overwhelming feeling of ambition trampled to the earth, which
bore down a mind so keenly alive, so restless in its purposes, and so
successful in its schemes.
Christobelle had the blessing of Sir John Spottiswoode's society,
to balance her many hours of disquietude. She could turn to him for
happiness, when her spirit was sad, and, under his soothings, her
mother's harsh remarks were forgotten. Every disagreeable feeling
passed away in the sunshine of his presence. She only bent, in grateful
acknowledgment, to the Being who had committed her infancy to her
father's care, to receive his wise admonitions, and be cautioned to
renounce the fearful dictates of ambition. Christobelle saw how it had
lured its victims to woe. She knew it had destroyed the happiness of
Julia--that it had aimed the death-blow to Clara--that it had worked
desolation upon her mother. Every one who drank of the cup which a
reckless ambition presented to their lips had tasted a deadly poison,
which slowly and surely produced desolation of heart. Christobelle felt
she had been spared. She had not been overwhelmed by its cold precepts:
she had received strength to endure oppression, and had not bartered
peace of mind for the empty glare of worldly distinction. Christobelle
was indeed grateful, as she pondered these things in her mind.
Lady Ennismore was called to a less fortunate destiny. Her spirits
were broken by the continual and ruthless observations which were
showered upon her by her irritable parent, under the pressure of time
unemployed, and the total failure of resource. Lady Wetheral's mind
turned to the past, for materials to employ her weakened energies;
and the past could only give back harassing recollections. Such
recollections produced a constant state of irritation, which was
hurtful to herself, and intolerable to those around her. Wetheral
Castle appeared the grave of every hope, and the "_oubliette_" to
rational, tranquil comfort. The heart of Lady Ennismore was depressed
beyond recall, by continued and unsuccessful efforts to appear cheerful
under accumulated suffering. It was impossible to give satisfaction to
an exacting and imperious mother. She could only weep in privacy, and
pray to be "laid by Clara."
Mrs. Spottiswoode was unwearied in her kind visits during Lady
Wetheral's illness. The Penelope of former days was the same attached
friend at the present hour; and Lady Ennismore felt how blessed was the
possession of a gentle heart, which had clung to her through good and
evil report--which never exacted selfish sacrifices, or shrunk from the
task of enduring much, to soften the distresses of an uncomplaining
spirit. Mrs. Spottiswoode bore the petulant remarks of Lady Wetheral
with patient good-humour. If the "blood of the Wycherlys" rose
occasionally into her cheeks, and latent fires sparkled in her eye,
the door of her lips were hermetically sealed, and she never resented
the offensive petulance of a defeated and angry manœuvrer. Her only
desire aimed at warding off for a few hours the painful observations
which must otherwise have been levelled at two unoffending objects.
Lady Wetheral did not object to receive Mrs. Spottiswoode. However
strongly her character approximated to that of her aunt Pynsent in its
outline, her manners were less abrupt, and her temper more yielding.
Mrs. Spottiswoode had also "crept in" so silently and regularly, that
a visit every other day was considered a thing of course; and if Lady
Wetheral had any thing particularly disagreeable or offensive to say,
she contrived to say it to Mrs. Spottiswoode. Mrs. Spottiswoode bore
every thing with smiles: she knew it spared the feelings of her own
friend--the suffering, the injured, and dependent Julia.
Lady Wetheral confined herself entirely to her apartments, and
declined all society. She derived no satisfaction from the visits of
friends, whom she was sure came on purpose to deride her sorrows. She
particularly commanded to be denied to Mrs. Pynsent. She told Mrs.
Spottiswoode it was unpleasant to be restricted from communion with her
neighbours, but she must be aware her aunt Pynsent was inadmissable
from her loud tone of voice, and uncouth way of blurting out offensive
remarks. Her aunt was a misery in a sick room, and she only wondered
how Clara could endure it, to the exclusion of the mother who had
promoted her marriage, and endured so much to effect it.
Lady Wetheral also confided to Mrs. Spottiswoode her opinions upon
Christobelle's folly.
"Your brother, Mrs. Spottiswoode, is a very gentlemanly man, but a poor
baronet is a sad match for Bell--I will never lend myself to it. I know
Sir John allows him to visit here, and Bell is engaged to him in some
way or other, I dare say. Perhaps they are waiting for my death? Bell
refused a dukedom, and is content to accept a Worcestershire baronet!
Can you believe any thing so degrading?--and waiting, too, for her
poor mother's death! This is very dreadful! How can I look any of my
neighbours in the face? I am told Lord Farnborough is going to marry
Fanny Ponsonby: it serves Bell quite right, and I hope she will feel
it severely. A pleasant sight it will be to see the Forfar equipage
dashing by, while Bell is only a poor baronet's wife in a britzska. I
cannot endure such thoughts. Bevan, where are my salts?"
"But, my dear Lady Wetheral, if my brother makes Christobelle happy,
and if he indulges her with all the comforts of life, what more can a
human being require?"
Lady Wetheral shuddered.
"The comforts of life! Bread and cheese to eat, and a stuff gown and
straw bonnet to wear--is this the vulgar and popular idea of existence?
You, Penelope, have married into the family, and are justified in
upholding it, but I will never see Bell, if she can endure degradation!
My health is sacrificed to outraged feelings! Lady Ennismore, if it
is not too much trouble, will you be so considerate as to move this
cushion a little higher. Your ladyship has had little practice, I
fancy, in the nursing department: it never occurs to you how much I am
suffering."
Lady Ennismore silently adjusted the cushion, but the allusion to
her banishment from her lord's sick room, renewed the grief of her
heart: tears sprang to her patient, expressive eyes. This could not be
overlooked by Penelope Spottiswoode.
"Lady Wetheral, I demand, and insist upon the necessity of Lady
Ennismore's removal for a few days to Lidham. I must not allow you
all to waste away in witnessing each other's depression. Christobelle
and Sir John will take Julia's place, while I run away with my friend
this very morning. I shall not return to Lidham till you are ready to
accompany me, Julia."
There was "a Pynsent tone" in Mrs. Spottiswoode's speech, which Lady
Wetheral felt unable to contend against: her ladyship detested that
_Hatton_ expression of voice. She replied languidly, with an injured
and offended air,
"Pray do as you please, Mrs. Spottiswoode. Every one has done, and, I
suppose, _will_ do, as they please with me. I am too feeble to resist
violent resolutions. I beg to decline having any one forced upon me.
Lady Ennismore has renounced control of any kind, and, of course,
she will continue to act as she thinks proper, without consulting
her mother. Sir John and Christobelle, I suppose, will visit me,
without being 'offered.' I conclude my family will relieve my solitude
voluntarily, though I am considered of secondary importance. Bevan,
where is my pocket-handkerchief?"
"In your hand, my lady."
"Oh, very well. I wish I was equally blind to more distressing
annoyances. I wish I could lose sight as easily of other things."
Mrs. Spottiswoode turned a resolutely deaf ear to all covert attacks.
It was imperative, in her opinion, to withdraw Lady Ennismore to
Lidham, and the harsh conduct of Lady Wetheral only riveted her
resolution. Sir John concurred in her views. He was aware his daughter
endured much, and he wished her to be removed altogether from a scene
so destructive to her peace. It was impossible to hope Julia could ever
regain tranquillity, when the wounds of her heart were torn open by
daily and hourly invective. Christobelle and himself would attend the
querulous invalid, in patient hope that time would soften the asperity
proceeding from a diseased mind, but he saw the absolute necessity of
withdrawing Lady Ennismore from her attendance. Sir John Wetheral
hoped she would remain a long season in the society and hospitality of
Lidham.
Yet Julia quitted her father with great reluctance. She knew her
sister was happy, and supported by the occasional visits of Sir John
Spottiswoode. Her heart was occupied by a powerful attachment, and
sorrow had not thrown a mantle of gloom over _her_ young visions yet.
Her affection was blessed by a father's approval, and the smiles of
rejoicing friends; yes, Christobelle could contemplate her futurity
fearlessly--but who would, or could, pour balm upon her father's
solitary hours? His study was still a sanctuary, but he carried into
its precincts a disturbed and heavy spirit. Julia could not bear the
idea of quitting her father.
Mrs. Spottiswoode smoothed every thought which could ruffle her
friend's equanimity, and planed away all difficulties. She unburdened
her mind to the four friends who surrounded her, as she hastily partook
of sandwiches.
"My dear Sir John, I have achieved a scheme, which will set my
Julia's heart at rest, and yours, too. I counsel you to keep the
'poor Worcestershire baronet' at Wetheral, till happier times arrive.
Why should not he bear some share of the evil, when the good is
before him? and by his sparkling eyes, and intelligent glances at
Christobelle, I judge he is willing to undertake the task. This is
my advice, as far as concerns _yourself_; now for my brother-in-law:
listen, young man, and be guided! I counsel you to be gentle mannered,
and prompt in action, as I have been. _Creep in_, as I have done;
and bear all irritating remarks, as I have borne them. Learn to be
enduring, patient, and silent, and I will undertake to promise you
sufficient success. Who undertakes to refute my words?"
Mrs. Spottiswoode looked round at her auditors, but there was no
refutation. Sir John Spottiswoode alone replied, and he only spoke his
eager wishes to assist in tranquillizing Lady Wetheral's objections
to his suit. He would wait in patience and persevering attentions, to
attain that blessed reward of his labours, if it was required, even for
years.
"Six months will do, John, if you are politic. Sir John Wetheral, pray
lead Lady Ennismore to my carriage, and I will follow, after a few
words in a corner with my brother."
Sir John led out his daughter, while Christobelle clung to her sister's
hand. She was going to lose her for an indefinite period, and she
should miss her gentle voice and affectionate smile. Spottiswoode would
be with her, and she could not but own his society was a charm to
balance a thousand ills. Nevertheless, she must miss Julia every hour.
She would have the satisfaction, however, of knowing how much she would
be prized by Mr. and Mrs. Spottiswoode.
Mrs. Spottiswoode did not long detain her friends. Her words were few,
and decisive.
"John, that unhappy woman is as mad as a March hare. I never can
believe her sane, therefore, I bear with her. Let her abuse you and
your friends; and allow her to speak whatever she thinks of aunty
Pynsent, and I am sure you will become necessary to her. Her manners
are so completely changed, that I am confident she is deranged, and it
is no use quarrelling with mad people."
"It is an extraordinary method of making oneself acceptable, Penelope.
I am not sure I can endure to hear my friends abused, but I will
endeavour to be pleasing, and you may be sure I shall 'creep in' after
Christobelle. Once fairly admitted into the invalid's room, you need
not fear my second dismissal."
"Very well, I have no more to say, then. I will not relinquish Julia,
as long as I can prevail upon her to remain at Lidham. She is enduring
too much for human nature to bear. Farewell." Mrs. Spottiswoode then
joined her friends.
Sir John Wetheral pressed Mrs. Spottiswoode's hand, as he assisted her
into the carriage. "Accept," he said, "the grateful thanks of a father
for this kind and thoughtful step. May _you_ never be called to sorrows
which your warm heart is seeking to alleviate in your friends!"
Mrs. Spottiswoode returned the pressure.
"I do not ask you to come to us very often, because I know you cannot
exist long from Julia; but be sure you always bring good news with you
from Wetheral. God bless you all!"