_London, October 8_
I am glad Sir George does not come down; I am sure if he did, his
behaviour would be such, as would render him no very acceptable guest at
Grimston-hall.
A week, but a short week, to come, before my fate is irrevocably fixed;
or revocable only by the hand of death! This reflection, solemn as it
is, does not alarm me; because, after again calling my heart to the
strictest account, I think I _can_ pronounce it intirely free. Mr Arnold
will soon have an indisputable right to it; and it is my firm purpose to
use my utmost endeavours to give him intire possession of it. He every
day gains upon my esteem. If his talents are not so glittering as I have
seen some others possessed of, he is nevertheless master of an
exceedingly good understanding, which a sort of diffidence in his manner
does not suffer him to shew at once to the best advantage. His temper is
extremely sweet, and he seems to have an openness of heart (when he
throws off a little shyness which he has contracted) that is exceedingly
engaging. His love for me appears as fervent as I believe it sincere;
and I should be ungrateful not to do my utmost to return it.
_October 14_
How precipitate has been my fortune? Twice within these three months
have I been almost at the eve of my intended nuptials. Those which
_were_ to have been, I thought as certain as those which are _now_ to be
solemnized within two days. Who knows what may still happen to frustrate
our present designs?--No--there is not another Miss B. to interpose. Mr
Arnold seems to be one of those who are born to pass quietly through
life. He has already attained to the age of thirty, without one event
ever happening to him, but such as happen to every man every day. May no
future storm ever interrupt his or my tranquility! for they will soon be
one and the same thing.
_October 16_
The die is thrown, my Cecilia, and thy Sidney is the wife of Mr Arnold!
This day we were married; the good Dean joined our hands, and his
daughter was one of my bride-maids. The poor girl was taken ill during
the ceremony, and was obliged to leave the church, which has confirmed
me in my suspicions--Oh! how I pity her! I believe indeed she only
feigned illness for an excuse to retire. Mrs Vere went out with her,
but she would not suffer her to attend her home. She promised to dine
with us, if she should be better; and so she did, and seemed chearful
and pretty well; but I thought she looked as if she had been crying. She
made my heart ache--but I am in hopes it is but a slight wound; she is
exceedingly lively, and, I dare say, will soon get the better of it.
Lady Grimston was downright tiresome with her compliments; and preached
an hour long about the duty of children to their parents; and how good a
wife that woman was likely to make, who had always been exemplary in her
filial obedience. Ah! lady Grimston, thought I, by what I have heard of
you, you did not seem to number obedience amongst wife-like virtues in
your own case, though you can preach it up to others. But I knew this
sermon was chiefly intended for poor Mrs Vere's use. My mother was all
kindness and complacency. She seemed so delighted, that I rejoiced in
having had it in my power to give her so much happiness. Lady Grimston
did the honours of her house on this occasion with great magnificence,
and I believe I need not tell you, with most exquisite decorum. Indeed
this wedding was conducted with such a decent festivity, so rationally
on all sides, and such a comfortable privacy, that I was not half so
much shocked as I expected to have been.
We have no company here besides the family of the house, my dear good
old Dean, his lady and daughter, one young lady more, and a relation of
Mr Arnold's; a gentleman who came from London on purpose to be present
on this (as it is called) joyful occasion.
We shall leave this house to-morrow, Mr Arnold and I, I mean. I am to be
put into possession of the old mansion of Arnold-abbey. My mother is to
continue with lady Grimston a week or a fortnight longer, and then she
goes to London on no other call, as she says, but to see and administer
comfort to poor Miss B. who she supposes will be by that time come to
her retreat.
I believe I shall remain in the country while the weather continues
pleasant, but am not yet determined.
_October 17_
We took leave of lady Grimston this morning, or rather of her house; for
her ladyship, my dear mother, and all the good folks that were our
guests at Grimston-hall, are to dine with us to-day at Arnold-abbey. I
desired I might be permitted to go home without any parade, and in as
private a manner as possible; for you know how I hate a bustle. Mr
Arnold very obligingly indulged me in this request, and conducted my
sweet Mrs Vere and me home in his coach, at eight of the clock this
morning. I found every thing in exact order at Arnold-abbey. The house
is very spacious and convenient, though very old-fashioned. Some of the
rooms, however, are newly fitted up, perfectly neat and handsome. The
servants are orderly and well-behaved, and every thing seems to be
exactly well regulated. You may be sure I have taken my own Patty home
with me; I intend to constitute her housekeeper, and give her an
additional salary for her additional trouble. Mr Arnold had nobody in
that capacity before, as his household had not been settled since the
acquisition of his fortune, and he reserved the chusing of so material a
domestic to me; but as I do not love to multiply servants, and know that
Patty is very capable of the place, I shall take no other.
_October 21_
Visitors still in abundance: all the gentry in the neighbourhood for
some miles about have been to pay us their compliments; at least, I hope
by this time they have _all_ been here, for we have not had a minute to
ourselves these three days. It will take me up ten to return them, as
many of the families live at a good distance from hence.
Mr Arnold, whose mourning has been laid aside since our wedding day,
seems to have a very good taste in dress; he is perfectly well shaped,
and appears to great advantage in colours; in short, he is more amiable
than I thought he was. It is with great pleasure that I observe my young
acquaintance, on whose heart I feared Mr Arnold had made an impression,
has recovered her usual vivacity. With people extremely full of spirits,
love is not apt to sink very deep, or last long, when it does not meet
with a return.
_October 30_
My mother sets out for London to-morrow, and Mr Arnold has proposed to
me, that he and I should accompany her. He says, he wants to look out
for a house, and should like to fix in one before the weather advances;
and that we may take up our abode at my mother's till our house is ready
for us. My mother is charmed at this proposal: she dreads the thought of
parting with me; and as she intends going (after a convenient stay in
London) down to Sidney-castle, if I remain here, our separation must be
immediate. I know this is Mr Arnold's kind reason for desiring me to go;
he thinks I shall be less affected at parting with my mother, when in
the midst of the various scenes which London affords, than I should be
if I were to continue here. He does not give this for a reason, but I
know it is his true one; for he is not fond of London himself,
especially at a season of the year, when the country is so much more
agreeable. I thanked him for this mark of his tenderness, and am
determined to go.
_October 31_
Once more returned to London in very good spirits, after a stay of
little more than two months in Essex, in which time so material and
unexpected a change has been made in my condition.
Lady Grimston took a most affectionate leave of my mother and asked her,
with more tenderness than I thought her capable of, How many ages would
it be before they should meet again? As for Mr Arnold and me, she
considers us her neighbours. The Dean pleases himself with that
expectation too; and the dear Mrs Vere, who shed tears at bidding me
adieu, promises herself the happiness (as she kindly expressed herself)
of spending many delightful days with me next summer. She set out on her
return to her own house, at the same time that we left ours to go to
town.
My brother is still in Wiltshire; but I find he did not leave town at
the time he mentioned in his letter to my mother, nor for some days
after. This Patty learnt from the servants; but I hope it will not come
to my mother's ears, for she would take it extremely ill of him.
Mr Arnold, for the first time, mentioned, that he was very much
disappointed in not having had the honour of seeing Sir George at his
house in the country; but he hoped, when he came to town, his brother
and he should make up for this, by being the more together. I wish Sir
George may behave as he ought to this deserving brother. Mr Arnold
little imagines how much he was an enemy to this match, and much less
his reason for it. I should be very sorry Mr Arnold were to know how
near I was being married to another man; it might give a delicate mind
pain, lest there should remain any traces of this former attachment in
the breast of the woman he loves; but I hope there is no danger of his
hearing of it, certainly no one would be so indiscreet as to mention it
to him. Mr Arnold has lived chiefly in the country, and may never have
heard of Mr Faulkland, as he was so short a time returned from his
travels, on which he had been absent more than five years; and as he is
now out of the kingdom, probably he will not be spoken of. I have begged
of my mother, who is naturally communicative, never to name Mr
Faulkland to Mr Arnold, and have given my reasons for desiring this. She
says, she thinks it would be better to tell him the whole affair at
once; but I cannot agree with her in that opinion; and have at last
prevailed on her to promise me she will not speak of it.
_November 2_
My mother drove out in my new chariot to-day (a very gay fine one it
is), and went to Putney, to enquire after Miss B. by the name of Mrs
Jefferis. She soon found the house, a very neat box, with a pretty
garden behind it. The door was opened by a servant maid; and my mother
being told the lady was at home, sent in her name; and was immediately
conducted up stairs into a very elegant little dressing-room, where the
lady was sitting at her toilet; and Mr Faulkland's housekeeper (whom my
mother had seen before) assisting to dress her head. On my mother's
entering the room, Miss B. rose off her chair, and soon discovered by
her shape (for she was without her stays), that it was high time for her
to seek a place of concealment. The housekeeper immediately withdrew;
and the young lady seemed in the utmost confusion; my mother says, she
herself was at a loss how to begin the conversation, but Miss B.
relieved her, and spoke first. She thanked her for the honour she did
her by so charitable a visit, which, she said, Mr Faulkland had long ago
made her hope for; and which she must consider as the greatest
consolation in her present unhappy circumstances.
My mother placed herself by her. Madam, said she, Mr Faulkland made it a
point with me before he left England, that I should see you, and afford
you all the assistance in my power, or that you should stand in need of.
You seem to be commodiously situated here, and I understand have a very
careful good woman to attend you.
I have so, madam, she answered; but the most material circumstance is
wanting to my relief: Mr Faulkland!--He is not here. Tears started into
her eyes as she spoke. You were apprised of his absence, said my mother,
before you came to town. I was, madam, and with the cause of it; she
hung down her head and was silent.
My mother reassumed the conversation. She told her, she thought it a
most providential discovery, that had given her the knowlege of Mr
Faulkland's ill behaviour, time enough to prevent his marriage with her
daughter; assuring her, she would not, for the universe, have had me the
wife of a man under such ties, as she must consider Mr Faulkland to be.
Miss B. brightned up a little upon my mother's saying this. Did Mr
Faulkland ever tell you, madam, how the unhappy affair happened? My
mother told her, she knew not particulars; that she had been referred to
her for a full explanation; that Mr Faulkland had always endeavoured to
excuse himself; and went so far as to say, He was sure the lady herself
would acquit him in a great measure. Ah! madam! Miss B. cried, and shook
her head. 'Tis as I suspected, said my mother, Mr Faulkland is an
ungenerous man. A young lady of your modest appearance, I am sure he
must have taken more pains to seduce, than he will acknowlege. Miss B
blushed exceedingly--Oh! madam, you have a charitable, generous heart, I
was _indeed_ seduced. I knew it, replied my mother. Did he promise to
marry you? She coloured deeper than before. I will not accuse him of
that, madam. My mother proceeded; You have a relation, madam; I
understand she was accessary to your misfortune. Yes, the barbarous
woman, answered the lady, she was the contriver of my destruction; and
if I could have avoided it, I would never have seen her face again.
Tears of grief and indignation again burst from her eyes. Have comfort,
madam, said my mother, all may end well yet. I can have no hopes,
answered Miss B. Mr Faulkland flies me, you see, nor can I ever expect
to recover his heart, since so charming a young lady, as I hear Miss
Bidulph is, has possession of it; and though your goodness disappointed
him in his late views, he may not yet despair. I found by this,
continued my mother, that Miss B knew nothing of your being married, and
made haste to tell her. I never saw joy so visible in a countenance. She
clasped her hands together; Dear madam! what do you tell me? How you
revive my drooping heart! then I am not _quite_ hopeless, there is a
_possibility_ in my favour.
She then asked my mother if Mr Faulkland had acquainted her with her
real name, or that of her relation. My mother, who had once or twice
called her by the name of Jefferis, assured her he had not. That was
generous in him, said she; he _can_ be generous in _some_ points. But I
have no reason to conceal it from so prudent and worthy a lady as you
are; my real name is Burchell; that of my cruel relation I will forbear
to mention, out of respect to my good uncle, whose wife she is. Mr
Faulkland, she added, left a Bill of five hundred pounds with his
housekeeper, to provide every thing for me that I should want; with
assurances that he would take the tenderest care of--the poor young
creature hesitated, and could proceed no farther; but my mother said she
understood her meaning. They had a good deal more discourse: my mother
promised to see her often during her confinement, and took her leave.
She tells me, she is extremely pretty, and has such an air of innocence
and simplicity, as very much engages one in her favour.
I have set down this whole conversation, with every other particular,
exactly as my mother related it.
She, who has a most circumstantial memory, repeated it word for word;
and I, from a custom of throwing upon paper every thing that occurs to
me, have habituated myself to retain the minutest things.
I know not, my dear, whether you will be of my opinion; but I cannot
help thinking, that there was something like art in Miss Burchell's
behaviour, far from that candour which Mr Faulkland seemed to expect
from her. My mother mentioned the _pains_ that she supposed had been
taken to _seduce_ her; her deep blush at this hint, makes me suspect
that her answer was not dictated by sincerity. She saw my mother was not
acquainted with the particulars, and that she was willing to pass a
favourable judgment on her fault; it looks to me as if she laid hold of
this prejudice--and yet she _owned_ that Mr Faulkland had never promised
to marry her--I know not what to think; but there appears to me, upon
the whole, something evasive and disingenuous in her conduct. My mother,
who is all openness and integrity, saw it not in this light. But be it
as it may, it is no longer of any consequence to me, which was most to
blame, the gentleman or the lady: Miss Burchell is certainly the injured
Person; perhaps I too may have wronged her in my surmises; if I have, I
beg her pardon; the observations I have made on her behaviour are only
_en passant_, and I do from my heart wish Mr Faulkland would make her
his wife. You may perceive, from what I have told you, how little this
interview was likely to produce in Mr Faulkland's favour, had it even
been brought about sooner. My mother is now more than ever confirmed in
her opinion, that the poor young creature has been deceived; and she
prays, that Mr Faulkland may not be overtaken with a judgment, which she
thinks nothing but his marrying the girl can avert.
_November 10_
We have at length fixed upon a house to our liking, a handsome
convenient one in St James's-street. We are preparing to get it
furnished as fast as we can, that we may go into it; for if my brother
should come to town, I know _our_ being with my mother will be an
objection to his lodging in her house: this I should be sorry for, as
she told him he might make use of it while it remained in her hands.
_November 15_
Thank my stars! I have got over the fatigue of receiving and paying a
second round of bridal visits, and I am really so tired of it, that,
uninviting as the season is, I could wish myself in quiet at
Arnold-abbey; but I cannot think of leaving London while my mother
continues in it, and she is now resolved to do so till Miss Burchell, or
rather, on this occasion, Mrs Jefferis, is brought to-bed. You can't
imagine how sollicitous she is about her; every time she sees her she
seems more and more pleased with her. I am very glad it has happened so,
for the poor young woman's sake; my mother is as warm in her attachments
as in her resentments. She visits her almost every second day; for the
poor thing it seems is ill at present, and can't leave her chamber. She
tells me she is extremely melancholy, and seems much to dread the
approaching hour. I greatly honour my mother for her humanity towards
her: in her terrifying situation she must want the tenderness of a
well-bred as well as a sensible friend; for it must be a melancholy
thing, in such circumstances, to have no one about her but servants, and
those strangers too.
She told my mother, that her altered looks, and frequent sicknesses,
gave her aunt (who was privy to the cause of it) a pretence for asking
her uncle's permission for Miss to go to Bath, which she told him would
do her more good than any thing. He consented, and supposed she was
actually gone thither under the care of a lady, whom her aunt named, who
was really going there in order to settle for life, and to whose house
she went for a day or two to give a colour to this story. Her aunt
contrived that she should not take any servant with her; giving it for a
reason, that as she might be as well attended by the lady's servants
with whom she lodged, and be considered by her as one of the family, a
maid would only be an unnecessary incumbrance. She added, that her uncle
was so afflicted with the gout, that he never stirred abroad, and saw
very little company, so that it was not likely he should ever be
undeceived.
_November 20_
We have just received a very odd piece of news, that I own has a little
alarmed me. It is, that the widow of Mr Arnold's brother is found to
be with child. There was no mention of this at the time her husband
died, nor indeed any cause to suspect it; but the strongest
presumptions in the world to the contrary, as her husband and she
lived a-part. It has not been even whispered, till since our arrival in
town. The lady pretends that she was not conscious of it herself till
within this fortnight; yet her husband has been dead four months.
This I am told is very possible, though not very common. She has
herself wrote a letter to Mr Arnold, to inform him of it; at the same
time declaring, that she and her late husband had been reconciled a
little before his death; and that, had he recovered, she was to have
lived with him again. All this is very strange. The elder Mr Arnold
killed himself with excessive drinking. His death approached him by
slow degrees; but as he could never be persuaded to think it near, he
took not the least care either of his spiritual or temporal concerns.
His brother was in the country when he was seized with his last
illness, which he had precipitated by some extravagant excess. He
was almost at the last extremity before he could be prevailed on to let
a physician attend him, or suffer his brother to be sent for. In regard
to the latter, he told those about him, that as he was his heir, of
course he had made no will. He mentioned not his wife. The jointure
which had been settled on her, he allowed her for a separate
maintenance. They had for a long time pursued separate pleasures,
and none of his friends knew that they had ever met, or so much as
seen one another from the time they parted. My Mr Arnold arrived
in town just time enough to close his brother's eyes; he was
speechless when he came, and expired in less than an hour after he
entered his chamber.
As his wife had been very obnoxious to the family, there was little
notice taken of her by them, more than what common forms require. She
seemed as indifferent about the death of her husband, as she had been
towards him in his life-time; and did not then hint a word of this
reconciliation between them, or of her having had an interview with him.
I am told, she is a very weak, as well as a very loose woman; and Mr
Arnold thinks she has got into the hands of some designing person.
However that matter may be, it is a serious affair; and he designs to
take the opinion of an eminent lawyer upon it. My poor dear mother is
frightned sadly. If this child should make its appearance in the world
time enough to prove the possibility of its being the offspring of the
late Mr Arnold, she says, it must be considered by the law as his heir,
notwithstanding the husband and wife lived apart. Mr Arnold laughs, or
affects to laugh at this; we shall, however, wait with patience till
the lady is brought to bed.
_November 25_
Our house is intirely fitted up, and we shall remove into it this
evening; my mother chuses to continue in her own, though Mr Arnold
presses her to accept of an apartment in ours; but we shall be near
neighbours, and she does not like to change.
We have received the opinion of our lawyers, who tell us, that in case
the child should be born within such a period of time, as to give colour
to its claim, yet the lady must prove her assertion, in regard to the
pretended meeting between her and her husband; which it is imagined is
not in her power to do; and her indifferent character, together with
several favourable circumstances which Mr Arnold has on his side, makes
them quite sanguin in their expectations of overturning her claim. We
are, however, likely to be engaged in a disagreeable law-suit; but as Mr
Arnold seems perfectly easy about the issue of it, I will make myself so
too.
_December 10_
I am more and more reconciled to my lot, my dear Cecilia, every day that
I live. Mr Arnold's assiduity and tenderness towards me deserve the
gratefullest return my heart can make him; and I am convinced it is not
necessary to be passionately in love with the man we marry, to make us
happy. Constancy, good sense, and a sweet temper, must form a basis for
a durable felicity. The two latter I am sure Mr Arnold possesses; Oh!
may I never experience his want of the former! I hope my own conduct
will for ever ensure to me his love. That only can secure the
tranquility of my future days.
_December 11_
My brother arrived in town last night; and came this morning in company
with my mother (and I am sure at her request) to make us a formal visit.
My kind Mr Arnold received him with tenderness; Sir George was coldly
polite. He owned, however, to my mother, upon her asking him his opinion
of his brother-in-law, that he seemed to be a _good clever sort of a
fellow_. I wish I could cultivate a friendship between them; it will not
be Mr Arnold's fault if there is not; but Sir George, you know, is not
of a very pliant disposition.
He asked my mother, when they were alone, Whether she had yet seen Miss
B or Mrs Jefferis (for he knew her by no other name) and what she had
to say for herself? My mother told him, he had better not touch upon
that string. I will be hanged, replied Sir George, if the artful young
baggage has not imposed upon you. My mother, who is always angry at
having her sagacity called in question, told Sir George he was rude, and
she should give him no satisfaction on that head. My brother answered,
as it was _now_ of no consequence, what the wench affirmed or denied, he
had no farther curiosity about her. My mother called him a bear, and so
the enquiry ended.
_December 20_
I congratulate you, my sister, my friend, my ever beloved Cecilia.
Happy! happy may you be in your nuptials! but in the midst of my joy for
your being so nobly and worthily bestowed, self-love forces a sigh from
me. I have lost the pleasing hope of seeing you, at the time fixed for
your return. The station your husband holds at the court of Vienna,
will, I fear, long detain my beloved in a foreign land. But you are not
amongst strangers; a husband, a brother, and tender parent, must make
every part of the globe equally your home. I will therefore seek for my
contentment in your's, and rest satisfied with believing that you will
always continue to love me.
_January 10, 1703-4_
I begin to find my thoughts so dissipated, that I am angry with myself;
Mr Arnold's excessive indulgence will spoil me; he is always contriving
new scenes of pleasure, and hurries me from one to the other. I do not
wish to be perpetually fluttering about. The calm domestic life you know
was always my choice; but I will not oppose my kind Mr Arnold in his
fond desire of pleasing me: besides, I find that by his constantly
gallanting me to public places, he begins himself to acquire a sort of
relish for them, which he did not use to have; at least his prudence
made him so to conform to the necessity of his circumstances, while his
fortune was small, that he never indulged himself in any of the
fashionable expensive amusements; nor does he now in any, but such as I
partake of with him. I find he is by nature open and liberal to excess.
I must take care, without his being conscious of it, to be a gentle
check upon his bounteous spirit; I mean only so far as it regards
myself: indeed this is the most material point, for in every other
instance his generosity is regulated by prudence. I am every hour more
obliged to him, and should hate myself if I did not find that he had an
intire possession of my love.
Sir George hardly ever comes near us but by formal invitation, and then
his behaviour to Mr Arnold is so very civil, and so very distant, that
it mortifies me exceedingly. Mr Arnold cannot but perceive it; but
either his tenderness for me makes him take no notice of it, or else,
not being well enough acquainted with my brother to know his
disposition, he may impute his coldness to his natural temper.
My mother says, he never names Mr Faulkland or Miss Burchell to her. I
wish Sir George could entirely forget that unhappy affair.
_February 1_
There is a story propagated by the widow Arnold, about the meeting
between her and her husband; the circumstances of which are as follows:
She says, she had dined one day in the city, and was returning home to
her lodgings in York-buildings in a hackney coach; that the driver, by
his carelessness in coming along the Strand, had one of his fore wheels
taken off by a Waggon, which accident obliged her to alight: the
footboy, who was behind the coach, had by the jolt been thrown off, and
received a hurt, which made it necessary to have him carried into a shop
for assistance. That the lady herself, being no otherwise injured than
by a little fright, found that she was so near home, that she did not
think it worth while to wait for another carriage, but pursued her way
on foot. It was a fine dry evening, about nine o'clock; and though there
was no light but what the lamps afforded, yet as the streets were full
of people, she had no apprehensions of danger.
In this situation she was accosted by two gentlemen, who, seeing a lady
well dressed and alone, insisted on seeing her safe to her lodgings.
However disagreeable such an encounter was, she said she did not give
herself much concern about it, as she was so near home, and expected to
shake off her new acquaintance at the door of the house where she
lodged; and accordingly, when she got there, she told them she was at
home, and wished them a good night; but the impertinents were not so
easily to be put off. The door having been opened by the maid of the
house, they both rushed in; her landlady, a single woman, happened to be
abroad and there was no man in the house.
Mrs Arnold thought she had no way left, but to run up to her
dining-room, and lock herself in; but in this she was prevented, as the
gentlemen, whom the servant of the house vainly endeavoured to oppose,
got up stairs almost as soon as she did. Her own maid, on hearing the
rap at the door, had lighted candles in the dining-room; the two sparks
entered with her; but how was she surprized to find that one of them was
her husband. Her fright, she said, had prevented her from discovering
this sooner, as she had not looked in either of their faces, though
there was a light in the hall; and Mr Arnold's being half drunk, she
supposed, was the reason of his not perceiving sooner who she was.
The astonishment that they both were in, and the exclamation that each
made in their turn, soon informed the companion of Mr Arnold who the
lady was. He congratulated them both on this fortunate mistake, and
saying, since chance had been so propitious to Mr Arnold as to throw him
into the arms of so charming a woman, he hoped his discovering her to be
his wife would not render her the less agreeable to him; but that this
unexpected meeting might be a means of re-uniting them in their former
amity.
Mr Arnold, she says, in the presence of this gentleman, advanced with
open arms to embrace her, which she not declining, his friend having
again felicitated them on their reconciliation, took his leave, and Mr
Arnold remained with his lady.
That at parting, which was not till late, (as she would not, on account
of her reputation, permit him to pass the night at her lodgings) he
promised to bring her home to his house in a day or two; but
unfortunately for her he was taken ill in the interim, which she did not
know of, till she had an account that Mr Arnold had lost his senses. The
reason she assigned for not enquiring after him sooner was, that her
pride would not suffer her to make any advances to a man, who had been
so injurious as to part with her; and she thought it his duty to recall
her, without her taking any step towards it.
This story seems plausible; yet none of our friends believe a word of
it, and imagine somebody has contrived it for her. The gentleman, who
was the companion of Mr Arnold that night, she says, can at a proper
time be produced as a witness, as also her own maid, who can testify the
truth of this story. In the mean time this maid is kept out of the way,
and nobody can guess at the gentleman, for his name is kept a profound
secret.
I am delighted at the sweetness of Mr Arnold's temper: vexatious as this
affair is likely to be, even at the best, he does not suffer it to
interrupt our pleasures or his own good humour. On the contrary, he is
the more studious of promoting every thing, which he thinks will
entertain me.
_February 28_
At length the poor Miss Burchell is happily rid of her burden; a pretty
little boy, my mother says it is: it was, immediately after its birth,
at which my mother was present, privately baptized by the name of
Orlando, and sent away with its nurse, a careful body, who had been
before provided for it. It passes for the son of a captain Jefferis,
abroad with the army. Miss Burchell would never suffer the nurse to see
her; for as she intends to reassume her own name, as soon as she shall
be in a condition to leave her present retirement, she would not chuse
to be known by the woman, in case of her going to see her child. Every
thing was managed with so much privacy, and Miss Burchell has lived so
perfectly recluse, nobody visiting her but my mother, that in all
probability this affair will always remain an intire secret.
My mother says, that as soon as Miss Burchell (to whom she considers
herself as a kind of patroness) is tolerably recovered, she will go down
to Sidney-castle; for she thinks herself in a strange land any where but
there. And would you believe it my dear, she has taken such a fancy to
Miss Burchell, that she talks of inviting her down with her, if she can
obtain her uncle's leave. The girl must certainly have some very amiable
qualities, so to captivate my mother, or she has an immensity of art. I
dare say the young lady will gladly accept of her invitation; it will
undoubtedly be a most eligible situation for her. I do not know what Sir
George may say to her carrying her humanity so far, as he hates the name
of this poor girl; but no matter, it may be a means of preserving her
character, which probably she might not long keep, if she returned to
live with so vile a woman as I conclude her aunt to be; nor can she have
any colour for quitting her, whilst her uncle lives; for I find she is
an orphan, and has no relation but him. She must however go home for a
while, in order to get leave from him for this visit to Sidney-castle.
_March 26, 1704_
I am told the widow Arnold computes the time of her lying-in about the
latter end of the next month; if it should so happen, she saves her
distance, as her husband died in July, a little before we went to
Grimston-hall. Mr Arnold treats the affair very lightly, and is only
concerned at seeing my mother so much affected by it. For my part, I
form my behaviour upon Mr Arnold's conduct, and as long as he appears
easy, I shall certainly be so too.
My brother throws out some unkind reflections: he says, he wonders the
old Sybil at Grimston-hall did not foresee this; and congratulates me on
my good fortune, in having my jointure settled on that part of the
estate which is not disputed. I really think he shews a sort of
ill-natured triumph even in his condolements; for he generally concludes
them with thanking his stars that _he_ had no hand in the match. I trust
in God we shall none of us have any cause to repent it. I am sure I
never shall; for if Mr Arnold were reduced to the lowest ebb of fortune,
I should find my consolation in his kindness and affection.
_March 27_
My mother is preparing to leave town. Miss Burchell is quite recovered,
and purposes going down to the country, to obtain her uncle's consent
for the intended visit. She says, she can easily tell him she made an
acquaintance with lady Bidulph in her late excursion to Bath, from whom
she received an invitation, and she is sure he will not refuse to let
her accept it.
Sir George laughs exceedingly at this plan. He says his mother ought not
to be surprized at Faulkland's falling into the girl's snares, since she
herself has done the same; but he supposes my mother thinks she is doing
a very meritorious action, in affording an asylum to this injured
innocence. I give you my brother's words, for I assure you, as to
myself, I approve of my mother's kindness to her, and think it may be a
means of preserving the girl from future mischief.
_April 2_
Miss Burchell is gone to the country, and this morning, for the first
time, severed me from the best of mothers. I cannot recover my spirits;
I have wept all day. Mr Arnold, ever good and obliging, would needs
accompany her some miles on her journey; you may be sure I was not left
behind. Sir George was so polite as to say, He would escort her down to
Sidney-castle. I was surprized at it; for he does not often do obliging
things. My mother gladly accepted of his company, and said, she would
make him her prisoner, when she had him there; for she should be quite
melancholy without me for a time. Now though I should be very unwilling
not to allow the merit of a good-natured action to Sir George, yet do I
attribute this in some measure to its answering a purpose of convenience
to himself. You know, before his illness sent him to the Spa, he always
spent his summers with us at the Castle, though he has another very
convenient house on his estate. When he was in London, he never had any
thing but lodgings, for which I have often been angry with him. My
mother, since his return, made him a compliment of her house; but as the
time she took it for is now expired, and it is let to another family, he
could no longer continue in it. Mr Arnold, in the most affectionate
manner, pressed him to accept of an apartment with us, which he
declined. Now as he could not, without shewing us an apparent slight,
continue in town in other lodgings, I believe he, for this reason,
preferred going down with my mother. Be it as it may, I am very glad
that she will have his company; for I make no doubt of his staying with
her some time, unless Miss Burchell should frighten him away.
_April 5_
I have been so cast down since my mother's departure, that Mr Arnold's
obliging tender assiduity to please and entertain me seems redoubled;
but indeed I am wearied with a continual round of noisy pleasures, and
long to get back to Arnold-abbey. I hope to be there in about three
weeks, or a month at farthest. My mother has dispensed with our going
down to her this summer. She thinks it might be attended with
inconveniences to me, and talks of coming to town again in a few months;
but I shall insist on her not giving herself the fatigue of so long a
journey, unless she comes to stay all the next winter with us.
_April 20_
My mother writes me word that Miss Burchell has obtained leave of her
uncle, and is come to Sidney-castle: she says, she never saw a better
behaved young creature. Sir George has taken so much offence at her
coming, that he talks of going to his own house. My mother adds, 'He
behaves however, with manners, but I shall not press him to stay.'
_May 6_
An important birth, my Cecilia! the widow Arnold has produced a young
miss. I assure you the little damsel has been ushered into life with all
the ceremony due to a young heiress; and her mother introduces her as
one, whom an unjust uncle debars of her right. Now you must know, that
upon an exact calculation, this little girl has made her appearance just
twelve days later than she ought to have done, to prove her legitimacy,
dating the possibility of her being Mr Arnold's, from the very day
whereon he took that illness of which he died, and which confined him
for five days to his bed. In all that time, his servants never left him
for a minute; this has occasioned various speculations; our lawyers say
that it is enough to destroy her pretensions; but some physicians, who
have been consulted on the occasion, are of a contrary opinion; and
declare they have known instances of children being born, even so long
after the stated time alloted by nature for their coming into life.
It is a very unlucky affair, and has involved us in a law-suit. Who the
person is that secretly abets the widow, we cannot find out; but it is
certain she has somebody; every one believes this is an infamous and
unjust claim; and the woman's folly almost frees her from the suspicion
of its being of her own contriving.
_May 10_
You cannot imagine, my Cecilia, how happy I think myself, after such a
hurrying winter as I have had, to find myself once more restored to my
favourite pleasures, the calm delights of solitude. Arnold-abbey seems a
paradise to me now.
Lady Grimston shewed me a specimen of her humour this morning, in
talking of the widow Arnold. She said she was an _harlot_, that having
already disgraced the family, now wanted to beggar them; but that if Mr
Arnold did not make an example of her, she would never own him for a
kinsman.
My chearful old Dean says, he is now completely happy, having lived to
see his daughter married (while we were in town) very much to his and
her satisfaction. I am heartily glad of it, neither am I sorry (for her
sake) that she has left the country.
_May 11_
Mrs Vere is come to spend a few weeks with me according to her promise.
She is a truly amiable creature; her disposition so gentle, her temper
so mild, such a sweet humility in her whole deportment, that it
astonishes me her mother can still persist in her unkindness to her. But
the eldest daughter was always her darling, who I understand is pretty
much of her mother's own cast; and makes a very termagant wife to a very
turbulent husband. So that notwithstanding their title (for he is a
Baronet) and immense riches, they are a very miserable pair.
They were lately to pay lady Grimston a visit; but there happened such a
frecas, that probably it may be the last she will ever receive from
them. The husband, it seems, though very rough and surly in his nature,
is, notwithstanding, a well-meaning man, and not void of humanity; which
had induced him to give a small portion to a young girl, a distant
relation of his own, who had been left an orphan. She was beloved by the
son of a substantial farmer, a tenant of the baronet's, and had an equal
affection for him; but the young man, depending entirely on his father
for his future prospects, durst not take a wife without something to
begin the world with; for his father had just put him into the
management of one of his farms. The young lady and her mother (who was a
widow, and is but lately dead) had boarded for some years at this honest
farmer's house, and in that time a mutual love had been contracted
between the young people. The old man himself liked the girl so well for
a daughter-in-law, that his only objection was her want of fortune; but
this was such an obstacle as was not to be surmounted by a man, who,
being accustomed to earn money by indefatigable industry, put the utmost
value upon it. His regard to his son's happiness, however, made him
resolve to try an experiment in his favour, and accordingly he plucked
up courage, and went to his landlord. He told him, in his own blunt way,
that he came to speak to him in behalf of a poor young gentlewoman that
was his (Sir William's) relation. I have a son that loves her, said he,
and she loves him, but I cannot afford to let the boy marry a wife that
has nothing; and you know she has no portion. I would not desire much
with her, for she is a good girl, and very housewifely; but if you will
be so kind to give her something to set them a going a little, I shall
be content; if not, you will be the cause of my son's losing a wife, for
he swears he will never marry any other woman, and she, poor thing, may
pine away for love. I do not desire this match out of the ambition of
having my boy related to you, but because I think the girl is an honest
girl, and may make him happy.
The rough honesty of the farmer pleased his landlord so well, that he
gave the young woman five hundred pounds, to set them a going, as the
old yeoman termed it. Though this sum was but a trifle to a man of his
fortune, and the giving it was a praise-worthy action, yet did it
exceedingly displease his lady, especially as he had not thought proper
to consult her on the occasion. She was not contented with venting her
indignation on her husband at home, but she renewed the quarrel, by
complaining to lady Grimston, that her opinion and advice were not only
despised, but that Sir William was lavishing away the fortune _she_ had
brought him upon a _tribe_ of poor relations of his own. Lady Grimston
immediately took fire; she could not bear the thoughts of having her
daughter's authority of less weight in his family, than her own had
been, and she attacked her son-in-law with acrimony on the subject. His
answer to her was short. Look ye, lady Grimston, you made a very
obstreperous wife to a very peacable husband; your daughter, I find, is
mightily disposed to follow your example; but as I am not quite so tame
as my father-in-law was, I will suffer her to see as little of it as may
be. With this he turned from her, and ordering his coach and six to be
got ready immediately, with very little ceremony he forced his wife into
it, and carried her home directly, leaving lady Grimston foaming with
rage. The altercation had been carried on with so little caution, that
the servants heard it, and the story is the jest of the neighbourhood.
I confess I am not sorry for this breach; it may be the better for poor
Mrs Vere; for though her mother's jointure reverts to a male relation,
on whom the estate was settled, yet as lady Grimston has a large
personal fortune, it is in her power to make her daughter full amends
for the injury she did her.
_May 20_
Mr Arnold is improving his gardens, and taking in a great deal more
ground to enlarge them. I do not express the least dissatisfaction at
this, tho' I own I could wish he would not engage in new expences on an
estate which is now in litigation; but our lawyers are so sanguin, that
they encourage him to proceed.
[_The following is writ in the hand of the lady, who gave the
editor these papers: 'Here follows an interval of four months; in
which time, though the Journal was regularly continued, nothing
material to her story occured, but the birth of a daughter, after
which she proceeds.'_]
_September 25_
How delightful are the new sensations, my dear Cecilia, that I feel
hourly springing in my heart! Surely the tenderness of a mother can
never be sufficiently repaid; and I now more than ever rejoice in
having, by an obedience, which perhaps I once thought had some little
merit in it, contributed so much to the repose of a parent, to whom I
have such numberless obligations. I never see my little girl, but I
think such were the tender sentiments, the sweet anxieties, that my
honoured and beloved mother felt when her Sidney was such a brat as
this. Then I say, surely I have a right to all the duty, all the filial
love that this creature can shew me, in return for my fondness. As for
Mr Arnold, he idolizes it; you never saw so good a nurse as he makes.
Lady Grimston declares, we are both in a fair way of ruining the child,
and advises us to send it out of the house, that we may not grow too
fond of it; but we shall hardly take her counsel.
_September 28_
I informed you before that Miss Burchell had been summoned home by her
uncle, who was then very ill. She has lately written an account to my
mother of his death; and that as she has now her fortune in her own
hands, she intends immediately to quit her aunt, and look out for some
genteel and reputable family in London (where it seems she chuses to
reside) to lodge with.
My mother, in her letter to me, expresses great satisfaction at her
resolution to leave her aunt, but is not without her fears, that so
pretty a young woman, left to her own guidance, may be liable to danger;
though she thinks both her natural disposition, and her good sense,
sufficient to guard her against actual evil.
Our lawyer writes us a word, that he has had an offer of a composition,
proposed by the widow Arnold's people: he says, though the sum they
mention is a very round one, yet it plainly indicates the weakness of
their hopes; and concludes with telling Mr Arnold, that if six-pence
would buy them off, he should not, with his consent, give it to them; as
it would tacitly admit the legality of their claim, and might be
productive of troublesome consequences hereafter; and therefore he would
by all means have the issue fairly tried. Mr Arnold laughs heartily at
the proposal, but says he is very much obliged to the lady for
condescending to give up more than half, when her daughter has a right
to the whole; without whose consent he supposes it is not in the
mother's power to make terms.
I wish we were rid of this troublesome affair, as it must hurry us to
town sooner than we intended, and the country is still delightful.
_London, October 1_
Again we have quitted our sweet retirement for the noise and bustle of
London; but this law-business, it seems, must be closely pursued, though
our antagonist's motions seem a little dilatory. We cannot find out the
secret spring that sets the machine a-going; the wheels however do not
seem to move with such alacrity as they did; though the widow still
talks big, and says, we shall repent of having rejected her offer.
_October 3_
My brother is arrived in town, but took care to settle himself in
handsome commodious lodgings before he paid us a visit, for fear, I
suppose, that we should again press him to accept of apartments in our
house. I see he is determined to keep up nothing more than an
intercourse barely civil. Mr Arnold cannot but be disgusted with his
behaviour, but he is too delicate to take notice of it to me.
_October 17_
I am disappointed in my hopes of seeing my dear mother in town this
winter. Her apartment was ready for her, and I delighted myself with the
thoughts of seeing her in possession of it, at least for a few months;
but she writes me word that her old rheumatick complaint is returned on
her with such violence, that she cannot think of undertaking the
journey. Sadly am I grieved at this news, and shall long to have the
winter over, that Mr Arnold and I may fly to Sidney-castle; he has
promised me this satisfaction early in the summer.
My mother informs me that Miss Burchell constantly corresponds with her:
she tells her that her aunt is come to town to sollicit for her pension,
but that she never sees her; and as she means to drop all correspondence
with her, she does not intend even to let her know where she lodges. I
commend Miss Burchell highly for this, as the acquaintance of such a
woman may be hurtful to her reputation.
[_Here ensues another interval of nine months, in which nothing
particular is related, but that Mrs Arnold became mother to a
second child. This last circumstance, with a few others preceding
and succeeding that event, are related in the Journal by her maid
Patty; after which Mrs Arnold herself proceeds._]
_July 1, 1705_
Again, my dear Cecilia, I am able to reassume my pen. I have read what
Patty has writ, and find she is admirable at the anecdotes of a
nursery. Am I not rich, think you? Two daughters, and both perfect
beauties, and great wits you may be sure!
The new-born damsel was baptized this day by the dear-beloved name of
Cecilia. I am angry with Mr Arnold, he takes so little notice of this
young stranger; his affections are all engaged by Dolly: indeed, I am
almost jealous of her; for he spends most of the time he is at home in
the nursery.
Our antagonist is grown alert again, and has renewed her efforts, which
we thought began to flag a little, with fresh vigour. Whence she derives
those revived hopes is a mystery; but she now says, she would not accept
of a composition if it were offered. My poor Mr Arnold begins to fret a
little, it now and then makes him thoughtful; not that he says he has
the least doubt about his success, but he has been much harrassed with
the necessary attendance that the cause requires, and downright tired
with dangling after lawyers; besides, they say the cause cannot come to
an hearing in the ensuing term, though they before made us hope, that it
would be at an end long before this time.
_July 3_
I am mortified exceedingly, my dear Cecilia: I find I am not likely to
see my mother this summer. I thought I could not have lived so long from
her sight. Indeed it was purely in the hope of making her this visit,
that I prevented her coming to town in the spring, which she purposed
doing, though far from being well enough to undertake the journey. I own
I have been impatient under my confinement, as that, and my previous
circumstances, detained us so long in town, and I this day asked Mr
Arnold when we should set out for Sidney-castle. He answered me, that he
feared it would not be in his power this season to pay the intended
visit to my mother: he says, he has not been near his estate in Kent
these five years, except for a day or two at a time, and that he thinks
it necessary to see what condition it is in. I believe I have told you
that there is a pretty house on it. The place is called South-park, and
is that which my mother chose for my settlement. Mr Arnold, who always
preferred Arnold-abbey to it, hardly ever visited this place; and as he
never resided there, and only lay at an inn when he went down, the house
is unfurnished, excepting a room or two, which a man who receives his
rent has just made habitable for his own convenience.
But that I have laid it down as a rule never to oppose so good, so
indulgent a husband as Mr Arnold is, in any instance, wherein I do not
think a superior duty requires me to do so, I should certainly show some
disapprobation of what he now purposes doing. It will be attended with
so much trouble, so much expence too: he has ordered the house at
South-park to be completely furnished, and says, he hopes I shall like
it so well as to be induced to pass the remainder of the summer there.
Most sure it is, every place will be delightful to me where I can enjoy
his company, and have my dear little babes with me; but methinks two
country houses are an unnecessary charge, and more than suits our
fortune. I pray God this tender husband may not have a strong and
prudent reason for this conduct, which out of kindness he conceals;
perhaps he thinks this little spot at South-park may some time hence be
the whole of our dependence, and he has a mind to be before-hand with
ill fortune, in rendering that retreat agreeable to me, and rather an
object of choice than of necessity. If this be his motive, How much am I
obliged to him? He has not hinted any thing like it; nor would I dash
the pleasure he seems to promise himself there, by insinuating the least
suspicion of what his reasons are for going to it. If we lose
Arnold-abbey, and the whole estate belonging to it, I shall only regret
it for his sake.
_July 8_
We are to set out to-morrow, my Cecilia, for our place in Kent. I have
made the best apology that I could to my mother, and Mr Arnold too has
writ to her; but I know she will be extremely disappointed at not seeing
us.
_July 12_
We are lately arrived at South-park, Mr Arnold in high spirits; and my
two young travellers bore the fatigue extremely well.
I am not surprized Mr Arnold liked the old family seat better than this.
I cannot say I am much charmed with it, but I will not let him see that.
I affect to admire, and seem pleased with every thing that affords me
the least opportunity of commendation. The house is a very neat one; it
has not been many years built, and is in perfectly good repair. It is
genteely, though plainly furnished, and we have a tolerable garden; but
as the whole domain is let, we are obliged to take a few fields from one
of our tenants, to supply our immediate want. We are in a very genteel
and populous neighbourhood, and within a mile of a good market town.
_July 20_
I have regretted nothing so much in my absence from Arnold-abbey, as the
being cut off from the hope of seeing my amiable Mrs Vere. We can have
but _one friend_ to share our heart, to whom we have no reserve, and
whose loss is irreparable; but I perceive the absence of a pleasing
acquaintance, whose society is no farther necessary to us, than as it
contributes to enliven solitude, and gets a preference to others merely
by comparison, is a loss easily supplied; this I find by experience.
There are Mrs Veres every where; but, alas! there is but _one_ Cecilia!
I was visited today by two ladies that I am charmed with, though it is
the first time I have seen either of them. The one is lady V of whom you
have formerly heard. Her Lord and she came together; their seat is
within a mile of us, and Mr Arnold had a slight acquaintance with lord V
before. My lady is about forty, and has that kind of countenance that at
once invites your confidence; I never saw integrity, benevolence, and
good sense, more strongly pictured in a face; her address is so plain,
so perfectly free from affectation, or any of the little supercilious
forms of ceremony, that a person, ignorant of what true politeness
consists in, would imagine she wanted breeding; yet she received her
education in a court; but she seems to let good sense and good nature
preside over all her words and actions rather than form. She told me she
had deferred her visit to me, longer perhaps than the laws of decorum
would admit of, as we were such near neighbours; but, said she, I was
determined not to be overlooked in the crowd of visitors that have been
thronging to you every day, since you came down. The character I have
heard of you, makes me wish for an intimacy with you, and you are not to
look upon this as a visit of ceremony, but as an advance towards that
friendship I wish to cultivate.
She spoke this with so frank an air, that, flattering as the compliment
appeared, I could not help believing her sincere; and thought myself,
that my appearance did not diminish that good opinion which she said she
had conceived of me from report.
Lord V---- is many years older than his lady; a robust man, as plain in
his way as my lady is in her's; though _his_ way and _her's_ are very
different; for he is frank even to bluntness, but the best humoured man
living.
The other lady whom I mentioned is a widow; her name is Gerrarde, and
she lives upon a little estate she has in this neighbourhood. I think I
never beheld so fine a creature; she is about six and twenty; her
stature, which is much above the common size, is rendered perfectly
graceful and majestic by one of the finest shapes in the world; if her
face is not altogether so regularly beautiful as her person, it is,
however, handsome enough to render any woman charming who had nothing
else to boast of. Whether her understanding be of a piece with the rest,
I have not yet been able to discover. Her visit to me was but short, for
she had not sat with me an hour when lady V---- came in, and she then
took her leave; but by what I could observe in that little time, she
seems to have as much vivacity and agreeable humour, as I ever met with
in any one. She pressed me to dine with her at her cottage, as she calls
it, to-morrow, and I like her too well to refuse the invitation.
These two charming women, I think, I shall single out for my chief
intimates, from the crowd which have been to compliment me, on my coming
into this country.
Mr Arnold is mightily pleased with them both; but he gives the
preference to lady V----, whom, tho' he had a slight acquaintance with
her lord, he never saw before. But he is almost as great a stranger in
this place as I am: he is highly delighted at my having met with people
who are likely to render it agreeable to me.
_July 21_
We dined to-day according to appointment with Mrs Gerrarde. A
cottage she called her house, nor does it appear much better at the
outside, but within it is a fairy palace. Never was any thing so neat, so
elegant, so perfectly well fansied, as the fitting up of all her rooms.
Her bedchambers are furnished with fine chints, and her drawing-room
with the prettiest Indian sattin I ever saw. Her little villa is
called Ashby, and her husband, she told me, purchased it for her
some time before his death, and left it to her; but she has since had a
considerable addition to her fortune, by the death of a relation.
Our entertainment was splendid almost to profusion, though there was no
company but Mr Arnold and I. I told her, if she always gave such
dinners, it would frighten me away from her: indeed it was the only
circumstance in her whole conduct that did not please me, for I was
charmed with the rest of her behaviour. They must surely be of a very
churlish disposition, who are not pleased, where a manifest desire to
oblige is conspicuous in every word and action. If Mrs. Gerrarde is not
as highly polished as some women are, who, perhaps, have had a more
enlarged education, she makes full amends for it by a perfect good
humour, a sprightliness always entertaining, and a quickness of thought,
that gives her conversation an air of something very _like_ wit, and
which I dare say passes for the thing itself with most people.
_July 24_