_From the same to the same._
You were very good in your last letter, my dear girl, and I thank you;
although with the _heart-burn_. Is it not hard that I must hear my
brother is well, &c. &c. by a breach of duty on your part? And would it
not be barbarous if you could keep to the letter of your father's harsh
law? He, above all men, ought to know that offences are multiplied by
the severities of penal statutes. I have heard him say this many times;
therefore Mr. Hardcastle is an inconsistent man. Tell him so for me,
and add, if you will, that Rachel Cowley is still Rachel Cowley, and
will, in spite of his scruples, be his child. But I see this will not
do. There! I have taken up another pen.
The captain, after our first greetings, the other morning, drew me
aside, and with some solemnity thanked me for the "generous" concern
I had shewn in favour of his niece. "I feel," added he, "that my
honour demands its acquittal from you: and till you know my motives
for resigning up an orphan committed to my care, to the authority and
direction of _Miss Flint_, I am certain you must blame me. I am however
unequal to the recital of events, which ought to have forewarned me,
that hatred and envy were incurable. My error arose from my ignorance
of their unbridled power over minds in which they have once taken
up their abode. Heaven be praised! my poor girl is once more in my
protecting, though feeble arms; and when I quit her, she will find her
Maker still her friend."--"You may safely rest in that hope," answered
I, with seriousness; "for already hath he appointed an agent for the
purposes of his fatherly goodness: and when I forsake this young and
innocent being, may his bounteous hand direct my abundance into a
different, and more worthy channel! I want a sister," said I smiling,
"and you must give me one!" He bowed, and without replying hastily
retired.
Mary, with her muslin wrappers, and still languid complexion, never
appeared more amiable: she assumed however more gaiety than she felt;
for I saw with satisfaction, that she was anxious about her uncle.
"I will shew you my little chamber," said she in a caressing tone;
"will you go?" I followed her, and seating myself on her little white
dimity bed, observed that half a breadth of her aunt's cross-stitch
carpet would cover her room. "It is this poor miserable aunt, I want
to speak about," returned she; "I cannot forgive myself for having
occasioned so much confusion and trouble. My dear uncle is so angry
and vexed!"--"That will go off," returned I; "and as for your aunt,
leave her to herself: you have done with her, and I am too angry to
talk about her. What a neat room you have here!"--"Yet I could not
sleep in it these last nights," said she sighing.--"Was there not a
little self-reproach under your pillow?" asked I. "Did you not reflect,
that, by concealing so long your aunt's conduct, you had been imposing
on your uncle; and were striking at the root of his comforts, by
endangering your health."--"What could I do, my dear Miss Cowley?"
replied she in a deprecating tone. "I was no stranger to my uncle's
narrow income. How could I be easy, whilst sharing with him comforts,
barely sufficient for himself! I was unfortunately not fitted for
labour, and too young to encounter the world without friends, in any
situation. I thought I had reasonable claims on my aunt; and how was
it possible for me to conceive that she would be unkind to me, because
she had been cruel to my parents?" Her tears flowed unrestrainedly.
"When she proposed taking me," continued the artless girl, "and said,
I should no longer be a burden on my uncle, I felt I loved her; and as
she had no longer Mr. Philip to comfort her in her solitude, I hoped
to render myself both useful and agreeable to her. I was disappointed;
but my lot was not harder than that of thousands: and although Miss
Flint's temper was harsh, and her behaviour discouraging, I met with
kindness from all besides, and was sheltered from evil. Was I not
right to submit, and keep my secret? I knew that if I had dropped a
word to Alice, I should have returned hither; and then my uncle would
have had me on his hands again, and his difficulties would have been
renewed: so I own, I always made the best of every thing, and parried
as well as I could Mr. Malcolm's accounts, which often grieved Mrs.
Heartley and Alice. My unlucky fainting fit has spoiled all! and what
is worse, again separated Miss Flint from my uncle's favour! He says,"
whispered she, "that he cannot forgive her: and this grieves me to
the heart; for my dear mother did forgive her; and I long to tell my
aunt that her brother will forget this offence."--"What could urge
her to such an outrage?" asked I. "You remember no doubt," replied
she, "Mr. Snughead's passing us, and stopping to speak to you, the
evening we returned from the Abbey. I was leaning on Mr. Wilson's
arm, some paces behind you; and Malcolm and Alice were loitering
still farther, I believe, behind us. Mr. Snughead slackened his pace
and accosted Mr. Wilson, by saying, 'If you be not as happy as the
turtles I have passed, you seem _more gay_, Mr. Wilson;' and he fixed
his eyes with curiosity on me. 'A man must needs have a bad conscience
indeed!' replied Mr. Wilson, with good-humour, 'if in so fine a night
as this, and with such a companion as I have, he were not gay.'--'You
say right!' answered Mr. Snughead, still looking at me; 'you say
_right_,' repeated he, 'quite _right_,' laughing loud, and winking his
eyes strangely at me; 'such a companion would make any night a _fine
night_, without the aid of the moon!'--'That is a text, Mr. Parson,'
answered Mr. Wilson, angrily, 'that suits _you_ better than your
hearers. I wish you safe home.'--'You are _witty_ as well as _gay_,
I perceive,' replied Mr. Snughead. 'I hope, Miss Howard, you will
improve and retain Mr. Wilson's _bons mots_.'--'I beg your pardon,
Sir,' said I, trembling, 'indeed I do not know what you mean.'--'Pretty
innocent!' replied he, with another loud laugh; 'but you are in good
hands, there is a time for all things!' So saying he spurred his
horse forwards. I was alarmed, and told Mr. Wilson I feared he had
displeased Mr. Snughead. He said he had got no more than he deserved;
that he was a dirty rascal; and he believed he was then tipsy. Well,
my dread of meeting my aunt put all this out of my head! You know, my
dear Miss Cowley, how fortunately that business finished. My patience
on Monday conquered my aunt's sullenness. On the Tuesday morning Mr.
Snughead came to visit her. He staid a long time; and I, well knowing
how he hates Mr. Wilson, became uneasy. At length my aunt entered my
chamber, which is, as you know, over her's; and with a fury that made
me tremble, she banged the door with such violence as to make that
tremble also. 'A fine tale have I heard, my dainty minx!' exclaimed
she; 'you can laugh and hoyden with the best of them, I find, with
your own _set_! You can smile when a gentleman and a _clergyman_ is
insulted by your bully!'--'Good Heavens! my dear aunt,' said I, 'what
do you mean? Surely'----'What! the pretty _innocent_ has forgotten
Mr. Wilson's '_bons mots_!' replied she, with provoking scorn.--'No,
Madam,' answered I, 'I have not forgotten what he said, nor the speech
which occasioned his resentment. He conceived, I presume, that it did
not become a clergyman; and, to speak the truth, I was of his opinion;
yet I was vexed at Mr. Wilson's answer, because I thought Mr. Snughead
looked as if he had been dining in company.'--'Insolence!' exclaimed
she, 'Mr. Snughead was neither tipsy nor blind. He heard your fine
speech.'--She advanced.--'I will teach you to defame your betters. I
will teach you to make me the subject of your conversation and mirth
with your _Wilsons_ and their _crew_!--'Good God!' cried I, still more
terrified, 'is it possible that Mr. Snughead should have thus accused
me! He dares not assert it to my face. I never named you, Madam, nor
heard you named, but with respect; and that was by my uncle when in
the avenue speaking to Jonathan.'--'You are a liar,' said she, with
encreasing rage, 'Mr. Snughead heard that impudent upstart name me to
you, and the laugh which his ribaldry excited from you, hussy, at the
name of '_the chaste Lucretia_!' 'Indeed, my dear aunt,' answered I,
'Mr. Snughead has cruelly and erroniously repeated the word; for it
was I, who was talking of the moon, and I remember to have said she
was called the chaste _Luna_ and Cynthia by the poets.'--'And you
did not laugh I suppose?' said she, with sternness.--'Certainly I was
laughing,' replied I, 'when Mr. Snughead came up to us: but surely,
that was not a crime? I neither laughed at, nor, indeed, clearly
understood what had displeased Mr. Wilson, who only gave me to imagine
that he thought Mr. Snughead had drank more wine than was useful to
him.'--'It is false,' said she, striking my face, 'and I will teach
you to understand your champion's insolent reply. Mr. Snughead saw you
smile.'--'He dares not say so before me,' cried I, struggling, for
she grasped my throat so hard that she hurt me.--'What! you justify
yourself?' said she.--'Yes,' answered I boldly; 'I never told a lie
in my life. I scorn it.'--'Do you so, my pretty Miss!' answered she,
applying a dog-whip to my face and bosom; this shall teach you to
_fear_ even contradicting me.' I defended myself by hiding my face
with my gown, and she struck me on the back part of my head with the
handle of the whip. I sprung from her; and, losing my respect in the
sense of my danger, I asked her whether she meant to murder me. 'Is it
thus,' cried I, losing my temper, 'that Howard's daughter ought to be
treated? Is it thus your sister's child ought to be used?' She followed
me about the room like a fury, whilst I screamed with terror. Warner,
who was in her lady's chamber, flew up stairs, and on seeing her I
fainted. When I came to my senses I found I was on my bed, and Lady
Maclairn, pale as a ghost, weeping by me. She was more hurt than I was:
she wished herself dead, and was so distressed that I tried to comfort
her. Warner nursed me as if I had been her child; and, because she
thought me feverish, she sat up with me. I was dreadfully frightened,
to say the truth, and could not close my eyes without seeing my aunt
with the whip in her hand. They gave me nothing but water-gruel for
three days, but their kindness and compassion sweetened it. I shall
never forget Lady Maclairn's goodness! She told me that my sufferings
were light, when compared to hers; for that my stripes would be soon
forgotten,--_but her sorrows were without remedy_. She then asked me
whether, _for her sake_, I could forgive my aunt. 'She is unhappy,'
said my lady. 'She is sensible of her fault.' I said that was enough,
and I could pity her. So my aunt came to see me, and she begged my
pardon. I was moved by this unexpected concession; but I answered that
I was determined, for her honour, as much as my own safety, to leave
her, and seek my bread elsewhere. She _implored me_, Miss Cowley, to
conceal her '_disgrace_,' (I use her own words) and promised that in
future I should have no cause to complain of her want of kindness. 'My
mother,' said I, 'gave with her dying breath an injunction to those
about her to teach me to _forget injuries_; I am her child, and you
may, at your pleasure, make me yours. Treat me with kindness and I must
be grateful, for I am a _Howard_; and rest assured that my uncle shall
never know how unworthily I have been treated.' She seemed surprised at
my spirit; I saw, Miss Cowley, that she was so; and I told her plainly
that I was not made for her spaniel. 'You may, Madam,' said I, 'wonder
at this language from one who, hitherto, has not dared to assert her
claims to your protection. These have never had a view beyond the
shelter my youth made necessary. Give me time and instructions, and
turn me out on the world; my principles will then secure me, and my
industry shall provide for me.' She wept, and all was made up. Nothing
could be more kind than she was. Now only think of the mischief my
unlucky fainting has produced, and pity me!"
No language, my Lucy, which I could have employed, would so powerfully
have roused you to indignation, as that I have used; and if you can
command your feelings, whilst reading the account of this poor girl's
sufferings, I must conclude, that the only means of awakening your
torpid powers, will be to send the artless narrator to you. When you
behold her feminine weakness, listen to her sweet voice, and view her
pleading innocence of aspect, you will acquit Rachel Cowley of being
vindictive. Till this time arrives, I shall hate Miss Flint with all
possible cordiality. I was not in the humour to say any thing in
the pathetic style; poor Mary's tears of "gratitude," as she called
them, having excited mine, it became necessary to change my tone.
"Methinks," observed I, "that my young sister looks somewhat shabby
this morning; have they not sent you your cloaths?"--"Oh yes" replied
she, "Mrs Warner took care of that business." "It was not a fatiguing
one, I presume," said I; "a sheet of brown paper I suppose contained
your wardrobe." She laughed. "Not altogether," said she; "though to say
the truth, it did not fill a waggon."--"It is no matter," answered I,
"we have done, Mary, with the _rags of unfeeling tyranny_; you are now
mine, and must appear like mine." She again clung to my bosom, and I
heard her say softly, "May this reach Heaven! and my mother!"
On joining Mrs. Heartley with our swollen eyes, I began at once on
business. She entered with alacrity into my measures; and has engaged
to provide us with the needful from Durham. "That bonnet of yours
has seen service," said she laughing, and turning to Mary. "So Lady
Maclairn thought," answered she, "and she wished to have given me a
new one before Miss Cowley came to Tarefield; but my aunt would not
permit her, she said it was not necessary."--"She judged right," said
I, with malice in my heart. "She well understood your better claims to
favour. But what trimmings will you have for your bonnet?" "Oh lilac!"
said she, eagerly. Alice smiled, "Now that is so like you, Alice!"
observed the sweet girl: "have you not repeatedly said, that it was my
colour as well as _Henry's_? Mrs. Heartley, and even my uncle, think
it becomes me." This _naïveté_ was not lost: I gave my vote for lilac
ribbands; and taking leave, told Mrs. Heartley I would send a list of
such articles of dress as were immediately to be sent.
We go on at the hall composedly, notwithstanding the _bruised knee_.
Mrs. Allen's charity led her to Miss Flint's room yesterday: she
tells me she suffers much pain. You will not expect from me more
than _admiration_ of Mrs. Allen's virtue: she bids me tell you, your
hearth rugs will be soon finished, and that Rachel Cowley is still her
comfort; so love her, Lucy, as tenderly as you can love. Leave hatred
to me, it demands a stronger constitution than yours. Heaven bless my
Lucy!
Rachel Cowley.