The warm weather had now commenced; and Sir Edward, unwilling to be shut
up in London at a time the appearance of vegetation gave the country a
new interest, and accustomed for many years of his life to devote an
hour in his garden each morn, had taken a little ready furnished cottage
a short ride from his residence, with the intention of frequenting it
until after the birthday. Thither then Pendennyss took his bride from
the altar, and a few days were passed by the newly married pair in this
little asylum.
Doctor Ives, with Francis, Clara, and their mother, had obeyed the
summons with an alacrity in proportion to the joy they felt on receiving
it, and the former had the happiness of officiating on the occasion. It
would have been easy for the wealth of the earl to procure a license to
enable them to marry in the drawing-room; the permission was obtained,
but neither Emily nor himself felt a wish to utter their vows in any
other spot than at the altar, and in the house of their Maker.
If there was a single heart that felt the least emotion of regret or
uneasiness, it was Lady Moseley, who little relished the retirement of
the cottage on so joyful an occasion; but Pendennyss silenced her
objections by good-humoredly replying--
"The fates have been so kind to me, in giving me castles and seats, you
ought to allow me, my dear Lady Moseley, the only opportunity I shall
probably ever have of enjoying love in a cottage."
A few days, however, removed the uneasiness of the good matron, who had
the felicity within the week of seeing her daughter initiated mistress
of Annerdale House.
The morning of their return to this noble mansion the earl presented
himself in St. James's Square, with the intelligence of their arrival,
and smiling as he bowed to Mrs. Wilson, he continued--
"And to escort you, dear madam, to your new abode."
Mrs. Wilson started with surprise, and with a heart beating quick with
emotion, she required an explanation of his words.
"Surely, dearest Mrs. Wilson--more than aunt--my mother--you cannot
mean, after having trained my Emily through infancy to maturity in the
paths of duty, to desert her in the moment of her greatest trial. I am
the pupil of your husband," he continued, taking her hands in his own
with reverence and affection; "we are the children of your joint care,
and one home, as there is but one heart, must in future contain us."
Mrs. Wilson had wished for, but hardly dared to expect this invitation.
It was now urged from the right quarter, and in a manner that was as
sincere as it was gratifying. Unable to conceal her tears, the good
widow pressed the hand of Pendennyss to her lips as she murmured out her
thanks. Sir Edward was prepared also to lose his sister; but unwilling
to relinquish the pleasure of her society, he urged her making a common
residence between the two families.
"Pendennyss has spoken truth, my dear brother," cried she, recovering
her voice; "Emily is the child of my care and my love--the two beings I
love best in this world are now united--but," she added, pressing Lady
Moseley to her bosom, "my heart is large enough for you all; you are of
my blood, and my gratitude for your affection is boundless. There shall
be but one large family of us; and although our duties may separate us
for a time, we will, I trust, ever meet in tenderness and love, though
with George and Emily I will take up my abode."
"I hope your house in Northamptonshire is not to be vacant always," said
Lady Moseley to the earl, anxiously.
"I have no house there, my dear madam," he replied; "when I thought
myself about to succeed in my suit before, I directed a lawyer at Bath,
where Sir William Harris resided most of his time, to endeavor to
purchase the deanery, whenever a good opportunity offered: in my
discomfiture," he added, smiling, "I forgot to countermand the order,
and he purchased it immediately on its being advertised. For a short
time it was an incumbrance to me, but it is now applied to its original
purpose. It is the sole property of the Countess of Pendennyss, and I
doubt not you will see it often and agreeably tenanted."
This intelligence gave great satisfaction to his friends, and the
expected summer restored to even Jane a gleam of her former pleasure.
If there be bliss in this life, approaching in any degree to the
happiness of the blessed, it is the fruition of long and ardent love,
where youth, innocence, piety, and family concord, smile upon the union.
And all these were united in the case of the new-married pair; but
happiness in this world cannot or does not, in any situation, exist
without alloy.
The peace of mind and fortitude of Emily were fated to receive a blow,
as unlooked for to herself as it was unexpected to the world. Bonaparte
appeared in France, and Europe became in motion.
From the moment the earl heard the intelligence his own course was
decided. His regiment was the pride of the army, and that it would be
ordered to join the duke he did not entertain a doubt.
Emily was, therefore, in some little measure prepared for the blow. It
is at such moments as our own acts, or events affecting us, get to be
without our control, that faith in the justice and benevolence of God is
the most serviceable to the Christian. When others spend their time in
useless regrets he is piously resigned: it even so happens, that when
others mourn he can rejoice.
The sound of the bugle, wildly winding its notes, broke on the stillness
of the morning in the little village in which was situated the cottage
tenanted by Sir Edward Moseley. Almost concealed by the shrubbery which
surrounded its piazza, stood the forms of the Countess of Pendennyss and
her sister Lady Marian, watching eagerly the appearance of those whose
approach was thus announced.
The carriage of the ladies, with its idle attendants, was in waiting at
a short distance; and the pale face but composed resignation of its
mistress, indicated a struggle between conflicting duties.
File after file of heavy horse passed them in military pomp, and the
wistful gaze of the two females had scanned them in vain for the well
known, much-beloved countenance of the leader. At length a single
horseman approached them, riding deliberately and musing: their forms
met his eye, and in an instant Emily was pressed to the bosom of her
husband.
"It is the doom of a soldier," said the earl, dashing a tear from his
eye; "I had hoped that the peace of the world would not again be
assailed for years, and that ambition and jealousy would yield a respite
to our bloody profession; but cheer up, my love--hope for the best--your
trust is not in the things of this life, and your happiness is without
the power of man."
"Ah! Pendennyss--my husband," sobbed Emily, sinking on his bosom, "take
with you my prayers--my love--everything that can console you--
everything that may profit you. I will not tell you to be careful of
your life; your duty teaches you that. As a soldier, expose it; as a
husband guard it; and return to me as you leave me, a lover, the dearest
of men, and a Christian."
Unwilling to prolong the pain of parting, the earl gave his wife a last
embrace, held Marian affectionately to his bosom, and mounting his
horse, was out of sight in an instant.
Within a few days of the departure of Pendennyss, Chatterton was
surprised with the entrance of his mother and Catharine. His reception
of them was that of a respectful child, and his wife exerted herself to
be kind to connexions she could not love, in order to give pleasure to a
husband she adored. Their tale was soon told. Lord and Lady Herriefield
were separated; and the dowager, alive to the dangers of a young woman
in Catharine's situation, and without a single principle on which to
rest the assurance of her blameless conduct in future, had brought her
to England, in order to keep off disgrace, by residing with her child
herself.
There was nothing in his wife to answer the expectations with which Lord
Herriefield married. She had beauty, but with that he was already sated;
her simplicity, which, by having her attention drawn elsewhere, had at
first charmed him, was succeeded by the knowing conduct of a determined
follower of the fashions, and a decided woman of the world.
It had never struck the viscount as impossible that an artless and
innocent girl would fall in love with his faded and bilious face, but
the moment Catharine betrayed the arts of a manager, he saw at once the
artifice that had been practised; of course he ceased to love her.
Men are flattered for a season with notice that has been unsought, but
it never fails to injure the woman who practises it in the opinion of
the other sex, in time. Without a single feeling in common, without a
regard to anything but self, in either husband or wife, it could not but
happen that a separation must follow, or their days be spent in
wrangling and misery. Catharine willingly left her husband; her husband
more willingly got rid of her.
During all these movements the dowager had a difficult game to play. It
was unbecoming her to encourage the strife, and it was against her
wishes to suppress it; she therefore moralized with the peer, and
frowned upon her daughter.
The viscount listened to her truisms with the attention of a boy who is
told by a drunken father how wicked it is to love liquor, and heeded
them about as much; while Kate, mistress at all events of two thousand a
year, minded her mother's frowns as little as she regarded her smiles;
both were indifferent to her.
A few days after the ladies left Lisbon, the viscount proceeded to Italy
in company with the repudiated wife of a British naval officer; and if
Kate was not guilty of an offence of equal magnitude, it was more owing
to her mother's present vigilance than to her previous care.
The presence of Mrs. Wilson was a great source of consolation to Emily
in the absence of her husband; and as their longer abode in town was
useless, the countess declining to be presented without the earl, the
whole family decided upon a return into Northamptonshire.
The deanery had been furnished by order of Pendennyss immediately on his
marriage; and its mistress hastened to take possession of her new
dwelling. The amusement and occupation of this movement, the planning of
little improvements, her various duties under her increased
responsibilities, kept Emily from dwelling unduly upon the danger of her
husband. She sought out amongst the first objects of her bounty the
venerable peasant whose loss had been formerly supplied by Pendennyss on
his first visit to B----, after the death of his father. There might not
have been the usual discrimination and temporal usefulness in this
instance which generally accompanied her benevolent acts; but it was
associated with the image of her husband, and it could excite no
surprise in Mrs. Wilson, although it did in Marian, to see her sister
driving two or three times a week to relieve the necessities of a man
who appeared actually to be in want of nothing.
Sir Edward was again amongst those he loved, and his hospitable board
was once more surrounded with the faces of his friends and neighbors.
The good-natured Mr. Haughton was always a welcome guest at the hall,
and met, soon after their return, the collected family of the baronet,
at a dinner given by the latter to his children and one or two of his
most intimate neighbors--
"My Lady Pendennyss," cried Mr. Haughton, in the course of the
afternoon, "I have news from the earl, which I know it will do your
heart good to hear."
Emily smiled at the prospect of hearing in any manner of her husband,
although she internally questioned the probability of Mr. Haughton's
knowing anything of his movements, of which her daily letters did not
apprise her.
"Will you favor me with the particulars of your intelligence, sir?" said
the countess.
"He has arrived safe with his regiment near Brussels; heard it from a
neighbor's son who saw him enter the house occupied by Wellington, while
he was standing in the crowd without, waiting to get a peep at the
duke."
"Oh!" said Mrs. Wilson with a laugh, "Emily knew that ten days ago.
Could your friend tell us anything of Bonaparte? We are much interested
in his movements just now."
Mr. Haughton, a good deal mortified to find his news stale, mused a
moment, as if in doubt to proceed or not; but liking of all things to
act the part of a newspaper, he continued--
"Nothing more than you see in the prints; but I suppose your ladyship
has heard about Captain Jarvis too?"
"Why, no," said Emily, laughing; "the movements of Captain Jarvis are
not quite as interesting to me as those of Lord Pendennyss--has the duke
made him an aide-de-camp?"
"Oh! no," cried the other, exulting at his having something new: "as
soon as he heard of the return of Boney, he threw up his commission and
got married."
"Married!" cried John; "not to Miss Harris, surely."
"No; to a silly girl he met in Cornwall, who was fool enough to be
caught with his gold lace. He married one day, and the next told his
disconsolate wife and panic-stricken mother that the honor of the
Jarvises must sleep until the supporters of the name became sufficiently
numerous to risk them in the field of battle."
"And how did Mrs. Jarvis and Sir Timo's lady relish the news?" inquired
John, expecting something ridiculous.
"Not at all," rejoined Mr. Haughton; "the former sobbed, and said she
had only married him for his bravery and red coat, and the lady
exclaimed against the destruction of his budding honors."
"How did it terminate?" asked Mrs. Wilson.
"Why, it seems while they were quarrelling about it, the War-Office cut
the matter short by accepting his resignation, I suppose the commander-
in-chief had learned his character; but the matter was warmly contested:
they even drove the captain to a declaration of his principles."
"And what kind of ones might they have been, Haughton?" said Sir Edward,
drily.
"Republican."
"Republican!" exclaimed two or three in surprise.
"Yes, liberty and equality, he contended, were his idols, and he could
not find it in his heart to fight against Bonaparte."
"A somewhat singular conclusion," said Mr. Benfield, musing. "I remember
when I sat in the House, there was a party who were fond of the cry of
this said liberty; but when they got the power they did not seem to me
to suffer people to go more at large than they went before; but I
suppose they were diffident of telling the world their minds after they
were put in such responsible stations, for fear of the effect of
example."
"Most people like liberty as servants but not as masters, uncle," cried
John, with a sneer.
"Captain Jarvis, it seems, liked it as a preservative against danger,"
continued Mr. Haughton; "to avoid ridicule in his new neighborhood, he
has consented to his father's wishes, and turned merchant in the city
again."
"Where I sincerely hope he will remain," cried John, who since the
accident of the arbor, could not tolerate the unfortunate youth.
"Amen!" said Emily, in an under tone, heard only by her brother.
"But Sir Timo--what has become of Sir Timo--the good, honest merchant?"
asked John.
"He has dropt the title, insists on being called plain Mr. Jarvis, and
lives entirely in Cornwall. His hopeful son-in-law has gone with his
regiment to Flanders; and Lady Egerton, being unable to live without her
father's assistance, is obliged to hide her consequence in the west
also."
The subject became now disagreeable to Lady Moseley, and it was changed.
Such conversations made Jane more reserved and dissatisfied than ever.
She had no one respectable excuse to offer for her partiality to her
former lover, and when her conscience told her the mortifying fact, was
apt to think that others remembered it too.
The letters from the continent now teemed with preparations for the
approaching contest; and the apprehensions of our heroine and her
friends increased, in proportion to the nearness of the struggle, on
which hung not only the fates of thousands of individuals, but of
adverse princes and mighty empires. In this confusion of interests, and
of jarring of passions, there were offered prayers almost hourly for the
safety of Pendennyss, which were as pure and ardent as the love which
prompted them.