How could any party, however pleasantly arranged, prosper with Miss
Boscawen as one of its members? Nothing could exceed her restlessness,
and objection to every plan proposed. They were not setting forth to
Hawkstone, therefore every thing was ill-devised--every preparation was
nonsensical. Mr. Boscawen rode forward to order dinner, consequently
Isabel must endure her sister-in-law's complaints with patient
submission; and her comfort, during that lengthened drive, must arise
from silently contemplating her child, and exchanging looks of vexation
with Christobelle. They had not quitted the Brierly grounds, when Miss
Boscawen commenced an enumeration of miseries which must fall to their
lot from persisting in their excursion.
"Oh, sister, mercy! How you can wish to spend a whole day in such
a place as Bridgnorth, I cannot imagine. The poor child will be
so uneasy, and you will be so heated; and Miss Wetheral, my dear,
you had better not walk about, but sit quietly at the Crown with us
all. I have brought my knitting, and a piece of carpet-work; and,
mercy, sister!--what will you do with the child? and how can you be
comfortable at the Crown with a baby?"
Christobelle ventured to think the baby would prove their greatest
amusement, and Isabel's eyes and lips seconded the observation. Miss
Boscawen smiled good-humouredly upon Christobelle, as upon a child
whose opinions availed nothing, though the motive was amiable which
produced them; but she addressed Mrs. Boscawen in reply.
"Oh! sister, this is such a sad business--every thing will be very
uncomfortable, and that poor little baby will be heated into a fever."
Isabel replied gently to all the uncomfortable prophecies uttered by
her sister-in-law; but their constant repetition destroyed the pleasure
of the drive. It was vain to contend against Miss Boscawen's reasoning,
for the result was a quietly-expressed pertinacity, which must end in
the discomfiture of her gentle antagonist: it was equally impossible
to resent an opposition which took its rise in anxiety for the object
whom she professed to love and watch over.
Miss Boscawen was not aware of her own failings; she could not detect
herself, how deeply her desire to lead was interwoven with the
affection she professed, and really felt, towards Isabel. That desire
for power became the bane of her young sister's repose: had Miss
Boscawen possessed that power, her kind heart would have ministered
in every thing to Isabel's happiness; but, in striving for a poor and
useless supremacy, both parties became victims to the struggle.
It was so on this day of pleasure: when they entered the town so long
desired, so impatiently anticipated as the scene of matronly pride,
Isabel was jaded and disquieted by the miseries of the journey, and
Miss Boscawen became doubly impressed by her own complainings, that
Bridgnorth would prove a miserable affair. When Mr. Boscawen came
forward to assist them in alighting, he was surprised at Isabel's
languid appearance, and alarmed at the languor of her voice. Isabel
was overcome by her husband's anxious inquiry, his affectionate
endearments, and alarms about herself and his child: he stood again
before her as her protector from his sister's vexatious remarks, ready
to soothe her grief, and advocate her cause: his presence was a
relief--it was a pleasure--she began to feel it was even necessary now
to her happiness.
Isabel took Mr. Boscawen's arm when she left the carriage, and clung
to it with an involuntary movement of delight: her husband perceived
the expression of her eyes, as the warm pressure of her hand turned his
looks towards her, and that expression agitated his feelings. He forgot
Miss Boscawen, his long companion and housekeeper at Brierly--he forgot
the sister who had borne with him the dull routine of twenty years in
almost positive seclusion, to enjoy a new and delightful emotion in
the certainty of having at last won his young wife's heart. That one
absorbing pleasure, so novel, and so delicious, caused Mr. Boscawen to
forget the existence of Miss Boscawen and Christobelle, who stood ready
to receive his attentions upon Isabel's alighting. He had flown with
Isabel up stairs, followed by the nurse and her young charge, and Miss
Boscawen's transit took place under the superintendence of the waiter,
but, on her part, in profound silence. It was evident a severe blow had
been inflicted upon her heart or vanity, by this unexpected movement.
When they entered the apartment destined to their use, Mr. Boscawen
was still offering all his cares and attentions to Isabel. She was
arranged most comfortably on the sofa with the assiduity of a lover.
It was not Mr. Boscawen watching over the proprieties of an estranged
pupil--it was a husband attending to the comfort of a beloved wife.
Christobelle rejoiced in the scene which gave to her view Isabel happy
and unreserved in the presence of Mr. Boscawen. She rejoiced to think
her sister was loving him as _she_ had always loved him--that her
studies must in future be as pleasing to her sister, as they had ever
appeared to _herself_--that they should now enjoy the dressing-room
together, as sincerely as she had formerly abhorred it. Christobelle's
countenance betrayed the thoughts of her heart, for Isabel gave her a
smiling glance as she gazed upon her; and the annoyances of the journey
faded away in the contemplation of her happy, contented position, as
she still held Mr. Boscawen's hand, while the babe lay sleeping in her
lap.
Miss Boscawen made no remark, by word or look, upon the past and
present: her head was thrown more back, and a look of injured innocence
pervaded her form and movements; but not a syllable fell from her lips,
as she moved in silent dignity to the table, and seated herself to her
employments for the day. Neither Isabel nor Mr. Boscawen yet perceived
their sister's wounded feelings: they were both watching their child,
and enjoying their newly-awakened interest in each other, by disjointed
chat on the part of Isabel, and in little, rather awkward, fond
civilities on that of Mr. Boscawen. Isabel, too, had gained another
step in intimacy and unreserve: she now addressed her husband as "dear
Boscawen," which evidently gave intense satisfaction to its object.
"I shall walk round the Castle Hill with my baby when he wakes, dear
Boscawen."
A pressure of the hand, and a look of pleased expression, gave Isabel
courage, and raised her spirits to nearly their pristine height.
"I dare say you will go with us, dear Boscawen, won't you? and Chrystal
will like to see the babe admired all over the town. You shall have
plenty of gingerbread-nuts, dear Chrystal: the darling babe will be so
admired. I know you will come with us, Boscawen, won't you now?"
Mr. Boscawen gave a grim smile of acquiescence, and accompanied the
smile with a corresponding squeeze of the hand.
"I declare, Boscawen, you have hurt my poor little fingers," exclaimed
Isabel, with an affected scream.
"Let me examine them," said her husband, trying to gain possession of
her hand. Isabel withheld it playfully.
"Oh, no, Boscawen, I declare I gave it you in poor Wetheral chapel:
don't you remember how amused I was, and how I laughed when you put on
the ring?"
"Would you give it me again as willingly, if we were to renew our vows,
Isabel?" asked Mr. Boscawen, with soft seriousness, as he caught her
hand, and stroked it with his long unshapely fingers.
"Oh yes, indeed I should _now_, because you are so good, and I should
not know what to do without you. You know you protect me from...."
Isabel's voice sunk into a whisper, which reached her husband's ear
alone; but her eyes were directed towards Miss Boscawen, who appeared
intently occupied with her worsted work. Mr. Boscawen smiled and patted
her hand, as if in correction. Isabel went laughingly on.
"I always like people who love me, but I don't know how it is, some
persons are not pleasant, though they are kind. Mamma was very kind
sometimes, but still, however, I love you, dear Boscawen, very much. I
suppose I always liked you, but you frightened me so."
"Frightened you, my love!"
"Oh, yes, you did very much after I was married; you looked so proud
and frowning, and then those nasty books! I don't think I quite loved
you till you took my part about the cream, and then I _did_ begin in
earnest: I thought it so good of you; but when you allowed me to dress
my child, oh, then how could I help loving you!" Isabel, under the
influence of her feelings, threw her arms round Mr. Boscawen's neck,
and burst into tears. The action woke her infant. "There, now, Boscawen
dear, we have woke the little darling; how could you let me talk in
that way, and do such things! I don't know what was the matter with me."
Isabel, in smiles and tears, began the preparation for her child's
comforts. The nurse was summoned, and it was fed before her, as she
gazed delightedly at its movements: the face and figure of Isabel
received its greatest charm from her maternal solicitude. Her
enthusiastic nature was interestingly and beautifully illustrated
in the devotion of her heart to this one most loved object, and the
_insouciance_ of Isabel Wetheral was buried in the deep love of her
offspring. Christobelle never remembered her so captivating as she
appeared at this moment, when her attention was engrossed in watching
her child. The tears of grateful remembrance were upon her cheek,
yet smiles were chasing every emotion from her heart, but those of
tenderness and a mother's pride. Mr. Boscawen looked on, enchanted.
Isabel, in the fullness of her heart, turned for the first time since
her arrival to Miss Boscawen.
"Ah, Tabitha, I am sure you will be one of our party round the Castle
Hill, to enjoy my babe's crowing delight. Do put away your work, and
join us."
Miss Boscawen did not look up from her work, as she drily replied, "No,
thank you, sister."
Mr. Boscawen thought a little promenade would be very pleasant after a
long drive, and he joined in his lady's wish that she would attend them.
"No, thank you, brother." Miss Boscawen fixed her eyes pertinaciously
upon her work: she sat like a wax figure, motionless, and apparently
sightless.
"I am afraid you are ill, Tabitha," observed Isabel. "Do let me order
you a glass of wine and a biscuit. A glass of wine, dear Boscawen,
would not that do Tabitha good?"
"No, thank you, sister."
"A biscuit, Tabitha."
"No, thank you, brother."
Miss Boscawen's answers to many affectionate inquiries were equally
laconic. Something was wrong, but the cause was equally unintelligible
to her brother and sister. The walk, however, was to take place, and,
if Miss Boscawen would not be prevailed upon to add to the little
party, she would, probably, be kind enough to put off dinner another
hour. This change in the dinner arrangement was met with perfect assent
by Miss Boscawen.
"Certainly, brother."
Mr. Boscawen looked earnestly at his sister; but there was no ripple on
the surface of the water, to detect its agitation: the voice was dry in
its tones, but the eye was placid, and the manner quiet and composed;
one strong symptom betrayed the disease within to her brother, and upon
that symptom he spoke.
"Tabitha, you are vexed about something--tell me what it is."
"I am not vexed, brother."
Mr. Boscawen smiled. "I am sure all is not right, Tabitha; you have
made no objection to a single plan proposed, since we entered this
room, therefore, you are not pleased with some one of us."
"I am not displeased with you, brother."
"Then my wife has unfortunately offended you."
Isabel flew to Miss Boscawen. "I have not offended you, dear
Tabitha, have I? No one is ever offended with _me_ long, for I am so
sorry to give offence. A thousand pardons, dear Tabitha, if I have
unintentionally hurt you, but what could it be?"
"No, sister, you have not offended."
Isabel was free from offence, therefore her thoughts could dwell upon
her child; she did not suspect or observe Miss Boscawen's manner.
"Oh, well, then, let us set off, for I am dying to hear my child
admired. Now, Chrystal, you are head-nurse, so attend my babe in front,
and I will follow with dear Boscawen, to hear and see every body's
admiration. Now, Mr. Boscawen, don't let us linger."
Isabel took her husband's hand, and he suffered her to drag him in her
lively playful way to the door. Isabel was becoming the happy Isabel
of former days rapidly. Her sprightly laugh, at that moment, sounded
like the joyous tones which had captivated her husband upon their first
acquaintance; she was aware of it herself.
"I declare I am laughing as heartily as I used to do, when we were
engaged, dear Boscawen, and you look so like yourself when I first saw
you, and when you thought all I did was right."
"I think so _now_, Isabel," said Mr. Boscawen, drawing her to him, and
looking tenderly in her face.
Mr. Boscawen's person and cast of features could never assume a
sentimental expression, but Isabel was equally unsentimental herself.
If her husband looked kindly, and behaved indulgently, she was happy;
and, while her child continued well, eating his meals heartily, and
stretching out his little arms at her approach, no sorrow could reach
the heart of its devoted mother. Isabel would forget all grief at the
cradle of her darling babe, in whatever form it might assail her.
They were sallying forth from the Crown, when a post-chaise drove
rapidly through the north gate, and came with speed towards the inn.
For a moment they stood still to watch its progress. The horses
were panting with fatigue, but they were quickly unharnessed, as a
well-known voice called out with energy, "Horses instantly to Brierly."
It was Thompson.
Christobelle's fears instantly told her she was to receive a summons
from Wetheral, but she had spent three happy months with Isabel, and
could not in justice complain of its hurried and unexpected arrival.
The last letters, however, from Sir John, had not alluded to any such
intention. Mr. Boscawen had a powerful presentiment that something
was wrong at Wetheral, and they hurried to the side of the chaise.
Christobelle caught Thompson's eye.
"Oh, for ever, and two days! Why, that's Miss Chrystal, as I'm alive!
Well, Miss Chrystal, you must please to return with me immediately to
Wetheral."
Isabel looked bewildered; Mr. Boscawen inquired after the health of
Sir John with much anxiety. He was quite well; but Lady Wetheral was
suffering, and required her daughter's immediate presence; she was not
to delay an hour. Thompson produced a note written by Lady Wetheral,
which was to be put into Christobelle's hand the instant Thompson
arrived.
"Dear Bell,
"The moment you receive this set out, without waiting to pack up your
things, for I can't be left a moment. I am very ill, and require one
person's whole attention. You have led an idle life for twelve years,
mousing in your father's study, therefore, your time is come to be a
little active. I miss your sisters dreadfully. I am glad Isabel is
happy, and I wish I was so, too; but your father is getting extremely
methodistical, which distracts me. Don't keep Thompson a moment; you
will be here this evening.
"G. WETHERAL."
Poor Isabel's day of happiness was changed into mourning, as she stood
reading the note over her sister's shoulder. The hope of her heart fell
at this announcement into sorrow and disappointment, and they returned
into the sitting-room, stunned by the unwelcome summons. Isabel could
only lament, and resolve to return home; she threw her arms round
Christobelle.
"My dear Chrystal, we have been so happy together! What will my babe do
without you; and what will you do without the babe!"
Christobelle sat weeping, but could not reply to Isabel's touching
appeals.
"Ah, Chrystal, and what will you do for dear Boscawen's lectures and
readings, and when shall we be together again? how you will lament my
darling babe! but, Chrystal, don't cry. I know it must be a dreadful
blow to leave that darling boy, but I will have his picture taken every
month, and send you the old one regularly. I know Boscawen will let
me have its picture fresh every month, for he will wish it himself,
and you will be so delighted to see its innocent face every month,
too. Tell papa I _must_ have you every year, and tell Clara that she
will be very happy with Sir Foster, when a child is born. Perhaps she
won't like being at her studies, any more than I did, but Sir Foster
won't plague her after her child is born; be sure and tell her _that_,
Chrystal."
Miss Boscawen forgot her injuries for the moment, to comfort
Christobelle, when the cause of their grief was explained. Her
soothings were more useful and bracing to the spirit. She told her that
duties were imperious at home; and she assured her that conscience
through life would be tranquil under all trials, by the knowledge that
we had been obedient and pleasing to our parents, and, by so doing,
acceptable before our Maker, whose commandment it was to "honour thy
father and thy mother."
"Oh, yes, Tabitha," cried Isabel, earnestly; "Chrystal does not mean
to sorrow for being recalled on that account. She feels the loss of
the dear child, and I can understand the agony of parting with such a
treasure." Isabel took her boy from the nurse's arms, and pressed it
to her bosom. "I can tell what _you_ feel, Chrystal, for, if any one
took my child from me, I should die on the spot." The very idea of a
separation caused Isabel's cheeks to turn deadly pale.
Mr. Boscawen appeared, and advised Christobelle to return with Thompson
from Bridgnorth, without giving a thought to her clothes; they should
be sent after her. He considered Lady Wetheral's wish peremptory; and,
as her anxiety to have her daughter with her was one of Thompson's
particular remarks to him, he had ordered horses to be brought out for
the Ironbridge; the chaise was at that moment ready, and Thompson only
waited for her young lady's presence to return to Wetheral.
The adieus were short. Christobelle was again embraced by Isabel,
and received a kind farewell from Miss Boscawen, but she was hurried
away by Boscawen, without embracing her little nephew; he feared
lest Isabel should suffer by a prolonged view of her regrets. When
deposited in the chaise, she saw Isabel nodding and weeping, and
waving her hand from the window; her child was placed, too, where
Christobelle could see him kicking his little feet, ignorant of his
poor aunt's sorrow. Mr. Boscawen said many kind things, which were
remembered the following day; but Christobelle could not heed them at
the time they were uttered; her eyes and heart were at the window with
Isabel. She thought her misery could never be exceeded by any of those
trials of after-life, which Miss Boscawen alluded to: her heart was
broken--her happiness for ever gone. The chaise moved on, and Thompson
_tête-à-têted_ with her to Wetheral.
The silence was unbroken till the woods of Wetheral roused them into
conversation. Thompson would not interfere with her young lady's
grief, but allowed her to exhaust its violence in the natural way.
Christobelle cried without intermission, till they arrived within a
few miles of the castle; and Thompson, probably, was content to remain
silent, in pleasing contemplations of her own approaching matrimony. At
last she spoke.
"Now, my dear Miss Chrystal, cheer up, and think of all you will have
to do. Your mamma will not like a sorrowful face, and she is become
very capricious and rough, since Miss Clara married."
"Is mamma angry with Clara?" Christobelle asked, mournfully.
"Oh! for ever, and two days!--angry? not she indeed! but my mistress
wants to visit at Ripley--and my master, he won't allow it. She pines
very much about it, and gets melancholy; so, as I am engaged to Mr.
Daniel, at Hatton, you are to take my place--and a terrible place it
will be; for my lady has never spoken to me kindly since I engaged
myself to Mr. Daniel, Miss Chrystal."
Christobelle's tears increased at this melancholy picture of her future
destiny. Poor Thompson, who always loved her, strove to impart comfort.
"Pray, don't cry so terribly, dear Miss Chrystal, for your papa is
always kind and pleasant, and you are such a favourite, you know. My
lady, she does give way to whims, as I can testify; but my master,
he never was any thing but polite and proper. Mr. Daniel tells me
that whims run always in the female line; but he only says that, Miss
Chrystal, to plague me."
Christobelle inquired if her father had heard from Anna Maria, or if
her sister Julia was still at Bedinfield. Thompson put her finger to
her lip with a mysterious air.
"Miss Chrystal, there is something going on there which I can't make
out, neither can Mr. Daniel. My lady, she wrote to invite herself to
Bedinfield for change of air, after Miss Clara's marriage, and a letter
came in reply from the dowager, which I never made out clearly; for
my master, he had a long interview with my lady, and nothing was said
about it. My lady wept a good deal, but she never spoke to me upon the
subject, which I do not take kindly, for I have always been consulted
upon family matters; and Heaven knows, Miss Chrystal, how I held forth
upon poor Miss Clara's sweet temper, when you know her best mood would
turn milk into vinegar!"
"And Anna Maria?"
"Oh! for ever, Miss Chrystal, what a place that Paris is! Mrs. Pynsent,
our young lady that was, writes word they are coming home, for they
have not eaten an intelligible thing since they quitted Wetheral. Poor
young Mr. Pynsent declares a vixen fox roasted and well peppered, would
be far better than the ragouts and frogs he has been obliged to eat
since he left old England. Mr. Daniel says, the Hatton people have
sent them an invitation to return there for a time. Mrs. Pynsent, the
old lady, has been very low and poorly since her son married, and she
spends almost every other day with Mrs. Hancock."
They turned, at this moment, from the high-road into the Wetheral
grounds, and Christobelle was obliged to compose her features and heart
into something like external tranquillity. She made fearful efforts to
banish Isabel and Brierly from her thoughts; she could not think upon
the child whom she loved so dearly. She tried to remember alone her
father's precepts, and act upon his often repeated cautions, to begin
early in life the important task of sacrificing pleasure to duty, and
to pray for strength to act uprightly and obediently to his laws. She
did pray at this moment; and her earnest repetition of the prayer which
he taught her to offer up daily to her parent in heaven, caused some
words to escape which reached Thompson's ear. She turned towards her
with quickness.
"Well, for ever and two days, Miss Chrystal, if you are not saying your
prayers! Don't let my lady hear you going on so, or she will be angry;
she called me a methodist the other day with her own lips, because I
said just a few words about Mr. Daniel being a church-going man: and
so he is, Miss Chrystal, I assure you."
Christobelle's heart leaped when she saw her father standing upon the
lawn, as they drove up the avenue. The happy hours, the quiet delights
of his study, his affection for her, his long, solitary readings,
while she was absent--all and each pressed upon her mind, and absorbed
all thoughts of Brierly. There he stood watching their approach, and
smiling upon his child the same benignant smile which ever welcomed her
presence into his study: she held out her arms, though she could not
reach him; but the chaise stopped, and she was soon in the parental
embrace. How was she caressed and welcomed after an absence of three
months!
Christobelle thought there was a change in her father; but she was too
young to discover or dwell upon the cause. She fancied his manner more
grave, and his voice was melancholy; but her attention was attracted to
a thousand trifles, and she forgot to gaze upon him. She was listening
to all that had occurred in her absence. Christobelle took tea with her
father alone, and to him she detailed the happiness she had enjoyed at
Brierly; the odd ways of Miss Boscawen, the perfect bliss of Isabel: a
smile lighted up his countenance.
"I married Isabel to a good man, and she was certain of happiness: her
child is a delightful gift, but her content proceeds from her husband's
temper and principles. Isabel is a warm-hearted girl; she must be happy
with Boscawen." Christobelle assured him her thoughts were wrapped up
in her babe, much more than in Boscawen. Isabel only lived for her
child.
"She may think so," replied Sir John, "and you may judge it is so; but
when you have lived a little longer, you will both perceive a woman's
happiness to depend upon her husband's principles. If he is worthless,
she must be miserable; and children increase the misery, if she loves
them. Boscawen is a good man, and Isabel is happy. Be careful in _your_
choice, Chrystal."
"Oh! papa, you shall choose for me."
"Very well, my love; if I live, I will be your counsellor; but if your
father is taken from you, beware of marrying for any motive of worldly
considerations. Marry with esteem; and, if you believe a man to be
religious, performing his duties as a son and brother with kindliness
and affection, then love him, for he will deserve your affection.
Beware of marrying for affluence alone; your fate will be then as
Julia's or Clara's fate."
Sir John Wetheral's voice sunk into low, pathetic tones as he
concluded, and Christobelle was silent from an awful feeling which
stole over her frame, and forbade remark. A tap at the door roused them
from the silence of many minutes; it was Thompson with a message from
Lady Wetheral, requesting her daughter's presence. Christobelle looked
at her father with alarm; her hour was arrived, when the things of
this world must no longer appear like a vision of beauty; her life, in
future, would be a lengthened chain of annoyances, and she must bend to
the destiny which awaited her. She followed Thompson to her mother's
apartments, where she had secluded herself since Lady Kerrison's
marriage, in terror; but Sir John had smiled upon the movement, and
Christobelle could not escape her lot. She was certain of an unpleasant
reception, but restrained her tears from flowing. Lady Wetheral was
seated near her work-table, upon which six wax-lights stood burning.
She looked up.
"Oh! you are come, Bell: there, sit down, for I can't bear any one
to come near me, heating the atmosphere. I think you are grown tall
and gawky with your visit; it's very odd you should be so much plainer
than your sisters. I suppose Isabel is very busy with her boy, poor
thing! I hope all her children will be boys; girls are great plagues.
Your father will not allow me to see poor dear Clara, and there is no
settlement made upon her, which worries me to death. Suppose Sir Foster
dies, and Clara should become a widow without any provision; I can't
be troubled with any of you again. I can't be annoyed with daughters
returning upon me, when I have taken such pains to establish them. I am
extremely worried about Clara, and my spirits are sinking fast; not a
soul to take care of me. Thompson on the eve of marrying!--nonsensical
stuff! Servants, of all people, marrying! Daniel can't settle fifty
pounds upon Thompson, and so I tell her, simpleton!"
Christobelle had nothing to offer in the way of consolation; she was
always under a spell before her mother. Her tone of voice, too, was
irritable, and the fear of offending closed her daughter's lips from
answering. Lady Wetheral proceeded.
"You are awkward and dumb as ever, Bell: don't wriggle in your chair,
and look so intolerably stupid. I thought Boscawen would have talked
or read you into something like ease of manner. I shall be tired
to death with your abrupt motions revolving round me. I must make
you useful in your influence over your father, Bell; and you must
contrive to gain his consent to our visiting at Ripley. Your poor
father is become very selfish in many things. I meant to pay a visit
of a few weeks to Bedinfield, but the dowager has sent me a letter I
can't understand. Your father says the purport of it is to decline my
company, but I could see no purport at all. The Pynsents are in France,
and I never liked Boscawen; therefore I ought not to be refused my poor
Clara's society. This is dreadful seclusion, and I have this little
illumination to drive away blue devils. I never see Sir John now; my
influence is quite gone."
It was necessary Christobelle should now endeavour to enter into
conversation, and assist, as far as lay in her power, to console and
amuse the disquietudes of her mother's mind. She, therefore, inquired
if it was a true report concerning Anna Maria's return to England.
"Yes, Anna Maria is on the point of returning from Paris, very much
against my wishes; she will be only a secondary person at Hatton, and
their complaints are very foolish about that fine city. I think every
thing has gone wrong since my daughters married; I have not been well
or happy since Clara left me, and never shall be again."
"I hope you will, mamma; I will do all I can to please you."
"What can you do?" replied her mother, quickly, and with considerable
irritation in her tone; "you are too young to establish, or to think
about it these three years; how can _you_ please me? I am declined at
Bedinfield by the dowager, who, I am sure, manages her son and his
wife, for neither of them added a line to regret my postponement, if it
_was_ one; but I could not understand it. My daughter Pynsent cannot
ask me to Hatton when she returns; she will be a guest herself. I must
not see Clara; and if I did, she has no settlement. What pleasure has
accrued to me from their splendid matches?"
None, certainly, as far as Christobelle could judge from her mother's
complaints, but surely Brierly was a home of happiness; she told her so.
"Brierly may suit _you_, Bell, but what amusement would it be to me?
Isabel spoiling her figure and disordering her dress, by carrying a
heavy child about all day; Miss Boscawen sitting upright like all the
generation of old maids; and Boscawen keeping only a pair of horses,
and never entertaining the neighbourhood! I should be shocked and
distressed all day."
"They were so happy, mamma!"
"I dare say, Bell: so are the pigs when they have clean straw and
plenty to eat. I can't fancy any thing but merely animal enjoyments at
Brierly."
Who could reply to such determined obliquity of reasoning? Christobelle
perceived, indeed, that four splendid matches had failed to produce
pleasure to her mother's mind. Each establishment appeared clogged
with an evil, which overbalanced their boasted worth and magnificence.
Deeply as she coveted, and had laboured for her daughters' wealthy
suitors, the affluence of their position could now give no
satisfaction. The excitement was over, the objects were attained; and
the disadvantages connected with each were now as fluently expatiated
upon as were once their glory and their triumph. All this language of
complaint, this unexpected and unfounded source of grievance, pained
and dispirited Christobelle. It was ceaseless in its flow, and hurtful
in its consequences, to herself.
Lady Wetheral's nature and temper was changed in her daughter's eyes:
that agreeable fascination of manner, which so often softened away an
abrupt expression, was departed; the playful tone of voice and action,
which had so long held powerful influence over her husband's mind,
was no more. Her ladyship became secluded and irritable, pining over
Clara's banishment, regretting the absence of her settlement, and
offended at her own banishment from Bedinfield, till it became painful
to approach her; and Christobelle's spirits sunk under the confinement
and terror of her presence. She became ill; and her father's anxiety
sought a remedy for the evils she endured, by issuing a pardon to the
errors of Lady Kerrison, and admitting the families to a renewal of its
ancient association. This proved the signal for domestic peace.
Lady Wetheral, eager to profit from the permission so tardily bestowed,
flew immediately to Ripley: the carriage was at the door in a quarter
of an hour after peace had been declared; and she quitted her solitary
apartments, in the highest apparent health and spirits. During her
absence, Thompson appeared before Christobelle, and begged she would
apologize to her lady for a step she felt called upon to take during
her lady's absence, for many reasons. Christobelle inquired with
surprise to what she alluded.
"Oh, for ever, Miss Chrystal! I think the fashion of runaway matches
is coming into vogue at Wetheral. I have had many conversations with
my lady; but, really, they have been of so unpleasant a nature, that I
must beg to take French leave, as Miss Clara did. Assure her ladyship,
if you please, Miss Chrystal, of my sorrow at being obliged to part
in this cursory sort of way; but, as I am engaged to marry Mr. Daniel
to-morrow morning, it is useless to argue the affair any longer. I
hope, Miss Chrystal, you will do me the honour to call upon me, and
take tea, some fine Sunday, with us. We shall always be sensible of the
attention."
Christobelle stared at Thompson's disclosure; but she was dressed
for departure, and appeared anxious to be gone. Christobelle said
her mother would miss her services, and who was to succeed her in
performing those which Lady Wetheral required? Thompson smiled.
"My dear Miss Chrystal, my lady will not be very much surprised, for
I have threatened some time to leave suddenly. I have been baited
like a bull, these two months, about Mr. Daniel; and yet, miss, the
church enjoins matrimony to servants as well as other people. Mr.
Daniel quotes St. Paul, to prove the thing. However, I decline any more
controversy; for, my lady, she loses her temper now: therefore, I shall
be much obliged by your informing her of this step."
Christobelle gave the required assurance, that she would herself name
the affair to her mother; and Thompson, after making her adieus, and
repeating the pleasure she should feel in receiving Miss Chrystal to
tea, quitted Wetheral and its eventful scenes, to seek a new home, and
become the property of Daniel Higgins.
Christobelle was reading with her father a scene in Macbeth, when
Lady Wetheral entered. She had returned from Ripley; and the extreme
paleness of her countenance, her trembling hands, and quivering lip,
announced some fearful accident or event. She laid her hand upon her
husband's shoulder, and looked in his face, but did not utter a word.
Sir John grasped her hands, and bade her be composed; but his lady's
distress prevented all utterance for some moments: at length, a deep
sob relieved her, and she spoke in hurried accents--
"John--the brute has beaten her!"
Sir John feared his lady's intellects were shaken by some horrible
accident: he again took both her hands, and seated her, beseeching her
to gain calmness, and explain the cause of her agitation. Lady Wetheral
placed her hand upon her heart, and wept for some time in silence.
It was distressing to look upon her, suffering, without possessing a
knowledge of its cause, or being able to soothe its violence. A pause
ensued, till the paroxysm of weeping relieved her heart, and enabled
her to account for the extraordinary emotion. She took her husband's
hand, and spoke in broken sentences.
"John, I did not believe Sir Foster's temper was so bad as people
represented--I did not think he would use Clara ill; or, indeed,
John, she should never have entered Ripley, to be treated like his
spaniel--oh, John!"
"Tell me, at once, Gertrude, what you mean," said her husband, calmly.
"I went to Ripley, John, to give my daughter the delightful information
of your having overlooked her little fault; and I entered the
sitting-room, where Clara and Sir Foster were quarrelling, oh, so
dreadfully!--I was exceedingly shocked--I did not think a daughter
of mine would ever quarrel as Clara did, with her husband--it was
so underbred--so very vulgar! Sir Foster swore he would kick Clara,
if she persevered in her assertion--it was all about a wretched
fishmonger.--Clara persisted, and my child was knocked down before my
eyes--I saw my beautiful Clara upon the ground; her features swollen,
and her dear face crimson. Oh, John, I never saw such a scene!"
Lady Wetheral again wept, and proceeded brokenly to describe her
feelings and continue her account.
"I never felt so distressed and shocked in my life! I had always
inculcated the propriety of commanding their temper into my daughters'
minds. I always laid great stress upon the bad taste of making scenes
for servants to report and comment upon. I am sure I lectured my girls
by the hour, on the necessity of keeping up appearances, and avoiding
scenes--public scenes--which the neighbourhood must ridicule. I cannot
bear that Clara should become an object of ridicule. What will Mrs.
Pynsent say? Nothing can equal my shocked feelings. I told Sir Foster,
he was a brute, too disgusting and monstrous for remark or notice from
_me_; and I assured Clara, her violence of temper had done little
credit to my instructions, and ruined her appearance most cruelly. My
observations were of no avail; Clara persisted in asserting the odious
fishmonger was right in his charges, as she raised herself from the
ground, and another blow was struck. Oh, John, I left my child bleeding
on the ground--neither of them listened to me, or replied to me. What
can be done to hush up this dreadful scene, for my cries brought in
three footmen? Oh, John, what is to be done?"
Her ladyship's tears again flowed copiously.
"I will go, instantly, to Ripley," said Sir John, seriously, but
calmly. "Chrystal, my love, be ready to accompany me in ten minutes."
"I shall want Bell to talk to, my love--don't take that great girl with
you, every where."
"I particularly wish to point out to my daughter's notice the misery
and crime of connecting herself with a man whose only virtue is the
possession of riches, Gertrude. Make haste, Chrystal; the carriage will
be round in ten minutes."
Christobelle flew to her room, and prepared to accompany her father.
When she returned to the study, it was empty. Lady Wetheral had
returned to her apartments, and Thompson was no longer there to receive
and assist her. Christobelle was on the point of ascending the stairs,
to make known her flight, but the carriage was already at the door, and
her father called for her. She entered the carriage as her mother's
bell rang furiously, but time was too precious for delay; the order was
given, and they proceeded towards Ripley with rapidity.