before, Mr Arnold went with me; but my lord not being at home, he went
to ramble about the grounds, so that I had a long _tête à tête_ with
lady V----. She is an admirable woman, so fine an understanding, such
delicacy of sentiment, and such an unaffected complaisance in her
manner, that I do not wonder my lord perfectly adores her. There is a
tenderness, a maternal kindness in her behaviour towards me, that fills
me at once with love and reverence for her; and, next to my Cecilia, I
think I never met with any woman whom I could so highly esteem as lady
V----. She is an admirable mistress of her needle, and every room in her
house exhibits some production of a very fine genius, united with very
great industry: for there are beds, chairs, and carpets, besides some
very pretty rural prospects in panels, executed with inimitable skill,
and very excellent taste. She tells me, if I will give her leave to
bring her work with her, she will live whole days with me.
I am rejoiced now that Mr Arnold thought of coming to South-Park. How
valuable is the acquaintance of such a woman as lady V----! and I might
never have known her, but for a circumstance to which I was at first so
averse. And then my agreeable lively Mrs Gerrarde! My acquaintance at
Arnold-abbey begin to fade upon my memory: to say the truth, I think of
none of them with pleasure, but Mrs Vere, and my good humoured old Dean.
_August 4_
Mrs Gerrarde is a little saucy monopolist; she grumbles if I do not see
her every day, and is downright jealous of my intimacy with lady V----.
They are acquainted, but I don't find there is a very close intercourse
between them: Mrs Gerrarde says, her ladyship is too good a houswife for
her; and as she is not very fond of needle-work herself, she cannot
endure people that are always poring over a frame. I find indeed, that
this sprightly rogue is fonder of cards than of work; she draws Mr
Arnold and me in very often for a pool at piquet: at her house I am
obliged to submit; but at my own, I often take up a book, when she and
Mr Arnold are engaged at their game, and make them decide the contest
between them. Nay, I threaten that I will, some night or other, steal
to-bed and leave them; for she is unconscionable at late hours; and as
she lives very near us, and keeps a chariot, she does not scruple to go
home at any hour of the night. What a pity it is so amiable a woman
should be thus fondly attached to so unprofitable an amusement! for I
begin to see play is her foible; though, to do her justice, she never
engages but for very trifling sums, and that only in our own little
domestic way. But this passion may grow upon her, and she may be led
unawares into the losing more than her fortune can bear.
_August 12_
I never was so disconcerted as I have been this day: you will be
surprized when I tell you, it was by my good lady V----. She came to
pass the day with me, Mr Arnold being engaged abroad.
We were both sitting at work in the parlour: lady V---- had continued
silent for a good while; at last looking at me with a most benign smile,
for I had at the same instant cast my eyes at her; I was just then
thinking, my dear Mrs Arnold, said she, that I once (though perhaps you
did not know it) flattered myself with the hopes of being related to
you. Her words threw me into confusion, though I did not know their
meaning. It would have been both an honour and a happiness to me, madam,
I replied, though I don't know by what means I was ever likely to
possess it. She continued smiling, but seemed in suspence whether she
should proceed. You will pardon my curiosity my dear, said she, but give
me leave to ask, whether Mr Arnold was not once near losing the
happiness he now enjoys? I felt my face glow as she spoke. There was
once a treaty of marriage on foot, madam, I answered, between me and
another gentleman. I am sorry I mentioned it, said my lady, observing my
confusion; but as I was no stranger to the affair while it was
transacting, and Mr Faulkland is a kinsman of mine, I hope you will
forgive my inquisitiveness; for I own I have a curiosity, which I
believe no body but yourself can gratify; and if I did not think you the
most candid, as well as the best tempered creature living, I durst not
push my enquiry. My lord, you are to know, was in London, at the time Mr
Faulkland was first introduced to you; and as they are extremely fond
of each other, Mr Faulkland did not scruple to disclose his passion to
him, nor the success it then appeared likely to be crowned with, giving
him at the same time such a character of you, as I have since found you
deserve.
When my lord returned to V---- hall, which he was obliged to do very
soon after Mr Faulkland had made this discovery to him, he informed me
of the alliance my cousin Faulkland was going to make; and we were
pleasing ourselves with the thoughts of congratulating him on his
happiness, when we received a letter from him that put an end to all our
expectations; this letter contained but four distracted lines: he told
my lord, in broken sentences, that he had lost all hopes of Miss
Bidulph; that an act of indiscretion had been construed into a capital
crime; and that being banished from the presence of the woman he adored,
he was immediately about to bid adieu to England, perhaps for ever.
This was the substance of what he wrote to us: we have heard from him
since a few times, but he never cleared up the matter to us, nor even so
much as mentioned it. I have not been in London since; my lord has; but
he never could get any light into the mystery: he heard from some of our
friends, who knew of the intended match, that it was broke off nobody
knew why. There were, however, several idle surmises thrown out; some
laid the blame on Mr Faulkland, and some on you; but the truth I believe
still remains a secret. Now, my dear, if my curiosity is improper, or if
there was any particular motive to this disappointment of my kinsman's
hopes, which you don't chuse to reveal, forgive my enquiry, and think no
more of it; but take up that book, and read to me while I work.
Though my lady gave me this kind opportunity of evading her question, I
did not lay hold of it: I did not indeed chuse to reveal the whole of
this affair, because I did not think myself at liberty to divulge Miss
Burchell's secret, however I might discover my own. I told my lady in
general terms, that though Mr Faulkland might pretend to a lady every
way my superior, yet there was an objection to him of no small weight
with us; that my mother had been informed of a very recent piece of
gallantry he had had with a person of some condition, and that it had
disgusted her so much, she could not think of uniting me with a man
whose passions were not a little more staid; and that this was the sole
reason of her dislike to a gentleman, who was in every other respect
unexceptionable. I am glad it was no worse, said lady V----, smiling; I
am sure Mr Faulkland is not capable of a _base_ action; youthful
follies he may have had, though I believe as few even of those to answer
for as most men of his years. I make not the least doubt, however, that
lady Bidulph was guided by prudence in what she did. She certainly could
not be too cautious in the disposal of _such_ a child as you; and
whatever Mr Faulkland's disappointment may be, _you_ I hope are happy.
Lady V---- looked at me as she pronounced these words, with an
inquisitive, though tender regard. I was glad of an opportunity of
enlarging on the merits of Mr Arnold, and told her, I was as happy as my
heart could wish, or the worthiest of men could make me. I am glad of
it, said she, with a quickness in her voice, but don't imagine, my dear
Mrs Arnold, (and she took me by the hand) that I introduced this
conversation merely to gratify a curiosity, which I fear you must
condemn in your private thoughts, though you have been so good as to
satisfy it: I had another reason, a much stronger one. What is it dear
madam? almost starting with apprehensions of I did not know what. Don't
be alarmed, said she smiling, it is only this; a great aunt of Mr
Faulkland's is lately dead, who has left him a considerable personal
estate, and he is coming over to take possession of it; otherwise I
don't know when we should have seen him in England. My lord had a letter
very lately from him; he was then at Turin, where he had met with our
eldest son, who is now on his travels: he told us he had letters and
some tokens of love to deliver us from him; and that he should
immediately on his arrival in England come to V---- hall, where he would
pass a month with us. Now as we expect him daily, I had a mind to
apprize you of his intended visit, that you might not be surprized, by
perhaps unexpectedly meeting him at my house. I thanked her ladyship for
her obliging caution, though I thought it had something in it that
mortified me. I told her, that though I should not seek to renew my
acquaintance with Mr Faulkland, yet had I no reason to avoid him. Lady
V----, who is extremely quick of apprehension, replied, Without doubt,
madam, you have not; but you might be surprized at seeing him
notwithstanding.
She presently turned the discourse; but made me happy the whole day, by
that inexhaustible fund of good sense and improving knowlege, of which
she is mistress.
Mr Arnold came not home 'till very late; he complains that he is got
into a knot of acquaintance that like the bottle too well; but I am sure
his natural sobriety is such, that it will not be in the power of
example to lead him into intemperance; though I am vexed he has fallen
into such acquaintance, because I know drinking is disagreeable to him:
yet a country gentleman must sometimes give a little into it, to avoid
the character of being singular.
_August 22_
Surprized I was not, because I came prepared; but I own I was abashed,
at seeing Mr Faulkland to-day. Mr Arnold and I were invited to dine at
Lord V----'s, and his lordship, and his guest, came in from the fields
where they had been walking, just as we were ready to sit down to table.
There happened to be a good deal more company; Mr Faulkland was not
introduced; so that there was no room for any thing constrained or
improper of either side. I presently recovered the little embarrassment,
that his first entrance into the room occasioned. I am sure nobody took
notice of it; for dinner being immediately served, there was a sort of
bustle in hurrying out of the drawing-room. The crowd we had at table
destroyed all conversation; and nothing particular was said during
dinner. Lady V---- soon withdrew, and all her female friends followed
her. I observed she frequently glanced her penetrating eyes at Mr
Faulkland while we were at table, but I did not chuse to make any
observations on him. We had not been long seated at our Coffee, when
four of the gentlemen slipped from their company and came to us: these
were Mr Arnold, Mr Faulkland, and two others. My lord is pretty free at
his bottle, and none of these gentlemen I suppose were fond of that
entertainment. Lady V---- and I were sitting on a couch: I called to Mr
Arnold, and placed him between us: Mr Faulkland approached me, and then,
for the first time, with a respectful distance, enquired after my mother
and Sir George, telling me he had missed of the latter, when he was in
London, being told he was at Sidney-castle. After a few more indifferent
questions, he took a dish of coffee, and retired with it to a window. Mr
Arnold asked me in a whisper, if I was acquainted with Mr Faulkland; I
could only answer, that I was formerly very well acquainted with him.
Nothing more passed between Mr Faulkland and me the whole evening: he
returned soon to the company in the next room, and I saw no more of him.
I can with the utmost sincerity assure my Cecilia, that I now behold Mr
Faulkland with as much indifference as I do any other man of my
acquaintance. Time, joined to my own efforts, must, without any other
help, have intirely subdued an inclination, which was always restrained
by prudential motives, and rendered subservient to my duty; but I have,
besides this, now acquired a shield that must render me invulnerable; I
mean the perfect and tender affection I bear my husband: this has
completely secured me against the most distant apprehensions of being
alarmed from any other quarter; yet notwithstanding all this, I can't
say that I am quite satisfied at this renewal of my acquaintance with Mr
Faulkland. I hope, and indeed it is reasonable to suppose, that I have
now as little interest in _his_ heart as he has in mine: it is but
natural to believe that a gay young man like him, should not be so weak
as to nourish a hopeless passion for more than two years, especially as
he has never once seen the object of it in all that time; and must,
without doubt, have had his attention engaged to others in all
likelihood much preferable to her; so that I think I have reason to be
as easy on his account as on my own. But still I am disquieted in my
mind; I have a delicacy that takes alarm at the veriest trifles, and has
been a source of pain to me my whole lifetime: it makes me unhappy to
think that I am now under an almost unavoidable necessity of sometimes
seeing and conversing with a man, who once had such convincing proofs,
that he was not indifferent to me.
Mr Arnold's ignorance of our former connections makes it still worse. At
the time I was so averse to his knowing any thing of this affair, I
flattered myself I should never see Mr Faulkland more, or at least never
be obliged to have any intercourse with him; but I now lament that I did
not take my mother's advice, and disclose the whole affair at first. Oh!
my Cecilia, when the smallest deviations from candor (which we suppose
discretion), are thus punished with remorse, what must they feel whose
whole life is one continued act of dissimulation? If Mr Arnold had been
acquainted with my former engagements, my heart would be more at ease,
and I should then converse with this man with all the disengaged freedom
of a common friend. I wish Mr Arnold's curiosity would excite him to ask
me some questions relative to my acquaintance with Mr Faulkland, that I
might have an opportunity of telling him the secret. But the enquiry he
made at lady V----'s was in a careless manner; he was satisfied with my
reply, and spoke not of him since.
You will laugh perhaps when I tell you that I have not courage to
mention it first; Mr Faulkland is reckoned a very fine gentleman, and I
think it would have such an air of vanity to tell my husband that I
refused him: then it would bring on such a train of explanations, and
poor Miss Burchell's history must come out; for a husband on such a
subject might be disgusted with concealments of any kind; and I doubt
whether even some circumstances in my particular share of this story
might not displease him. In short, I am bewildered, and know not what to
wish for; but must e'en let things take their course, and rest satisfied
in the integrity of my own heart.
_August 26_
Oh! my dear! I am mortified to the last degree, lest Mr Arnold should,
from some indiscreet tongue, have received a hint of my former
engagement; he may think me disingenuous for never having mentioned it,
especially since Mr Faulkland has been in the neighbourhood: I think his
nature is too open to entertain any suspicions essentially injurious to
me; yet may this affair, circumstanced as it is, make an unfavourable
impression on him. I wish I had been before-hand with any officious
whisperer: he has got so many new acquaintance, and is so much abroad,
that the story may have reached his ears. God forbid it should affect
his mind with causeless uneasiness! I would Mr Faulkland were a thousand
miles from V---- hall. I think Mr Arnold is altered since his arrival
there--Colder he appears to be--I hope I but _fancy_ it--yet there _is_
a change--his looks are less kind--his voice has lost that tenderness,
that it used to have in speaking to me--yet this may only be his
temper--a man cannot _always_ be a lover--Oh! I sicken at the very
thought of Mr Arnold's entertaining a doubt of my true affection for
him. I would not live in this suspence for millions. I would rather he
should treat me roughly--if I discovered that to be his humour, though
it would frighten me, yet should I patiently conform to it.
_August 30_
That which was ever the terror of my thoughts is come upon me--Mr
Arnold--Ah! my dear Cecilia! Mr Arnold is no longer the same! Coldness
and indifference have at length succeeded to love, to complacency, and
the fondest attention--What a change! but the _cause_, my dear, that
remains a secret locked up in his own breast. It cannot be that a
whisper, an idle rumour should affect him thus. What if he _has_ heard
that Mr Faulkland loved me once? That we were to have been married?
Cannot he ask me the question? I long to set his heart at ease--yet
cannot mention the affair first, after so long a silence; it would look
like a consciousness. A consciousness of what? I have nothing to accuse
myself of.
_September 1_
I am no longer in doubt.--The cause, the fatal cause of Mr Arnold's
change is discovered. This miserable day has disclosed the secret to me;
a black, a complicated scene of mischief.
Mr Arnold rode out this morning. He told me he was to dine with a
gentleman at some miles distance, and should not return till late in the
evening.
He was but just gone, when a lady of my acquaintance called in upon me,
to request I would go with her to a play, that was to be performed at
night. You must know we have had a company of players in the
neighbourhood for some time past, and it was to one of those poor
people's benefits that she desired my company. I promised to attend her,
though you know I don't much admire those sort of entertainments in the
country, and seldom go to them.
The lady and her husband called upon me at the appointed hour, and I
went with them in their coach. The place which the players had fitted up
for their purpose, had formerly been a pretty large schoolroom, and
could, with the addition of a gallery (which they had made) with ease
contain above three hundred people. The play had been bespoke by some of
the principal ladies in the neighbourhood, who had used all their
interest for the performer, so that the house was as full as it could
hold. The audience consisting chiefly of fashionable people, it was with
difficulty that we reached the places which were kept for us in the pit,
as they happened to be on the bench next the stage, and the door was at
the other end of the house. The first object that I observed on my
coming in was Mr Faulkland; he bowed to me at a distance, but made no
attempts to approach me. The play was come to the latter end of the
fourth act, and the curtain was let down to make some preparation on the
stage, when we were alarmed with the cry of fire.
It happened that the carpenters, who had been employed in fitting up
this extempore theatre, had left a heap of shavings in a little place
behind the stage, which had been converted into a dressing-room; a
little boy belonging to the company had found a candle in it, and having
piled up the shavings, set them on fire, and left them burning: the
flame communicated itself to some dry boards which lay in the room, and
in a few minutes the whole was in a blaze. Some persons, who heard the
crackling of the wood, opened the door, when the flame burst out with
such violence, that the scenes were presently on fire, and the curtain,
which as I told you was dropt, soon caught it.
The consternation and terror of the poor people, whose _all_ was
destroying, is not to be described: the women shrieking, threw
themselves off the stage into the pit, as the smoke and flames terrified
them from attempting to get out any other way, though there was a door
behind the stage.
The audience were in little less confusion than they; for as the house
was composed chiefly of wood, every one expected it would soon be
consumed to ashes.
The horror and distraction of my mind almost deprived me of the power of
motion. My life was in imminent danger; for I was scorched with the fire
before I could get at any distance from the stage, though the people
were rushing out as fast as they could.
The lady who was with me was exceedingly frightned; but being under her
husband's care, had a little more courage than I had. He caught her
round the waist, and lifted her over the benches, which were very high,
giving me what assistance he could with his other hand. But the terror
and hurry I was in occasioned my foot to slip, and I fell between two of
the benches, and sprained my ancle.
Some people pushing to get out, rushed between me and my company; the
excessive pain I felt, joined to my fright, made me faint away; in this
condition Mr Faulkland found me, and carried me out in his arms; for my
companion was too anxious for her own safety, to suffer her husband to
stay to give me any assistance, so that he had only time to beg of the
men about him not to let me perish.
I soon recovered, upon being carried into the open air, and found myself
seated on some planks, at a little distance from the booth, Mr Faulkland
supporting me, and two or three other people about me, whom he had
called to my assistance.
Indebted to him as I was for saving my life, my spirits were at that
time too much agitated to thank him as I ought.
He told me, he had stepped behind the scenes to speak to somebody, and
was there when the stage took fire; that he then ran to give what
assistance he could to the ladies that were in the house (observe he
distinguished not _me_ in particular), and had just come in when he saw
me meet with the accident, which had occasioned my fainting away; and
when the gentleman, who was with me, was calling for help, but at the
same time getting out as fast as he could.
I now began to recollect myself; I was uneasy at Mr Faulkland's
presence; I wished him away. I beseeched him to return once more to the
booth, to see if every one had got out safe, for I told him I had seen
several of my female acquaintance there, for whom I was alarmed. With
the assistance of the people about me, I said I could make a shift to
get to the nearest house, which was not above a hundred yards off, from
whence I should send home for my chariot, which I had ordered to come to
me after the play. He begged I would give him leave to see me safe to
that house, but I would not permit him; and he left me in the care of
two women and a man, who had come to be spectators of the fire.
With the help of these people, I contrived to hobble (for my ancle
pained me exceedingly) to the place I mentioned, which happened to be a
public house. All the rooms below were full, and the woman of the house
very obligingly helped me up stairs into her own chamber. I called for a
glass of water, which was immediately brought me, and I desired the
woman to send some one to my house, which was at about a mile's
distance, to order my chariot to come to me immediately.
While the woman went to execute my instructions, I had thrown myself
into a chair that stood close to the wainscot. I heard a bell ring, and
presently a waiter entered, and asked if I wanted any thing; I told him,
no. He ran hastily out of the room, and entering the next to that where
I was sitting, I heard a voice, which I knew to be Mr Arnold's, ask,
Were the servants found? The man replying that they were not. Then, said
Mr Arnold, tell your mistress she will oblige me if she will let me have
her chaise to carry this lady home. The waiter presently withdrew, and
without reflecting on the particularity of Mr Arnold's being there with
a lady, about whom I formed no conjectures, I was about to rise off my
chair to go in to him; but being almost disabled from walking, I was
obliged to creep along, holding by the wainscot; when a tender
exclamation of Mr Arnold's stopped me. My dearest creature, said he to
his companion, you have not yet recovered your fright. A female voice
answered him with some fond expressions, which I could not hear
distinctly enough to discover whose it was; but I was soon put out of
doubt, when the lady added, in a louder tone, Do you know that your wife
was at the play to-night? Mr Arnold answered, No; I hope she did not see
me. Mrs Gerrarde, for I perceived it was she who spoke, replied, I hope
not, because perhaps she might expect you home after the play. Though Mr
Arnold, in his first emotion of surprize at hearing that I was at the
play, was only anxious lest I should have observed him, yet he was not
so lost to humanity as to be indifferent whether I escaped the flames or
not: I am surprized I did not see her, said he; I wish she may have got
out of the house safe. You are very sollicitous about her, replied Mrs
Gerrarde, peevishly; there was one there perhaps as anxious for her
preservation as you are--The conversation I found here was likely to
become extremely critical for me; but I was prevented from hearing any
more, by the woman of the house, who just then entered the room to ask
me how I did, and to know if I wanted any thing.
I had heard enough to convince me that my presence would be very
unacceptable both to Mr Arnold and his companion, and I resolved not to
interrupt them; nor, if possible, ever let Mr Arnold know that I had
made a discovery so fatal to my own peace, and so disadvantageous to him
and his friend.
The messenger who had been dispatched for my chariot met it by the way,
and was now returned with it; I was told that it was at the door; and it
was with difficulty I got down stairs, leaning on the woman of the
house.
I found Mr Faulkland at the door; he saw that I wished to disengage
myself from him after he had carried me out of the booth; and though
probably he did not take the trouble to excuse the sham commission I
gave him, which was indeed with no other view than to get him away, yet
I believe he had too much respect to intrude on me; and came then with
no other design than to enquire if my chariot had come for me, and how I
was after the terrible condition he had left me in, sitting at night in
the open air, with nobody but two or three ordinary people about me, and
those strangers. This was a piece of civility which humanity, had
politeness been out of the question, would have obliged him to. He told
me the fire was extinguished, and happily nobody had received any hurt;
and that he had only called at that house to know if I were safe, and
recovered from the fright and pain he had left me in. I thanked him, and
was just stepping, assisted by Mr Faulkland, into the chariot, when Mr
Arnold appeared at the door: he was alone, and I concluded, that having
heard the chariot rattle up the court-yard, he supposed it was the
carriage he had ordered for Mrs Gerrarde, and came down to see if it was
ready to receive her.
The light which the servant, who attended me out, held in his hand,
immediately discovered Mr Arnold and me to each other. I could easily
distinguish surprize mixed with displeasure in his countenance. He
asked me abruptly, How I came to that place? Which I told him, in few
words. The cold civility of a grave bow passed between him and Mr
Faulkland, who leaving me in my husband's hands, wished me a good night,
and got into my lord V----'s coach, which waited for him.
Though I knew, from the discourse I had overheard, that Mr Arnold did
not mean to go home with me, yet as I was now seated in the chariot, I
could not avoid asking him. He told me, he was engaged to sup with
company at that house, and that probably he should not be at home till
late. I knew this beforehand, and, without troubling him with any
farther questions, drove home.
I have thrown together the strange occurrences of this evening, as well
as the tumult of my spirits would give me leave: I shall now lay down my
pen, to consider of them a little more calmly. My heart sinks in me--Oh!
that I had remained in ignorance!--
Is it possible, my Cecilia, that Mr Arnold, so good a man, one who
married me for love, and who for these two years has been the tenderest,
the kindest husband, and to whom I never gave the most distant shadow of
offence, should at last be led into--I cannot name it--dare not think of
it--yet a thousand circumstances recur to my memory, which now convince
me I am unhappy! If I had not been blind, I might have seen it sooner. I
recollect some passages, which satisfy me that Mr Arnold's acquaintance
with Mrs Gerrarde did not commence at South-park. I remember lady V----
once asked me, had she and I been acquainted in London? I said, No. My
lord laughed, and in his blunt way said, I will swear your husband was,
for I have seen him hand her out from the play more than once. I never
asked Mr Arnold about this; it made no impression on me at the time it
was spoke, and went quick-out of my thoughts.
'Tis one o'clock: I hear Mr Arnold ring at the outer gate; I tremble all
over, and feel as if I feared to see him. Yet why should I fear? _I_
have not injured _him_.
_September 2_
Mr Arnold staid long enough in his dressing-room after he came in last
night, to give me time to go to-bed before he came up stairs. Not a word
passed between us: I slept not the whole night: whether he did or not I
cannot tell. He asked me this morning, when he rose, how I did: I told
him in great pain. My ancle was prodigiously swelled, and turned quite
black, for I had neglected it last night. He said, you had better let a
surgeon see it, and went carelessly out of the room. How new is
unkindness to me, my friend! you know I have not been used to it. Mr
Arnold adds cruelty too--but let it be so; far be reproaches or
complaints from my lips; to you only, my second self, shall I utter
them; to you I am bound by solemn promise, and reciprocal confidence, to
disclose the inmost secrets of my soul, and with you they are as safe as
in my own breast.--
I am once more composed, and determined on my behaviour. I have not a
doubt remaining of Mr Arnold's infidelity; but let me not aggravate my
own griefs, nor to a vicious world justify my husband's conduct, by
bringing any reproach on my own. The silent sufferings of the injured,
must, to a mind not ungenerous, be a sharper rebuke than it is in the
power of language to inflict.
But this is not all: I must endeavour, if possible, to skreen Mr Arnold
from censure. I hope his own imprudence may not render these endeavours
ineffectual. I am resolved not to drop my acquaintance with Mrs
Gerrarde. While we continue upon a footing of seeming intimacy, the
frequent visits, which I am sure Mr Arnold makes at her house, will be
less taken notice of.
How Sir George would triumph at the knowlege of Mr Arnold's deviating
from virtue! How my poor mother would be amazed and afflicted! But I
will, as far as lies in my power, disappoint the malice of my stars; my
mother shall have no cause to grieve, nor my brother to rejoice; the
secret shall die with me in my own bosom, and I will wait patiently,
till the hand of time applies a remedy to my grief.--Mrs Gerrarde sent a
message to enquire how I did. Conscious woman! she would not come
herself, though she knew not I had discovered her.
My dear good lady V---- hurried to see me the instant she had
breakfasted: Mr Faulkland had told her of my disaster, and her
tenderness soothed and comforted me much. She sat by my bed-side two
hours, and her discourse alleviated the pain both of my mind and body;
but now she has left me, I must again recur to the subject that wrings
my heart. Mr Arnold is enslaved to one of the most artful of her sex. I
look upon his attachment to be the more dangerous, as I believe it is
the first of the kind he ever had; and no woman was ever more formed to
please and to deceive, than she who now holds him in her chains. Into
what hands am I fallen! Mrs Gerrarde must have heard my story, and by
the hint I heard her drop, what cruel misrepresentations may she have
made to Mr Arnold! Mr Faulkland, she can have no enmity to; but me she
certainly hates, for she has injured me.
'Tis noon: I have not seen Mr Arnold since morning; he has been abroad
ever since he rose; Good God! is this the life I am condemned to lead?
A new scene of affliction is opened to me: surely my fate is drawing
towards a crisis. Mr Arnold has just left me. What conversation have we
had!
After entering my room, he walked about for some minutes without
speaking; at last stopping short, and fixing his eyes upon me, How long
have you, said he, been acquainted with Mr Faulkland? I told him my
acquaintance began with him some months before I was married. He was
once your lover I am informed. He was, and a treaty of marriage was
concluded on between us. You would have been happier perhaps, madam, if
it had taken place. I do not think so Mr Arnold, you have no reason to
suppose I do. I had a very great objection to Mr Faulkland, and obeyed
my mother willingly, when she forbid me to see him. I ask not what that
objection was, said he; but I suppose, madam, you will without
reluctance obey _me_, if I make the same request to you. Most
chearfully; you cannot make a request with which I should more readily
comply. But let me beseech you, Mr Arnold, to tell me, what part of my
behaviour has given you cause to think such a prohibition necessary? I
do not say, answered Mr Arnold, that I have any suspicion of your
virtue; but your acquiescence in this particular is necessary to _my_
peace and your _own_ honour. A lady's being _married_ does not cut off
the hopes of a gay man. You give me your promise that you will not see
him any more. I _do_, said I; I will give up lady V----, whose
acquaintance I so much esteem: I will go no more to her house while Mr
Faulkland continues there; and I know of no other family, where I visit,
that he is acquainted with.
My pride would not suffer me to enquire where he had got his
information: I already knew it too well; and fearing he would rather
descend to an untruth than tell me his author, I declined any farther
questions. He seemed satisfied with my promise, but quickly left me, as
if the whole end of his visit to me was accomplished in having obtained
it.
_September 8_
What painful minutes am I obliged to sustain! Mrs Gerrarde has been to
see me, gay and assured as ever. She affected to condole with me on the
accident that happened to my foot, with such an overstrained concern,
such a tender solicitude, that her insincerity disgusted me, if
possible, more than the other part of her behaviour. She told me, she
herself had been at the play, but very luckily had got out without
receiving any injury. I said, I was surprized I had not seen her there.
O, replied she, I was in a little snug corner, where nobody could see
me; for having refused to go with some ladies that asked me, I did not
chuse to be visible in the house, and so squeezed myself up into what
they called their gallery, for I took nobody with me but my maid.
Audacious woman!--Is it not strange, my dear, that Mr Arnold could be so
weak as to humour her in the absurd frolick of going with her to such a
place? for so it must have been; or perhaps she appointed him only to
call for her at the play; and he might have arrived but just in time to
assist her in getting out. No matter which it was.
_September 9_
I was born to sacrifice my own peace to that of other people; my life is
become miserable, but I have no remedy for it but patience.
Mr Arnold spends whole days abroad; at night we are separated on account
of my indisposition; so that we hardly ever converse together. What a
dreadful prospect have I before me! O! Cecilia, may you never experience
the bitterness of having your husband's heart alienated from you!
Lady V----, that best of creatures, is with me constantly; she presses
me to come to her house, as my ancle is now pretty well, yet I am
obliged to excuse myself. I am distressed to the last degree at the
conduct I shall be forced to observe towards her, yet dare not explain
the motive. Causeless jealousy is always the subject of ridicule, and at
all events Mr Arnold must not be exposed to this.
_September 12_
I am weary of inventing excuses for absenting myself from V---- hall. My
lady has done solliciting me, yet continues her friendly and
affectionate visits; I fear she guesses my situation, though she has not
as yet hinted at it; but her forbearing to press me any more on the
subject of going to her, and at the same time not requiring a reason for
this breach of civility as well as friendship, convinced me, that she
suspects the cause of my restraint. I am now perfectly recovered, yet
do I still confine myself to my house, to avoid as much as possible
giving umbrage to lady V----: but this restraint cannot last much
longer; Mrs Gerrarde teazes me to come to her, and I have promised to
make her my first visit.
_September 27_
Said I not that my fate was near its crisis? Where will this impending
ruin end? Take, my Cecilia, the occurrences of this frightful day.
Mr Arnold rode out this morning, and told me he should not return till
night. He asked me, with that indifference which now accompanies all his
words, How I meant to dispose of myself for the day? I told him, I had
no design of going abroad, and should spend my time in reading, or at my
needle. This was my real intention; but Mr Arnold had but just left the
house, when I received a message from Mrs Gerrarde to know how I did,
and to tell me she was not well, and much out of spirits, or she would
come and pass the day with me; but that she insisted on my dining with
her. As I had told Mr Arnold I did not mean to go out, I really had
neither intention nor inclination to do so. But shall I confess my
weakness to you? I suspected that he purposed spending the day (as he
often did) with Mrs Gerrarde, and the more so from the question he had
asked me on his going abroad; he thought I might probably pay her a
visit; and this intrusion was a circumstance he had a mind to be guarded
against, by knowing before-hand my designs. I had not been to see Mrs
Gerrarde since my recovery, and it was natural to suppose I would return
her visits. Possessed as I was with this opinion, her message gave me a
secret satisfaction, as it served to convince me Mr Arnold was not to be
with her, for she generally detained me late when I went to her house.
From what trivial circumstances will the afflicted draw consolation, or
an additional weight of grief? So it was, I felt a sort of pleasure, in
thinking, that for all that day at least Mr Arnold would absent himself
from my rival--My rival! mean word, she is not worthy to be called so;
from his mistress let it be. In short, I resolved to go, especially as
she had sent me word she was not well, and I knew my husband would be
pleased with my complaisance.
I went accordingly to her house, a little before her hour of dining,
which is much later than any body else's in this part of the world. I
found her dressed out, and seemingly in perfect health. She looked
surprized when she saw me; and I then supposed that she hoped to have
received a denial from me, and was disappointed at my coming; though I
wondered that the answer she received to her message had not prepared
her. This thought rushed into my mind in an instant, and I was sure she
expected Mr Arnold. I told her, if I had thought I should have found her
so well, that her message should not have brought me to her; for that I
had determined not to stir out that day, till her invitation prevailed
on me to change my mind. Sure, my dear, said she, there must have been
some mistake in delivering the message to you, it was for to-morrow I
desired the pleasure of your company to dine with me; for today I am
absolutely engaged. However, I am very glad you are come, for I shall
not go out till seven o'clock. I was vexed and mortified: either your
servant or mine made a mistake, said I, for I was told you desired to
see me to-day; besides you sent me word you were not well. She seemed a
little abashed at this: I _was_ very ill in the morning, she said; and
though I was engaged to spend the evening abroad, did intend to have
sent an excuse; but finding myself better, I changed my purpose.
Dinner was immediately served, and I sat down, but with a reluctance
that prevented me from eating. I would have taken my leave soon after
dinner, but Mrs Gerrarde insisted on my staying, and told me, if I
refused her, she should think I had taken something amiss of her. She
called for cards; I suffered myself to be persuaded, and we fell to
piquet.
I played with disgust, and without attention, every minute wishing to
break away. Coffee was at length brought in; I begged to be excused from
staying, telling Mrs Gerrarde, I was sure I prevented her from going
abroad, but she would take no denial. I was constrained to take a dish
of coffee, and was hastening to get it down when the parlour door flew
open, and lo! Mr Faulkland entered the room. If an object the most
horrible to human nature had appeared before me, it could not, at that
instant, have shocked me half so much. I let the cup and saucer drop
from my hand: to say I turned pale, trembled and was ready to faint,
would be too feeble a description of the effect this spectre had on me.
I was senseless, I almost died away. Mrs Gerrarde pretended to be
greatly alarmed; she ran for drops, and having given me a few in a glass
of water, I made a shift to rise off my chair, and telling her, I should
be glad of a little air, tottered to the street door. I determined to go
home directly, but the universal tremor I was now in, disabled me from
walking, and I sat down in the porch to recover myself a little. Mr
Faulkland's having been a witness to the agony his presence had thrown
me into, did not a little aggravate the horror and confusion of my
thoughts. Whatever _his_ were, he had not spoke to me, nor was it
possible for me to have remarked his behaviour: I staid not more than
two minutes in the parlour after he entered. In this situation you will
think my distress would hardly admit of any addition; but the final blow
was yet to come. Mrs Gerrarde had staid a minute in the parlour to speak
to Mr Faulkland after I went out, but presently followed me, and was
soothing me with the kindest expressions, when I heard the trampling of
horses, and presently beheld Mr Arnold alighting at the door. I now gave
myself up for lost. My mind suddenly suggested to me that Mrs Gerrarde
had contrived a plot upon my innocence; but how she had been able to
bring it about, my thoughts were not then disengaged enough to conceive.
My mind was all a chaos; I was not able to answer Mr Arnold when he
spoke to me. He soon perceived my disorder, and enquired the cause. Mrs
Gerrarde took upon her to answer, that I was just preparing to go home,
when I was taken suddenly ill. I was going abroad, said she, and as I
ordered the chariot much about this hour, I fancy it is ready, and may
as well carry Mrs Arnold home; you had best step into the parlour, my
dear, (to me) till it is brought to the door.
I am now able to walk, madam, said I; there is no occasion to give you
that trouble. Mr Arnold said, I should not walk by any means; and Mrs
Gerrarde immediately calling to a servant to order the chariot to the
door, said, as she was going out, she would leave me at home herself. Mr
Arnold answered, it would be the best way, and that he should follow
soon. The chariot was presently at the door, and I was preparing to get
into it, when Mrs Gerrarde cry'd, Bless me, I had forgot, it will not be
so civil to leave the gentleman behind, without saying any thing to him.
Mr Arnold hastily asked, What Gentleman? Mrs Gerrarde replied, Mr
Faulkland, _who took it into his head_ to make me a visit this evening.
She went quickly into the parlour, and strait returned with Mr
Faulkland; who bowing carelessly to Mr Arnold, and civilly to me, walked
away.
Mrs Gerrarde stepped into the chariot to me, and ordered it to drive to
my house, leaving Mr Arnold standing motionless at her door.
A total silence prevailed on my side during our short journey home,
except to answer in monosyllables Mrs Gerrarde's repeated enquiries
after my health. She set me down at my own door, and took her leave
without alighting. When I found myself alone, I began to consider the
consequences of this evening's fatal interview; an interview, which,
though unthought of by me, I judged was contrived to ensnare me. I laid
all the circumstances together, and endeavoured to unravel the clue.
'Tis plain to me Mr Arnold was expected by Mrs Gerrarde this evening.
She sent for me on purpose to betray me; the message, which she
pretended was delivered wrong, was only an artifice, in order to impose
on Mr Arnold, that he might imagine she did not expect me. Indeed, he
could not possibly think she should send for me on the very evening he
was to be with her; and she had so well guarded her contrivance, that it
was not easily to be detected. She had sent her message by word of
mouth, though she generally wrote them down on paper, but this way would
not have been liable to misconstruction: she had told me she was engaged
in the evening, yet detained me longer than I meant to stay. From the
first of these circumstances, it must appear to Mr Arnold, that as I had
come unwished for, she wanted to get rid of me; the latter obviously
served her own purpose; for it is as clear as daylight that she laid her
plan so as that Mr Arnold should find Mr Faulkland and me together. All
this I have deduced from a long train of reasoning on the circumstances.
But the inexplicable part of the mystery is how she contrived to get Mr
Faulkland, with whom I did not think she was acquainted, to visit her at
so fatally critical a juncture. Sure some evil spirit must have assisted
her in this wicked scheme: she knew, no doubt, of the promise Mr Arnold
had exacted of me, never to see him. The apparent breach of this
promise, she may have art enough to persuade Mr Arnold was concerted on
my side. But I hope I shall be able to clear myself of this cruel
imputation to my husband. Truth must force its way into his mind, if he
is not resolved on my destruction. Perhaps Mr Faulkland may be secretly
Mrs Gerrarde's admirer, and Mr Arnold is the dupe to her perfidy, as I
am the sacrifice to her malice and licentiousness.--'Tis all a strange
riddle, but I cannot remain long in this dismal state of suspence; Mr
Arnold, perhaps, may discover her treachery, while she is endeavouring
to destroy me in his good opinion.
I am waiting here like a poor criminal, in expectation of appearing
before my judge. I wish Mr Arnold were come in, yet I dread to see him.
I might have spared myself the anxiety. Mr Arnold is just returned, but
he has locked himself into another chamber. I will not molest him
tonight; to-morrow, perhaps, he may be in better temper, and I may be
able to justify myself to him, and dispel this frightful gloom that
hangs over us.
_September 13_
Hopes and fears are at an end, and the measure of my afflictions is
filled up.
I went to bed last night, but slept not; the hours were passed in
agonies not to be described. I think all griefs are magnified by silence
and darkness. I well knew, prepossessed as Mr Arnold was by my artful
enemy, I should find it difficult to excuse myself, or persuade him,
that chance, or Mrs Gerrarde's more wicked contrivance, had been the
sole cause of what had given him such offence. I was resolved, however,
to vindicate my innocence, and was, in my own thoughts, preparing my
defence the greatest part of the night. Towards morning, weariness and
grief overpowered me, and I fell asleep, but I enjoyed not this repose
long. Some noise that was made in the house suddenly awakened me; I saw
it was broad day, and looking at my watch, found it was past seven
o'clock. I rang my bell, and Patty entering my room, I enquired if her
master was yet stirring. The poor girl looked aghast, He is gone away on
horseback, madam, said she, almost two hours ago; and he ordered his man
to put up some linnen and a few other things in a small portmanteau. I
believe he means not to return to-night; for he bid me to deliver this
letter to you. I opened the letter with trembling hands, from whence I
received my doom in the following words:
'You have broken your faith with me, in seeing the man whom I forbad you
to see, and whom you so solemnly promised to avoid. As you have betrayed
my confidence in this particular, I can no longer rely on your prudence
or your fidelity. Whatever your designs may be, it will be less to my
dishonour if you prosecute them from under your husband's roof. I
therefore give you till this day se'nnight to consider of a place for
your future abode; for one house must no more contain two people, whose
hearts are divided. Our children remain with me, and the settlement
which was made on you in marriage, shall be appropriated to your
separate use.
'I have left home to avoid expostulations, nor shall I return to it till
I hear you have removed yourself. Spare the attempt of a justification,
which can only aggravate the resentment of your already too-much injured
husband.'
I have for a while suppressed the tumult in my soul, to give you this
shocking letter.
O my Cecilia! What a wretched lot is thy unhappy friend's! To be
neglected, forsaken, despised, by a husband that I love! Yet I could
bear that: but to be suspected, accused too! to be at once the miserable
object of jealousy and scorn! Surely they know nothing of the human
heart, who say that jealousy cannot subsist without affection; I have a
fatal proof to the contrary. Mr Arnold loves me not, yet doubts my
honour. Cruel, mean, detestable suspicion! Oh that vile woman! 'tis she
has done this; like a persecuting dæmon she urges on the ruin which she
set on foot.
What can I do? Whither can I fly? I cannot remain here any longer; my
presence banishes Mr Arnold from his home. If I go to my mother under
such circumstances, it will break her heart; yet she must know it. I
must not wait to be turned out of my own doors. That thought is not to
be borne. I will go this instant, no matter whither.
_September 15_
God preserve me in my senses! I have passed two days and two nights I
know not how; in silence and without food, Patty tells me. But I think I
am a little recovered. I will write to my mother, and beg of her to open
her arms to receive her miserable child. I am collected enough, and know
what to say.
I had just dispatched my letter, incoherent as it is, and blotted with
my tears, when Patty brought me one that had come by the post. I knew my
dear mother's hand on the superscription, and kissed it before I opened
it. See, my sister, how the tenderest of parents write to her unhappy
child, whom she fondly believes to be the darling of her husband, and
blessed with domestic felicity.
My beloved Sidney,
I find age and infirmities are advancing a-pace upon me. My last
illness shook me severely, and has left a memorandum of what I may
expect in the next visit it makes me. Your family cares are now so
much enlarged, that I cannot expect, nor do I desire that you
should undertake a journey to Sidney-castle to pay me a short
visit; yet, my dear, as you are the comfort of my age, I cannot,
in the present precarious state of my health, bear to be at such a
distance from you; while God permits me strength I will lay hold
of his bounty, and endeavour to get to London. You have told me
that you are not conveniently circumstanced at South-park as to
room; I will not therefore incommode you, but shall content myself
with waiting your arrival in town, at your house in St.
James's-street; but do not hasten your departure from the country
on this account. I am in no immediate danger, my dear, only
willing to lay hold of an interval of health, to get nearer to
you. If God prolongs my life, what joy will it be to me to spend
next winter with my darling, and her dear good Arnold, and to
feast my eyes with my lovely grandchildren!
If I am called from you, I shall have the comfort of my child's
affectionate hands to close my eyes; and shall leave the world
without regret, as I have lived to see my Sidney happy in the arms
of a good man, who will supply the loss of parents, and unite in
himself those tender ties which nature must soon dissolve.
My prayers for yours, and my dear son's prosperity, I never fail
to offer up to Heaven. Your brother George is with me, and desires
to be remembered to you; he purposes staying here the greatest
part of the winter.
As I hope to reach London by the latter end of the week, direct
your next to me at your own house in town.
I am,
My dear love,
Your most sincerely,
affectionate mother,
DOROTHY BIDULPH.
My heart is bursting--O Cecilia! What will become of my fond, my dear,
venerable parent, when she finds this daughter, this comfort of her age,
this beloved of her soul, a poor abandoned outcast; lost to her
husband's love, turned out of his doors, despised, disgraced! My
children too--I must leave them behind--My God, for what calamities hast
thou ordained thy creature! Tears, tears, you may well flow!
So! I am relieved, and will endeavour to fortify my soul against the two
events, that appear to me horrid as an approaching execution to a guilty
wretch, the parting with my children, and the meeting with my mother. As
the letter I wrote will miss of her at Sidney-castle, I shall write to
London, to prepare her to receive the wretch whom her imagination has
figured to her so happy.
Lady V----! I hear her coming up stairs--I cannot conceal my affliction,
nor my disgrace.
Lady V---- has left me: left me in astonishment and new horror. Mrs
Gerrarde! Who do you think Mrs Gerrarde is? She is the aunt of Miss
Burchell, that aunt who betrayed her to destruction. Sure this woman was
sent into the world for a scourge!
I cannot collect myself to tell you with any method, the conversation
that passed between lady V---- and me. She found me with the marks of
tears on my face; they streamed again at the sight of her; I could not
conceal the cause, and I put Mr Arnold's letter into her hands, for I
was not able to tell her the purport of it.
This is Mrs Gerrarde's doing, said she, the detestable creature! How
could she work on your infatuated husband, to drive him such horrid
lengths? I know not, said I, but I hope my lady V---- believes me
innocent. Innocent, she exclaimed! My dear creature, your sufferings
almost make me mad. Do you know that Mrs Gerrarde has an intrigue with
your husband? I fear so, madam, I replied, but I hoped it was not
publick. Poor child, said lady V----, his attachment to her has been no
secret, ever since he came down to this country, though probably you
were the last to suspect it. I have often dreaded the consequences of
it, but never imagined it would have come to this; I always had a bad
opinion of the woman, and only kept up a face of civility to her in her
husband's time, on account of her niece, a charming girl that then lived
with her; but since Miss Burchell has left her, I have almost dropt my
acquaintance with her; though my lord, who had an old friendship for
captain Gerrarde, persuades me to be civil to her.
The name of Miss Burchell had struck me speechless. The clue was now
unravelled. With what an unremitting zeal has this base woman gone on in
her career of iniquity? Lady V----, who was intirely taken up with the
thoughts of my unhappiness, took no notice of my silence or confusion.
What do you mean to do, my dear Mrs Arnold, said she? Do you think it is
not possible, by the interposition of friends, to disabuse your
unfortunate husband? For unfortunate he is, in a higher degree than
yourself, as you have conscious innocence to support you. Oh madam, said
I, it is in vain to think of it! Mrs Gerrarde has struck the blow
effectually. Were Mr Arnold left to the workings of his own heart, he
might, perhaps, relent; but that woman, like my evil genius and his,
will take care to keep his suspicions alive. She possesses his whole
heart, and my removal is become necessary, to the quiet of them both. I
have taken this resolution, I will immediately quit this house, and
leave it to a righteous God to vindicate me in his own time. You should
go no where but to my house, said lady V----, with tears in her eyes,
but that I think it an improper situation for you, while Mr Faulkland is
my guest. He will be distracted when he hears of this. I conjured lady
V---- not to tell him: my being parted from my husband cannot long be a
secret, said I, but the cause may. Lady V---- told me that Mr Faulkland
was that very morning set out for Sidney-castle, to see my brother;
having received a letter from him the day before, in which he told him
that my mother was going in a day or two to London, and begged he would
come and spend a week with him. She added, that Mr Faulkland purposed
doing so, and then to return to V---- hall, as my lord had obtained a
promise from him to stay some time longer with them; at least till the
old lady's affairs were settled, who had left her fortune to Mr
Faulkland, and to whom my lord V---- was executor.
I told lady V---- I depended on her friendship, to keep this affair a
secret from Mr Faulkland, lest the heat of his temper should make him
take such notice of it, as might render my separation from Mr Arnold
doubly injurious to my character. Lady V---- saw the necessity of this
caution, and promised to observe it. She expressed great surprize at Mr
Faulkland's visiting Mrs Gerrarde, whom she said, she did not imagine he
had been acquainted with. He is no stranger, said she, to your husband's
amour with her, as it has often been a topic of discourse between my
lord and me; and I can hardly think he would be so indelicate as to
carry on a love-affair with such an abandoned creature; especially as I
have often heard him express the utmost detestation of her, on account
of her robbing you of your husband's affection; which I had observed for
a good while. But there is no knowing mankind, added she: if that should
be the case, you may depend upon it that vile Gerrarde has laid her plan
deeper than we are aware of, and would out-swear us all, that Faulkland
came to her house for no other purpose, than to have an opportunity of
seeing you; who to be sure, she said, had given him a private hint to
meet you there. Now the worst of it is, it is impossible to have this
matter cleared up to your husband, without Mr Faulkland's concurrence,
and that you will not consent to. By no means, I replied, I would not
for the world have Mr Faulkland interfere in my justification. If the
affair should really be as you have suggested, a little time may,
perhaps, discover this wicked woman to Mr Arnold, and it will not then
be so difficult to clear my innocence. At present, her influence over
him is too powerful for me to combat with; and I know he wishes for
nothing more than to free himself from the restraint that my presence
lays him under.
Lady V---- acquiesced in my opinion, and said, she hoped a little time
would chace away the dark cloud that now hung over me. She staid with me
the whole day; it was a day of tears: the dear woman was quite subdued
at parting with me. I see you no more, dear lady V----, said I; I shall
go to London in two days--Preserve your fortitude, dearest Mrs Arnold,
she replied; the time will come when your husband will repent of the
bitter distress he has occasioned to you; my lord and I will use our
utmost endeavours to convince him of his error.--We shall meet in
London, my dear, I shall go thither early in the winter on purpose--Have
courage--Your innocence _must_ be cleared. I answered her not, my heart
was too full. We embraced, and lady V---- parted from me in silence.
I have written to my mother, and directed my letter to St
James's-Street. I would have her prepared for the shock before she sees
me; a shock, which I fear she will not be able to sustain.
_September 16_
Mrs Gerrarde has never called or sent to me since I was at her house.
She has effected her purpose, and is contented without a triumph.
I am prepared for my departure. To-morrow I turn my back upon my
husband's house, and upon my children. I have been weeping over them
this hour as they lie asleep in their nurse's arms. But I will look at
them no more.--Poor Patty is almost dead with grief; she would fain go
with me, but I have persuaded her to stay: I can rely on her fidelity
and her tenderness towards my children; she says, she _will_ be as
precious of them as the apple of her eyes, and will give me an account
of their welfare from time to time. Sure Mr Arnold will not turn _her_
out too; she is an excellent manager, and he cannot do without a
housekeeper.
I have been debating with myself whether I should write to Mr Arnold or
not, and have at length determined to depart in silence. It is an easy
matter for the guilty to make as bold asseverations as the innocent, and
nothing which I could now assert would make an impression on him. Had I
only his suspicions to combat, there might be hopes: but his _heart_ is
alienated from me; and while it continues attached to another, I despair
of his listening to the voice of reason or of justice. If ever his eyes
are opened, his error will prove sufficient punishment to him--Perhaps
my mother or my brother may put me in a way--My conduct, in time, I
hope, may justify me--Mean while I will not condescend to the weak
justification of words.
_September 18_
I have bid adieu to South-park, and arrived this morning in London in a
hired carriage, for I would not take one of Mr Arnold's. I found my
mother at the house in St James's-street, where I now am: she got here
late last night, and my letter had thrown her into agonies, from which
she had not yet recovered. What have you wrote to me, said she, as she
held me in her arms? your dreadful letter has almost killed me--Sure,
sure, my dear child, it cannot be true that you have left your husband!
What is the cause? What have _you_ done? or, What has _he_ done? I
begged my mother to compose herself a little, and then related to her
every circumstance, in the same manner you have had them as they
occurred. Her lamentations pierced my heart; she wrung her hands in
bitterness of anguish; Why did not the grave hide me, said she, before I
saw shame and sorrow heaped upon my child. I came to die in peace with
you--You might have lengthened my days for a while--But you cut them
off--My eyes will close in affliction--A wounded spirit who can bear!
Had you died in your cradle, we had both been happy. My child would now
have been a cherub, an angel you would have been in my eyes, and I am
punished for it; but that was _my_ crime, not your's. But you are a
martyr to the crimes of others.
My mother wept not all this time; I wished she had; her passionate looks
and tones affected me more than tears could. My eyes began to run over,
her's soon accompanied me, and it a little relieved the vehemence of her
grief.
She then began to reproach herself for having listened to lady
Grimston's suggestions in favour of Mr Arnold, and for her own
solliciting this fatal marriage. But I stopped her, on a subject which I
knew would so much torment her thoughts. I conjured her not to reflect
on it in that manner; I told her I knew she had acted for the best, and
that nothing but an extraordinary fatality, which could neither be
foreseen nor avoided, had made me unhappy. I said I was sure Mr Arnold
had been seduced by the wiles of a wicked woman, for that he was by
nature a good man, and that he had more of my pity than of my
resentment.
I found it necessary to reconcile my mother to herself on this head; she
seemed willing to lay hold on the hint, and turned all her indignation
against Mrs Gerrarde. A _practised_ sinner, she called her, for whom
nothing could be said in extenuation of her crime.
We now turned our thoughts towards fixing on some other abode. You may
be sure Mr Arnold's house is no place for us; and my mother declared she
would not stay another night in it: accordingly we have dispatched her
maid to take us lodgings immediately.
_September 21_
We have quickly shifted the scene, my dear Cecilia, and are settled, at
least for the present, in very handsome lodgings in St Alban's-street.
We came to them last night, and my mother seems a little less disturbed
than she was. I pray God spare her life, but I fear I shall not long
enjoy that blessing. She is sadly altered since I last saw her; a
dropsical complaint is stealing on her fast, her legs are swelled, and
she has intirely lost her appetite; yet if her mind were a little more
at ease, I should hope, that by the assistance she can have here, she
might be enabled to hold out against this disorder for a good while. I
endeavour to suppress my own grief, that I may not increase her's.