_Miss Cowley to Miss Hardcastle._
Wednesday Evening.
I Know, my dear Lucy, that you will expect the sequel of the disastrous
tale contained in my last letter; and that you will very ingeniously
contrive to muster up many conclusive arguments to prove that Rachel
Cowley's health will be absolutely ruined at Tarefield. Facts are,
however, stubborn things. She has passed this trial of her strength
without a fever on her nerves, notwithstanding a cold which, on Monday
and yesterday, gave her a pretence for keeping her apartment and
nursing the poor baronet.
On the Monday morning Malcolm gave me to understand, with visible
uneasiness, that his father had betaken himself to the lately deserted
room, with the grated windows, and he implored me to endeavour to
allure him from it. I wrote a card instantly, informing him I waited
breakfast for him, and that I had a new book for his perusal. It
succeeded; but I was shocked to see the effects of _one_ night's
disturbance of that mind, which we had exultingly seen settling into
tranquillity. He was shivering and languid, and told his wife he
had taken cold; but she perceived, as well as myself, that he was
dispirited and extremely nervous. Nothing can equal this woman! To
see her at this moment, I could not but love her. She was calm and
cheerful; soothing and tender; whilst in a thousand various ways
she diverted his attention; and although I knew she had watched at
Miss Flint's bedside from three o'clock, she did not name her, nor
did she appear fatigued. I took my turn to be good, and, dismissing
her, said, that as I had also a cold, the valetudinarians would have
but one infirmary; that she might dispose of Mrs. Allen, for we meant
to be in the sullens and read. Sir Murdock raised his dejected head;
the eye was animated, and I was contented. I took my work and placed
before him the Vicar of Wakefield. "Shall I not read it aloud?" asked
he.--"No," replied I, "unless you find a passage that particularly
strikes you." He bowed, for Sir Murdock Maclairn is the truly polite
man. I soon perceived that his attention was engaged. Whose is not,
Lucy, by that work? This made me happy; yes, happy, I repeat, for I
reverence this interesting man; and I believe there is a fatal grief
which will, whilst he lives, oppress his mind. Mrs. Allen soon joined
us; she was also the invalid; but it slackened not her industry. She
took up your hearth-rug. Her dose of camphor-julap went round, and
Goldsmith had too many beauties for the baronet to be long silent. The
morning thus glided away, and we dined where we were. Malcolm, with
undissembled joy, found us comfortable, and the evening was given to
the chess-board. I slept, Lucy, for I had passed the day in blunting
the barbed arrow, which, if I am not much mistaken, still wounds Sir
Murdock.--Tuesday was fair; I wanted a ride; the curricle and my knight
were in readiness; and we returned home the better for our long airing.
This morning it was Mrs. Allen's turn to wish for a ride, and the good
Sir Murdock with alacrity indulged her wish.
Malcolm and myself, immediately after their departure, took the road
to the Abbey. To say the truth, I felt a little fine-ladyish, and
walked not with my usual alertness. My good natured escort, perceived
it. "I am astonished," observed he, slackening his pace, and offering
me his arm, "to see your spirits and perseverance! You are now so
fatigued, that any other but yourself would fancy this walk improper
for you."--"The sun cheers me," replied I, "and idleness will yield
to this bracing air."--"Your motives," answered he, "will always give
animation and vigour to your mind; for it seems to me, that it is the
business of your life to communicate joy or consolation to all around
you! Tell me," continued he, "that your recompence is adequate to
your labours. In the absence of your accustomed amusements, remote
from friends endeared to you by time and experience, and qualified
for that preference you must feel for them, I see you cheerful, and
apparently contented, in a situation marked for the residence of care;
but my admiration of your magnanimity, Miss Cowley, has not, nor
cannot lessen my regrets at seeing you sacrificed to these duties by
an usurped authority over your freedom. Tarefield cannot be otherwise
than a place of banishment to you."--"Spare your compassion, my good
friend," answered I, "till you have my warrant for indulging it. I
should be ungrateful, as well as childish, were I discontented in your
mother's society. I am sensible of the constant attention paid to my
comforts by every individual in your family; and I do most sincerely
assure you, that I am as happy at Tarefield, as I should be any where,
under the peculiar circumstances in which I am at present."--"We
might be more worthy of you," replied he with seriousness, "were we
not slaves ourselves; but, notwithstanding your generous assertion,
I have myself witnessed your surprise and vexation at my mother's
submissions to Miss Flint, and at the subordinate station she fills
in her own house, for such is at present Tarefield-hall. It cannot
but appear extraordinary to you, to see two women so diametrically
opposite in character and temper as my mother and this woman, so
connected, that neither the capricious exactions on the one part, nor
the decided love of praise and independence on the other, can weaken
the ties which have united them. It is by no means a solution of
this enigma with me, to be reminded, that my mother submits to this
galling yoke from the consideration of her son Philip's interest. I
know she is neither sordid nor designing; and that she would prefer
poverty, were she at liberty to chuse, rather than invade on the least
of my father's wishes, much less his happiness; yet she is well
aware, that _for years_ Tarefield has been irksome to him. Sometimes
I think," continued Malcolm, "that my mother conceives herself bound
to the fulfilment of a promise made to her first husband, to remain
for her life with his favourite daughter. Mr. Flint might, without
any miraculous powers, have foreseen that neither his wealth nor
Lucretia's qualities, could secure her, if destitute of a friend
like my mother, who has incessantly laboured to humanize her. But I
am persuaded, that if such a promise had paused her lips, she would
have thought it sacred; and yet she was once on the point of breaking
her chains."--Malcolm paused, as expecting my answer. "I have been
told," observed I, "that Miss Flint once loved your uncle; may not
this circumstance have had its weight with Lady Maclairn?" "It has
not been overlooked by me," answered Malcolm; "but if there ever did
exist a mutual passion between Flamall and Miss Flint, it was worn out
before I could discover it, or rather converted into mutual hatred;
except on one point of agreement, that of favouring their idol Philip,
and tormenting me. Their marked partiality was one means employed to
render my mother miserable; and as for myself, I can with truth affirm
that my infant enjoyments, my youthful pleasures, and I might add,
the best affections of my nature, were contracted and checked by the
influence of Mr. Flamall and the jealousy of Miss Flint. It is the
peculiar privilege of my _cunning_ uncle, Miss Cowley, to effect his
purposes by exciting _fear_; and, extraordinary as it may appear to
you, he had not only established its empire over my meek mother, but
also, over the termagant Miss Flint. She was taught by him, to consider
me, even when in my cradle, as an intruder on Philip's rights. She
regarded my mother's attachment to me as unjust, and defrauding that
child of its exclusive claims to love. My mother suckled me herself;
her health had not admitted of this duty when Philip was born; and
from this advantage, I conceive, resulted her apprehensions, that my
dear mother loved me better than she did my brother. How little was
this woman qualified to judge of lady Maclairn!" continued Malcolm
with emotion. "Her wisdom alone counteracted the pernicious effects
of these prejudices, longer than could have been expected. Philip was
my senior by nearly two years: he was a sweet-tempered child, and,
directed by his mother, constantly disposed to play with me; but I was
a sturdy, active boy, and soon equal to Philip in strength and stature.
His compliances with my wishes were checked by his uncle and aunt, as
being improper, and leading, him into mischief. My daring spirit was
called an _insolent_ one, and my careless indifference to favour, was
stiled _obduracy_ and _stubbornness_. Secure of my mother's protection,
and contented with my own pursuits, I continued to live with Philip on
good terms, till I saw preparations going forward for his being placed
at Harrow school. Conscious that I had abilities for learning, I felt
mortified, that no plan for my improvement had been thought of; and I
saw Philip depart with emotions not remote from envy.
"From that hour, I felt ill-will towards my unoffending brother, and
was stimulated by a proud sense of injustice, to shun his kindness,
and to refuse his good offices. At this junction, I found a welcome
at Mr. Wilson's house, and a companion and friend in Henry Heartley.
Mr. Flamall and Miss Flint were displeased with the frequency of my
visits. I was lectured by my uncle, and sternly admonished not to
go to the Abbey. 'My mother approves of my going there,' replied I,
'and as I am not sent to school like my brother, it is my business
to get learning where I can find it.' 'And who prevents your mother
sending you to school?' replied he with a sneer: 'some of your Scotch
relations would find and instruct you for ten pounds a year, and get
money by you.' 'They could not for any sum,' answered I, 'give me
the lessons I receive from you: for, if like my father, they must be
_gentlemen_ and _honourable men_.' His rage was exhausted by the usual
epithets, I was 'an insolent puppy, a stubborn dog,' and my pride was
that of beggary. I may have merited some of this censure; for certain
it is that not even my mother could prevail upon me to bend to my
supercilious uncle, or to pay my court to Miss Lucretia, even when she
relaxed into good humour. I carefully shunned her, and was silent in
her presence. My father's unhappy malady quickened my sensibility, and
gave poignancy to the reflections which were forced upon me. Flamall's
tone of authority cut me to the soul; and his want of tenderness to my
wretched mother, produced in my mind a rooted an aversion to this man,
which I can neither conquer, nor do I wish to conquer it." "Oh Miss
Cowley!" continued he, "it is impossible for me to say what my mother's
sufferings have been! Unsupported, she watched over her husband with
unremitting care, patience, and love! She has been his saving angel!
And when disease and despair triumphed over their victim, her soothings
and her faithfulness, were the healing balm that lulled him to repose."
"One day, shortly after Philip's removal to the university at
Edinburgh, whither he was sent to finish his studies, I found my
mother in the garden in an agony of tears; and on my urging her to tell
me what had so affected her, she informed me, that Mr. Flamall had been
talking to her of the _absolute necessity_ of placing my father in a
private mad-house near Durham; insisting upon it, that her indulgence
was pernicious and would render him incurable. 'I have told Lucretia,'
added she, 'that I wish to be any where, rather than be a burden to
her, or further exposed to my brother's unfeeling advice in a business
with which he has nothing to do. She has generously resented this
conduct of your uncle's, and they have had a very serious quarrel; but
it will be settled, as most are, at my expence!'--'But is there no
place of refuge for us,' asked I with resentment, 'but a mad-house?
Even _that_ or a gaol would be a paradise to me, could we call our cell
our own. Let us leave this house; my industry'----She prevented my
proceeding, by saying with solemnity, '_I cannot, Malcolm!_' Miss Flint
is not weary of me; and she only can break the chains that keep me
under this roof. Your father has comforts here. She wishes him to have
an asylum in her house. You know not this woman; I do: and I know also,
that my brother is jealous of her affection for me. To this meanness, I
attribute the barbarity of his advice this morning, and the inhumanity
with which he urged me to remove the '_maniac_' where he would be
'_properly treated_.' Miss Flint's appearance with Mr. Flamall, still
more disconcerted me. She asked me what was the matter, and whether my
mother was ill. 'I understand, Madam,' answered I, 'that Mr. Flamall's
project had been communicated to you, as well as it is now to me.
But,' added I, fixing my indignant eyes on the stately gentleman,
'my mother will soon be better: I have convinced her, that a more
equitable judgment and skill than any _here_, must pronounce my father
a lunatic, before even his _wife_ has the right of confining him to a
mad-house. Sir Murdock Maclairn needs neither a cell nor the strait
waistcoat.' My uncle aimed a blow at my head with a stout cudgel he had
in his hand, by way of reply to my observation; and the first and only
favour I have to acknowledge to Miss Flint, was probably, saving me
from a fractured skull, for the weapon was heavy and knobbed. She not
only warded off the stroke, but with amazing strength held his arms. I
smiled with contempt at his fury. 'Your mode of attack,' said I with
cool scorn, 'is consistent with yourself; but remember I _am Maclairn's
son_ for the future, and that I am not enfeebled by sickness, nor mad.
I fear you not; for I despise you.' My poor mother franticly implored
me to retire: I was deaf to her intreaties. Miss Flint's rhetoric
and amazonian power prevailed. She dragged Mr. Flamall from the spot,
foaming with rage, and bestowing his maledictions, instead of his
cudgel, on my head. From that hour we never exchanged a word, beyond
the few which were necessary at our meals.
"I have reason to believe that Miss Flint on this occasion was not
displeased with the 'stubborn dog.' It is certain, that she behaved to
me with more civility than ordinary for some time after this proof of
my obstinacy: the mad-house was never mentioned from that period.
"It may not be improper to account to you, Miss Cowley, for the
resentment I felt on the mere proposal of this measure. I did not
think my father's intellects in a state that required such treatment.
I knew that his malady had originated from a dreadful illness, brought
on by a sudden stroke of adversity when he was a young man; to this,
was to be attributed a peculiarity in his general habits of life, and
a tincture of sadness, which shaded his character, and repressed his
activity. But during his long confinement he constantly knew me, and
his wife; and was apparently easy, and even tranquil, when we were
by his side, though terror and alarm followed on every intrusion by
others; and an unusual noise, or step, produced silence and dejection
on him for hours; nay, sometimes days. At other times, we had the
cheering consolations of hope to support us. He would examine my little
drawings, sketch with a pencil a more correct outline, check me when
playing out of time on my flute, and beat the measure with his hand.
When reading to my mother, he would listen, and observe, 'I remember
something of that passage, read it again.' I did so, and although I
perceived the fleeting image had disappeared, yet it confirmed me in my
hopes that time would restore my father. Under this conviction you may
judge that I was not disposed to listen with patience to the opinion
and brotherly counsel of Flamall, who had by a thousand indications,
shewn me that my father's fate was perfectly indifferent to him.
"Engaged in my duty to my parents, and considering from day to day,
that young as I was, my mother had no protector but myself, I refused
to accept of her proposal of going to the free-school at Durham. She
was vexed by my resistance; and in the fulness of my heart, I mentioned
my difficulty to Captain Flint. He had been very useful to me, from the
first of my intimacy with Henry Heartley, whom he educated: but from
this time, he wrote to my mother, and undertook my defence, engaging to
be my preceptor. If I have not profited by his talents, it is my own
fault; but I have gained from him one lesson, and that will carry me
through life I trust, without disgracing my Maker, or my best friend on
earth.
"My brother's recall from Edinburgh was, in the course of events, the
next occurrence of importance to me. This summons was in consequence
of Mr. Oliver Flint's earnest wish to see his young brother. Death
had bereaved him of his two last surviving children, boys, nearly of
Philip's age; and to this invitation to my brother, were added promises
of receiving him as his heir. Mr. Flamall's opinion had weight with
my mother, for it included his resolution of going with his nephew to
Jamaica, the better to understand, and to secure to him the advantages
held out. Miss Flint calculated her brother Oliver's age and fortune,
and recalled to her memory the extensive and beautiful plantation on
which she had first seen the light. Avarice combated with fondness;
and she yielded, trusting to Mr. Flamall's care, and the declining
state of health of this poor afflicted father, for her idol's return
to England. Philip arrived at Tarefield from the university; I had not
seen him for a year and a half; and I was struck by the improvement of
his person. 'He was always handsome,' added Malcolm smiling; 'but the
Adonis had given place to more masculine comeliness; and his deportment
was become serious, and rather reserved. We had mutually attained to
those years which precluded rudeness, and I was treated as a gentleman,
and I hope I shewed him that I was one; yet I saw Philip's advances to
more familiarity like 'a stubborn dog,' for my heart receded from his
_civilities_.
"One morning I met my brother in the avenue, in my way from the Abbey.
He appeared to be lost in thought, and I fancied he was weeping. On
perceiving me, he assumed a gay air, and asked me where I had been
rambling. 'I have been no where,' answered I, 'but with my friends
at Wilson's.'--'Am I never, Malcolm,' said he with emotion, 'to have
the comfort of finding my name in that list? Shall I never hear the
voice of affection from a brother whom I love, and who is only unjust
to me? Let me at least,' added he, offering me his hand, 'have this
consolation before I leave England. I need it!' I did not refuse
it, Madam, but my heart smote me; for I received his offered love
ungraciously. 'I see,' said he, his fine face glowing, and his voice
trembling, 'that I have no brother! Malcolm Maclairn is lost to me!'
He turned away abruptly, whilst conscience-struck, I cursed those
whose folly and injustice had rendered me callous to the pleadings
of nature. I was ashamed of my conduct; and lest I should afflict my
mother, forbore to mention this incident. From that hour I shunned
Philip's eyes; for I felt his superiority of temper a reproach; and his
increasing sadness became an intolerable weight on my spirits. Miss
Flint's dejection at this time appeared to have changed her nature;
my mother's firmness seemed to have the direction of her will; and
her fondness for 'Harriot' rose in proportion as the hour approached,
when she was to lose sight of her Philip. On the morning of Philip's
departure, I and my mother breakfasted with him, at a very early
hour, in Miss Flint's apartment. Mr. Flamall vainly tried to render
the repast cheerful. The servant announced that all was in readiness.
Philip rose with extreme agitation. 'One embrace,' said he, 'extending
his arms and turning towards me, 'one embrace, Malcolm! It may be a
brother's last request! Let me depart with the hope that if we do meet
again, affection will welcome me!' I was subdued! penetrated to the
very soul! I burst into tears, and convulsed by my feelings, could
only say, 'My brother! and my friend!' He pressed me to his bosom with
energy. 'We are united!' cried I; 'no distance or time shall separate
us! on earth or in heaven we will be brothers!' Mr. Flamall remarked,
that I had ill chosen my time for pathetics, and gravely reminded
Philip to behave like a man; but his lessons were useless; for our
attention was now called to Miss Flint, who was in hysterics, and my
weeping but collected mother urged her son to depart. I have somehow
or other slid into a narrative, and I may as well finish my story,"
continued Malcolm. "I found that Philip had left me his fine hunter
for a '_keep-sake_,' according to his groom's report. George, for
obvious reasons, delivered his commission before Miss Flint, adding,
that his master had refused an hundred guineas from Squire Forster;
because he thought I should like to ride a horse of his. ''Tis like
my noble boy!' exclaimed Miss Flint. She paused, and after a struggle
with her feelings, said with some bitterness, 'time must shew, how this
brother's gift is received.' My heart prompted the reply; but my mother
was present. Freed from Mr. Flamall's influence, and determined not
to invade on the tranquillity which succeeded his absence, I settled
into reserve and civility with Miss Lucretia Flint; and perhaps her
dislike of me might have settled into mere indifference; but my sin was
ever before her; for I persisted in loving my friends at the Abbey:
and in due time she was informed, 'that I courted Miss Heartley.' My
mother, who well knew my attachment to Alice, behaved with firmness
on this occasion, as she had always done in my behalf. She instantly
gave her _sister_, as she calls her _tormentor_, to understand, that
a son who had devoted his whole life to his duty as a child, and who
was perfectly competent to judge of his own situation in the world,
should meet with no controul, beyond that which his own prudence and
regard to his parents enforced." "So," added Malcolm, smiling, "I still
go a courting, in spite of Miss Lucretia. But this late disturbance
had roused my angry passions; and I was serious with my mother. Last
night I told her with frankness, that I would carry a musket for my
bread, rather than live in an abode in which my father's peace was
interrupted, and in which she was a passive slave.--'And what was her
answer?' asked I. Tears, replied he, _tears_, which when I behold,
unman me, and which I reproach myself for having caused. She says, Miss
Flint upbraids herself more than I can do; that she is miserable; and
sums up all, by imploring me to have patience, and to spare her on the
only subject in which she must contradict and oppose me. 'You will, I
trust,' added she, 'soon have a home of your own: so do I fervently
hope _I_ shall; but when I quit this house, Malcolm, it will be for
the shelter of my grave.' I was so struck by her manner, that I am
determined to press her no farther on the subject, if I can help it.
In the mean time, I sometimes think, that my dear mother is secretly
governed in this abject submission, from her wish to promote my union
with Alice: it may be, Miss Flint has promised her to advance a sum of
money for my establishment. Yet, my dear Miss Cowley, never did there
exist a more noble and disinterested woman, than Lady Maclairn! and she
well knows that both Miss Heartley and myself would reject Miss Flint's
favours with scorn. We have comforts which she cannot invade, nor could
we relish any which she could purchase for us. We see each other
without restraint, and by a reciprocal confidence, and solid affection,
we mutually soften the delay, which prudence exacts, of a union in
which we shall be more completely happy."
Malcolm had touched a chord in my bosom. "You are to be envied," said
I with eagerness. "How many are there, with your honour and fidelity,
who have not your consolations! Alice is a happy creature to some I
could name." He pressed my arm to his breast. "Neither Miss Heartley,
nor her Malcolm deserves to be happy," said he, "if they could be so,
knowing you otherwise." I blushed: "I know your difficulties," added
he, "if I be condemned for hating with a perfect hatred, I must look
to you for my excuses. But I have omitted to tell you, that I wrote to
Philip before he embarked; and received from him a kind letter. To
one I wrote him after his arrival in Jamaica, I have had no answer.
Mr. Flamall is at the bottom of this mischief; and trusting to this
conjecture, I wrote again to my brother, and by this means gave Mr.
Flamall a full evidence of being still incorrigible in respect to
my duty as _his nephew_. But, my dear Miss Cowley, the reign of _a
Flamall_ is short; we shall see him in a very different point of view,
before he quits the stage, or I am much deceived."--"And I shall
be much disappointed," said I with emotion; "and what is more, Mr.
Maclairn, it shall not be my fault if he does not repent." The girls
now perceiving us, advanced to meet us; and Malcolm forgot his dear
uncle.
What will you say of a mother so beloved, and so extolled as Lady
Maclairn? She is still an enigma to me. I am convinced that Miss Flint
can have no influence, but what is supported by fear: and wherefore
should Lady Maclairn fear her? That is the question. It is _now_ that
Lucy Hardcastle is tenderly beloved without fear, by her.
Rachel Cowley.