My dear Mother,—I return you Reginald’s letter, and rejoice with all my
heart that my father is made easy by it: tell him so, with my
congratulations; but, between ourselves, I must own it has only
convinced _me_ of my brother’s having no _present_ intention of
marrying Lady Susan, not that he is in no danger of doing so three
months hence. He gives a very plausible account of her behaviour at
Langford; I wish it may be true, but his intelligence must come from
herself, and I am less disposed to believe it than to lament the degree
of intimacy subsisting between them, implied by the discussion of such
a subject. I am sorry to have incurred his displeasure, but can expect
nothing better while he is so very eager in Lady Susan’s justification.
He is very severe against me indeed, and yet I hope I have not been
hasty in my judgment of her. Poor woman! though I have reasons enough
for my dislike, I cannot help pitying her at present, as she is in real
distress, and with too much cause. She had this morning a letter from
the lady with whom she has placed her daughter, to request that Miss
Vernon might be immediately removed, as she had been detected in an
attempt to run away. Why, or whither she intended to go, does not
appear; but, as her situation seems to have been unexceptionable, it is
a sad thing, and of course highly distressing to Lady Susan. Frederica
must be as much as sixteen, and ought to know better; but from what her
mother insinuates, I am afraid she is a perverse girl. She has been
sadly neglected, however, and her mother ought to remember it. Mr.
Vernon set off for London as soon as she had determined what should be
done. He is, if possible, to prevail on Miss Summers to let Frederica
continue with her; and if he cannot succeed, to bring her to Churchhill
for the present, till some other situation can be found for her. Her
ladyship is comforting herself meanwhile by strolling along the
shrubbery with Reginald, calling forth all his tender feelings, I
suppose, on this distressing occasion. She has been talking a great
deal about it to me. She talks vastly well; I am afraid of being
ungenerous, or I should say, _too_ well to feel so very deeply; but I
will not look for her faults; she may be Reginald’s wife! Heaven forbid
it! but why should I be quicker-sighted than anyone else? Mr. Vernon
declares that he never saw deeper distress than hers, on the receipt of
the letter; and is his judgment inferior to mine? She was very
unwilling that Frederica should be allowed to come to Churchhill, and
justly enough, as it seems a sort of reward to behaviour deserving very
differently; but it was impossible to take her anywhere else, and she
is not to remain here long. “It will be absolutely necessary,” said
she, “as you, my dear sister, must be sensible, to treat my daughter
with some severity while she is here; a most painful necessity, but I
will _endeavour_ to submit to it. I am afraid I have often been too
indulgent, but my poor Frederica’s temper could never bear opposition
well: you must support and encourage me; you must urge the necessity of
reproof if you see me too lenient.” All this sounds very reasonable.
Reginald is so incensed against the poor silly girl! Surely it is not
to Lady Susan’s credit that he should be so bitter against her
daughter; his idea of her must be drawn from the mother’s description.
Well, whatever may be his fate, we have the comfort of knowing that we
have done our utmost to save him. We must commit the event to a higher
power.
Yours ever, &c.,
CATHERINE VERNON.