The village in which Adeline resided happened to be the native place
of Mary Warner, the servant whom she had been forced to dismiss at
Richmond; and who having gone from Mrs Pemberton to another situation,
which she had also quitted, came to visit her friends.
The wish of saying lessening things of those of whom one hears extravagant
commendations, is, I fear, common to almost every one, even where the
object praised comes in no competition with oneself:--and when Mary
Warner heard from every quarter of the grace and elegance, affability
and active benevolence of the new comer, it was no doubt infinitely
gratifying to her to be able to exclaim,--'Mowbray! did you say her name
is? La! I dares to say it is my old mistress, who was kept by one Mr
Glenmurray!' But so greatly were her auditors prepossessed in favour of
Adeline, that very few of them could be prevailed upon to believe Mary's
supposition was just; and so much was she piqued at the disbelief which
she met with, that she declared she would go to church the next Sunday
to shame the hussey, and go up and speak to her in the church-yard
before all the people.
'Ah! do so, if you ever saw our Miss Mowbray before,' was the answer:
and Mary eagerly looked forward to the approaching Sunday. Meanwhile,
as we are all of us but too apt to repeat stories to the prejudice of
others, even though we do not believe them, this strange assertion of
Mary was circulated through the village even by Adeline's admirers; and
the next Sunday was expected by the unconscious Adeline alone with no
unusual eagerness.
Sunday came; and Adeline, as she was wont to do, attended the service:
but from the situation of her pew, she could neither see Mary nor be
seen by her till church was over. Adeline then, as usual, was walking
down the broad walk of the church-yard, surrounded by the parents of the
children who came to her school, and receiving from them the customary
marks of respect, when Mary, bustling through the crowd, accosted her
with:--'So!--your sarvant, Miss Mowbray, I am glad to see you here in
such a respectable situation.'
Adeline, though in the gaily-dressed lady who accosted her she had some
difficulty in recognizing her quondam servant, recollected the pert
shrill voice and insolent manner of Mary immediately; and involuntarily
starting when she addressed her, from painful associations and fear of
impending evil, she replied, 'How are you, Mary?' in a faltering tone.
'Then it is Mary's Miss Mowbray,' whispered Mary's auditors of the
day before to each other; while Mary, proud of her success, looked
triumphantly at them, and was resolved to pursue the advantage which
she had gained.
'So you have lost Mr Glenmurray, I find!' continued Mary.
Adeline spoke not, but walked hastily on:--but Mary kept pace with her,
speaking as loud as she could.
'And did the little one live, pray?'
Still Adeline spoke not.
'What sort of a getting-up had you, Miss Mowbray?'
At this mischievously-intended question Adeline's other sensations were
lost in strong indignation; and resuming all the modest but collected
dignity of her manner, she turned round, and fixing her eyes steadily on
the insulting girl, exclaimed aloud, 'Woman, I never injured you either
in thought, word, or deed:--Whence comes it, then, that you endeavour to
make the finger of scorn point at me, and make me shrink with shame and
confusion from the eye of observation?'
'Woman! indeed!' replied Mary--but she was not allowed to proceed; for a
gentleman hastily stepped forward, crying, 'It is impossible for us to
suffer such insults to be offered to Miss Mowbray:--I desire, therefore,
that you will take your daughter away (turning to Mary's father); and,
if possible, teach her better manners.' Having said this, he overtook
the agitated Adeline; and offering her his arm, saw her home to her
lodgings: while those who had heard with surprise and suspicion the
strange and impertinent questions and insolent tone of Mary, resumed
in a degree their confidence in Adeline, and turned a disgusted and
deaf ear to the hysterical vehemence with which the half-sobbing
Mary defended herself, and vilified Adeline, as her father and
brother-in-law, almost by force, led her out of the church-yard.
The gentleman who had so kindly stepped forward to the assistance of
Adeline was Mr Beauclerc, the surgeon of the village, a man of
considerable abilities and liberal principles; and when he bade Adeline
farewell, he said, 'My wife will do herself the pleasure of calling on
you this evening:' then, kindly pressing her hand, he with a respectful
bow took his leave.
Luckily for Adeline, Berrendale was detained in town that day; and she
was spared the mortification of showing herself to him, writhing as
she was under the agonies of public shame, for such it seemed to her.
Convinced as she was of the light in which she must have appeared
to the persons around her from the malicious interrogatories of
Mary;--convinced too, as she was more than beginning to be, of the
fallacy of the reasoning which had led her to deserve, and even to
glory in, the situation which she now blushed to hear disclosed;--and
conscious as she was, that to remain in the village, and expect to
retain her school, was now impossible--she gave herself up to a burst of
sorrow and despondence; during which her only consolation was, that it
was not witnessed by Berrendale.
It never for a moment entered into the ingenuous mind of Adeline, that
her declaration would have more weight than that of Mary Warner; and
that she might, with almost a certainty of being believed, deny her
charge entirely: on the contrary, she had no doubt but that Mrs
Beauclerc was coming to inquire into the grounds for Mary's gross
address; and she was resolved to confess to her all the circumstances
of her story.
After church in the afternoon Mrs Beauclerc arrived, and Adeline
observed, with pleasure, that her manner was even kinder than usual; it
was such as to ensure the innocent of the most strenuous support, and to
invite the guilty to confidence and penitence.
'Never, my dear Miss Mowbray,' said Mrs Beauclerc, 'did I call on you
with more readiness than now; as I come assured that you will give me
not only the most ample authority to contradict, but the fullest means
to confute, the vile calumnies which that malicious girl, Mary Warner,
has, ever since she entered the village, been propagating against you:
but, indeed, she is so little respected in her rank of life, and you so
highly in yours, that your mere denial of the truth of her statement
will, to every candid mind, be sufficient to clear your character.'
Adeline never before was so strongly tempted to violate the truth;
and there was a friendly earnestness in Mrs Beauclerc's manner, which
proved that it would be almost cruel to destroy the opinion which she
entertained of her virtue. For a moment Adeline felt disposed to yield
to the temptation, but it was only for a moment,--and in a hurried and
broken voice she replied, 'Mary Warner has asserted of me nothing but--'
Here her voice faltered.
'Nothing but falsehoods, no doubt, interrupted Mrs Beauclerc
triumphantly,--'I thought so.'
'Nothing but the TRUTH!' resumed Adeline.
'Impossible!' cried Mrs Beauclerc, dropping the cold hand which she
held: and Adeline, covering her face, and throwing herself back in the
chair, sobbed aloud.
Mrs Beauclerc was herself for some time unable to speak; but at length
she faintly said--'So sensible, so pious, so well-informed, and so
pure-minded as you seem!--to what strange arts, what wicked seductions,
did you fall a victim?'
'To no arts--to no seductions'--replied Adeline, recovering all her
energy at this insinuation against Glenmurray. 'My fall from virtue as
you would call it, was, I may say, from love of what I thought virtue;
and if there be any blame, it attaches merely to my confidence in my
lover's wisdom and my own too obstinate self-conceit. But you, dear
madam, deserve to hear my whole story; and, if you can favour me with an
hour's attention, I hope, at least, to convince you that I was worthy of
a better fate than to be publicly disgraced by a malicious and ignorant
girl.'
Mrs Beauclerc promised the most patient attention; and Adeline related
the eventful history of her life, slightly dwelling on those parts of it
which in any degree reflected on her mother, and extolling most highly
her sense, her accomplishments, and her maternal tenderness. When she
came to the period of Glenmurray's illness and death, she broke abruptly
off and rushed into her own chamber; and it was some minutes before she
could return to Mrs Beauclerc, or before her visitor could wish her to
return, as she was herself agitated and affected by the relation which
she had heard:--and when Adeline came in she threw her arms round her
neck, and pressed her to her heart with a feeling of affection that
spoke consolation to the wounded spirit of the mourner.
She then resumed her narration;--and, having concluded it, Mrs
Beauclerc, seizing her hand, exclaimed, 'For God's sake, marry Mr
Berrendale immediately; and adjure for ever, at the foot of the altar,
those errors in opinion to which all your misery has been owing!'
'Would I could atone for them some other way!' she replied.
'Impossible! and if you have any regard for me you will become the wife
of your generous lover; for then, and not till then, can I venture to
associate with you.'
'I thought so,' cried Adeline; 'I thought all idea of remaining here,
with any chance of keeping my scholars, was now impossible.'
'It would not be so,' replied Mrs Beauclerc, 'if every one thought like
me: I should consider your example as a warning to all young people; and
to preserve my children from evil I should only wish them to hear your
story, as it inculcates most powerfully how vain are personal graces,
talents, sweetness of temper, and even active benevolence, to ensure
respectability and confer happiness, without a strict regard to the
long-established rules for conduct, and a continuance in those paths of
virtue and decorum which the wisdom of ages has pointed out to the steps
of every one.--But others will, no doubt, consider, that continuing to
patronize you, would be patronizing vice; and my rank in life is not
high enough to enable me to countenance you with any chance of leading
others to follow my example; while I should not be able to serve you,
but should infallibly lose myself. But some time hence, as the wife of
Mr Berrendale, I might receive you as your merits deserve: till then--'
Here Mrs Beauclerc paused, and she hesitated to add, 'we meet no more.'
Indeed it was long before the parting took place. Mrs Beauclerc had
justly appreciated the merits of Adeline, and thought she had found in
her a friend and companion for years to come: besides, her children were
most fondly attached to her; and Mrs Beauclerc, while she contemplated
their daily improvement under her care, felt grateful to Adeline for the
unfolding excellencies of her daughters. Still, to part with her was
unavoidable; but the pang of separation was in a degree soothed to
Adeline by the certainty which Mrs Beauclerc's sorrow gave her, that,
spite of her errors, she had inspired a real friendship in the bosom of
a truly virtuous and respectable woman; and this idea gave a sensation
of joy to her heart to which it had long been a stranger.
The next morning some of the parents, whom Mary's tale had not yet
reached, sent their children as usual. But Adeline refused to enter upon
any school duties, bidding them affectionately farewell, and telling
them that she was going to write to their parents, as she was obliged
to leave her present situation, and, declining keeping school, meant to
reside, she believed in London.
The children on hearing this looked at each other with almost tearful
consternation; and Adeline observed, with pleasure, the interest which
she had made to herself in their young hearts. After they were gone she
sent a circular letter to her friends in the village, importing that
she was under the necessity of leaving her present residence; but that,
whatever her future situation might be, she should always remember, with
gratitude, the favours which she had received at ----.
The necessity that drove her away was, by this time, very well
understood by every one; but Mrs Beauclerc took care to tell those who
mentioned the subject to her, the heads of Adeline's story; and to add
always, 'and I have reason to believe that, as soon as she is settled in
town, she will be extremely well married.'
To the mulatto the change in Adeline's plans was particularly pleasing,
as it would bring her nearer her son, and nearer William, from whom
nothing but a sense of grateful duty to Adeline would so long have
divided her. But Savanna imagined that Adeline's removal was owing to
her having at last determined to marry Mr Berrendale; an event which
she, for Adeline's sake, earnestly wished to take place, though for her
own she was undecided whether to desire it or not, as Mr Berrendale
might not, perhaps, be as contented with her services as Adeline was.
While these thoughts were passing in Savanna's mind, and her warm and
varying feelings were expressed by alternate smiles and tears, Mr
Berrendale arrived from town: and as Savanna opened the door to him,
she, half whimpering, half smiling, dropped him a very respectful
curtsey, and looked at him with eyes full of unusual significance.
'Well, Savanna, what has happened?--Anything new or extraordinary since
my absence?' said Berrendale.
'Me tink not of wat hav appen, but what will happen,' replied Savanna.
'And what is going to happen?' returned Berrendale, seating himself in
the parlour, 'and where is your mistress?'
'She dress herself, that dear misses,' replied Savanna, lingering with
the door in her hand, 'and I,--ope to have a dear massa too.'
'What!' cried Berrendale, starting wildly from his seat, 'what did you
say?'
'Why me ope my misses be married soon.'
'Married! to whom?' cried Berrendale, seizing her hand, and almost
breathless with alarm.
'Why, to you, sure,' exclaimed Savanna, 'and den me hope you will not
turn away poor Savanna?'
'What reason you have, my dear Savanna, for talking thus, I cannot tell;
nor dare I give way to the sweet hopes which you excite: but, if it be
true that I may hope, depend on it you shall cook my wedding dinner, and
then I am sure it will be a good one.'
'Can full joy eat?' asked the mulatto thoughtfully.
'A good dinner is a good thing, Savanna,' replied Berrendale, 'and ought
never to be slighted.'
'Me good dinner day I marry, but I not eat it.--O sir, pity people look
best in dere wedding clothes, but my William look well all day and every
day, and perhaps you will too, sir; and den I ope to cook your wedding
dinner, next day dinner, and all your dinners.'
'And so you shall, Savanna,' cried Berrendale, grasping her hand, 'and
I--' Here the door opened, and Adeline appeared; who, surprised at
Berrendale's familiarity with her servant, looked gravely, and stopped
at the door with a look of cold surprise. Berrendale, awed into
immediate respect--for what is so timid and respectful as a man truly
in love?--bowed low, and lost in an instant all the hopes which had
elevated his spirits to such an unusual degree.
Adeline with an air of pique observed, that she feared she interrupted
them unpleasantly, as something unusually agreeable and enlivening
seemed to occupy them as she came in, over which her entrance seemed to
have cast a cloud.
The mulatto had by this time retreated to the door, and was on the point
of closing it when Berrendale stammered out, as well as he could,
'Savanna was, indeed, raising my hopes to such an unexpected height,
that I felt almost bewildered with joy; but the coldness of your manner,
Miss Mowbray, has sobered me again.'
'And what did Savanna say to you?' cried Adeline.
'I--I say,' cried Savanna returning, 'dat is, he say, I should be let
cook de wedding dinner.'
Adeline, returning even paler than she was before, desired her coldly to
leave the room; and, seating herself at the greatest possible distance
from Berrendale, leaned for some time in silence on her hand--he not
daring to interrupt her meditations. But at last she said, 'What could
give rise to this singular conversation between you and Savanna I am
wholly at a loss to imagine: still I--I must own that it is not so
ill-timed as it would have been some weeks ago. I will own, that since
yesterday I have been considering your generous proposals with the
serious attention which they deserve.'
On hearing this, which Adeline uttered with considerable effort,
Berrendale in a moment was at her side, and almost at her feet.
'I--I wish you to return to your seat,' said Adeline coldly: but hope
had emboldened him, and he chose to stay where he was.
'But, before I require you to renew your promises, or make any on my
side, it is proper that I should tell you what passed yesterday; and if
the additional load of obloquy which I have acquired does not frighten
you from continuing your addresses--' Here Adeline paused:--and
Berrendale, rather drawing back, then pushing his chair nearer her as
he spoke, gravely answered, that his affection was proof against all
trials.
Adeline then briefly related the scene in the church-yard, and her
conversation with Mrs Beauclerc, and concluded thus:--'In consequence of
this, and of the recollections of HIS advice, and HIS decided opinion,
that by becoming the wife of a respectable man I could alone expect to
recover my rank in society, and consequently my usefulness, I offer you
my hand; and promise, in the course of a few months, to become yours in
the sight of God and man.'
'And from no other reason?--from no preference, no regard for me?'
demanded Berrendale reproachfully.
'Oh! pardon me; from decided preference; there is not another being in
the creation whom I could bear to call husband.'
Berrendale, gratified and surprised, attempted to take her hand; but,
withdrawing it, she continued thus;--'Still I almost scruple to let
you, unblasted as your prospects are, take a wife a beggar, blasted in
reputation, broken in spirits, with a heart whose best affections lie
buried in the grave, and which can offer you in return for your faithful
tenderness nothing but cold respect and esteem; one too who is not only
despicable to others, but also self-condemned.'
While Adeline said this, Berrendale, almost shuddering at the picture
which she drew, paced the room in great agitation; and even the
gratification of his passion, used as he was to the indulgence of every
wish, seemed, for a moment, a motive not sufficiently powerful to enable
him to unite his fate to that of a woman so degraded as Adeline appeared
to be; and he would, perhaps, have hesitated to accept the hand she
offered, had she not added, as a contrast to the picture which she had
drawn--'But if, in spite of all these unwelcome considerations, you
persist in your resolution of making me yours, and I have resolution
enough to conquer the repugnance that I feel to make a second connexion,
you may depend on possessing in me one who will study your happiness
and wishes in the minutest particulars;--one who will cherish you in
sickness and in sorrow;--' (here a twinge of the gout assisted Adeline's
appeal very powerfully;) 'and who, conscious of the generosity of your
attachment, and her own unworthiness, will strive, by every possible
effort, not to remain your debtor even in affection.'
Saying this, she put out her hand to Berrendale; and that hand, and
the arm belonging to it, were so beautiful, and he had so often envied
Glenmurray while he saw them tenderly supporting his head, that while a
vision of approaching gout, and Adeline bending over his restless couch,
floated before him, all his prudent considerations vanished; and,
eagerly pressing the proffered hand to his lips, he thanked her most
ardently for her kind promise; and, putting his arm round her waist,
would have pressed her to his bosom.
But the familiarity was ill-timed;--Adeline was already surprised, and
even shocked, at the lengths to which she had gone; and starting almost
with loathing from his embrace, she told him it grew late, and it was
time for him to go to his lodgings. She then retired to her own room,
and spent half the night at least in weeping over the remembrance of
Glenmurray, and in loudly apostrophizing his departed spirit.
The next day Adeline, out of the money which she had earned, discharged
her lodgings; and having written a farewell note to Mrs Beauclerc,
begging to hear of her now and then, she and the mulatto proceeded to
town, with Berrendale, in search of apartments; and having procured
them, Adeline began to consider by what means, till she could resolve to
marry Berrendale, she should help to maintain herself, and also contrive
to increase their income if she became his wife.
The success which she had met with in instructing children, led her
to believe that she might succeed in writing little hymns and tales
for their benefit; a method of getting money which she looked upon to
be more rapid and more lucrative than working plain or fancy works:
and, in a short time, a little volume was ready to be offered to a
bookseller:--nor was it offered in vain. Glenmurray's bookseller
accepted it; and the sum which he gave, though trifling, imparted a
balsam to the wounded mind of Adeline: it seemed to open to her the path
of independence; and to give her, in spite of her past errors, the means
of serving her fellow-creatures.
But month after month elapsed, and Glenmurray had been dead two years,
yet still Adeline could not prevail on herself to fix a time for her
marriage.
But next to the aversion she felt to marrying at all, was that which
she experienced at the idea of having no fortune to bestow on the
disinterested Berrendale; and so desirous was she of his acquiring
some little property by his union with her, that she resolved to ask
counsel's opinion on the possibility of her claiming a sum of money
which Glenmurray had bequeathed to her, but without, as Berrendale had
assured her, the customary formalities.
The money was near L300; but Berrendale had allowed it to go to
Glenmurray's legal heir, because he was sure that the writing which
bequeathed it would not hold good in law. Still Adeline was so unwilling
to be under so many pecuniary obligations to a man whom she did not
love, that she resolved to take advice on the subject, much against the
will of Berrendale, who thought the money for fees might as well be
saved; but as a chance for saving the fee he resolved to let Adeline go
to the lawyer's chambers alone, thinking it likely that no fee would be
accepted from so fine a woman. Accordingly, more alive to economy than
to delicacy or decorum, Berrendale, when Adeline, desiring a coach to be
called, summoned him to accompany her to the Temple, pleaded terror of
an impending fit of the gout, and begged her to excuse his attendance;
and Adeline, unsuspicious of the real cause of his refusal, kindly
expressing her sorrow for the one he feigned, took the counsellor's
address, and got into the coach, Berrendale taking care to tell her, as
she got in, that the fare was but a shilling.
The gentleman, Mr Langley, to whom Adeline was going, was celebrated for
his abilities as a chamber counsellor, and no less remarkable for his
gallantries: but Berrendale was not acquainted with this part of his
history: else he would not, even to save a lawyer's fee, have exposed
his intended wife to a situation of such extreme impropriety; and
Adeline was too much a stranger to the rules of general society, to feel
any great repugnance to go alone on an errand so interesting to her
feelings.
The coach having stopped near the entrance of the court to which she was
directed, Adeline, resolving to walk home, discharged the coach, and
knocked at the door of Mr Langley's chambers. A very smart servant out
of livery answered the knock; and Mr Langley being at home, Adeline was
introduced into his apartment.
Mr Langley, though surprised at seeing a lady of a deportment so
correct and of so dignified an appearance enter his room unattended, was
inspired with so much respect at the sight of Adeline, whose mourning
habit added to the interest which her countenance never failed to
excite, that he received her with bows down to the ground, and, leading
her to a chair, begged she would do him the honour to be seated, and
impart her commands.
Adeline, embarrassed, she scarcely knew why, at the novelty of her
situation, drew the paper from her pocket, and presented it to him.
'Mr Berrendale recommended me to you, sir,' said Adeline faintly.
'Berrendale, Berrendale, O, aye,--I remember--the cousin of Mr
Glenmurray: you know Mr Glenmurray too, ma'am, I presume; pray how
is he?'--Adeline, unprepared for this question, could not speak; and
the voluble counsellor went on--'Oh!--I ask your pardon, madam, I
see;--pray, might I presume so far, how long has that extraordinary
clever man been lost to the world?'
'More than two years, sir,' replied Adeline faintly.
'You are,--may I presume so far,--you are his widow?'--Adeline bowed.
There was a something in Mr Langley's manner and look so like Sir
Patrick's, that she could not bear to let him know she was only
Glenmurray's companion.
'Gone more than two years, and you still in deep mourning!--Amiable
susceptibility!--How unlike the wives of the present day! But I beg
pardon.--Now to business.' So saying, he perused the paper which Adeline
had given him, in which Glenmurray simply stated, that he bequeathed to
Adeline Mowbray the sum of L260 in the 5 per cents, but it was signed by
only one witness.
'What do you wish to know, Madam?' asked the counsellor.
'Whether this will be valid, as it is not signed by two witnesses, sir?'
'Why,--really not,' replied Langley; 'though the heir-at-law, if we have
either equity or gallantry, could certainly not refuse to fulfil what
evidently was the intention of the testator:--but then, it is very
surprising to me that Mr Glenmurray should have wished to leave any
thing from the lady whom I have the honour to behold. Pray, madam,--if
I may presume to ask,--Who is Adeline Mowbray?'
'I--I am Adeline Mowbray,' replied Adeline in great confusion.
'You, madam! Bless me, I presumed;--and pray, madam,--if I may make so
bold,--what was your relationship to that wonderfully clever man?--his
niece,--his cousin,--or,--?'
'I was no relation of his,' said Adeline still more confused; and this
confusion confirmed the suspicions which Langley entertained, and also
brought to his recollection something which he had heard of Glenmurray's
having a very elegant and accomplished mistress.
'Pardon me, dear madam,' said Mr Langley, 'I perceive now my mistake;
and I now perceive why Mr Glenmurray was so much the envy of those who
had the honour of visiting at his house. 'Pon my soul,' taking her hand,
which Adeline indignantly, withdrew, 'I am grieved beyond words at being
unable to give you a more favourable opinion.'
'But you said, sir,' said Adeline, 'that the heir-at-law, if he had
any equity, would certainly be guided by the evident intention of the
testator.'
'I did, madam,' replied the lawyer, evidently piqued by the proud and
cold air which Adeline assumed;--'but then,--excuse me,--the applicant
would not stand much chance of being attended to, who is neither the
_widow_ nor _relation_ of Mr Glenmurray.'
'I understand you, sir,' replied Adeline, 'and need trouble you no
longer.'
'Trouble! my sweet girl!' returned Mr Langley, 'call it not trouble;
I--' Here his gallant effusions were interrupted by the sudden entrance
of a very showy woman, highly rouged, and dressed in the extremity of
the fashion; and who in no very pleasant tone of voice exclaimed,--'I
fear I interrupt you.'
'Oh! not in the least,' replied Langley, blushing even more than
Adeline, 'my fair client was just going. Allow me, madam, to see you
to the door,' continued he, attempting to take Adeline's hand, and
accompanying her to the bottom of the first flight of stairs.
'Charming fine woman upon my soul!' cried he, speaking through his shut
teeth, and forcibly squeezing her fingers as he spoke; 'and if you ever
want advice I should be proud to see you here, (with a significant
smile).' Here Adeline, too angry to speak, put the fee in his hand,
which he insisted on returning, and, in the struggle, he forcibly kissed
the ungloved hand which was held out, praising its beauty at the same
time, and endeavouring to close her fingers on the money: but Adeline
indignantly threw it on the ground, and rushed down the remaining
staircase; over-hearing the lady, as she did so, exclaim, 'Langley! is
not that black mawkin gone yet! Come up this moment, you devil!' while
Langley obsequiously replied, 'Coming this moment, my angel!'
Adeline felt so disappointed, so ashamed, and so degraded, that she
walked on some way without knowing whither she was going; and when she
recollected herself, she found that she was wandering from court to
court, and unable to find the avenue to the street down which the coach
had come: while her very tall figure, heightened colour, and graceful
carriage, made her an object of attention to every one whom she met.
At last she saw herself followed by two young men; and as she walked
very fast to avoid them, she by accident turned into the very lane which
she had been seeking: but her pursuers kept pace with her; and she
overheard one of them say to the other, 'A devilish fine girl! moves
well too,--I cannot help thinking that I have seen her before.'
'And I think so too!--by her height, it must be that sweet creature who
lived at Richmond with that crazy fellow, Glenmurray.'
Here Adeline relaxed in her pace: the name of Glenmurray--that
name which no one since his death had ventured to pronounce in her
presence,--had, during the last half hour, been pronounced several
times; and, unable to support herself from a variety of emotions, she
stopped, and leaned for support against the wall.
'How do you do, my fleet and swift girl?' said one of the gentlemen:--and
Adeline, roused at the insult, looked at him proudly and angrily, and
walked on. 'What! angry! If I may be so bold,' (with a sneering smile),
'fair creature, may I ask where you live now?'
'No, sir,' replied Adeline; 'you are wholly unknown to me.'
'But were you to tell me where you live, we might cease to be strangers;
pray who is your friend now?'
Here, as his companion gave way to a loud fit of laughter, Adeline
clearly understood what he meant by the term 'friend;' and summoning
up all her spirit, she called a coach which luckily was passing; and
turning round to her tormentor, with great dignity said,--'Though the
situation, sir, in which I once was, may in the eyes of the world, and
in yours, authorize and excuse your present insulting address, yet, when
I tell you that I am on the eve of marriage with a most respectable man,
I trust that you will feel the impropriety of your conduct, and be
convinced of the fruitlessness and impertinence of the questions which
you have put to me.'
'If this be the case, madam,' cried the gentleman, 'I beg your pardon,
and shall take my leave, wishing you all possible happiness, and begging
you to attribute my impertinence wholly to my ignorance.' So saying, he
bowed and left her, and Adeline was driven to her lodgings.
'Now,' said Adeline, 'the die is cast;--I have used the sacred name of
wife to shield me from insult; and I am therefore pledged to assume it
directly. Yes, HE was right--I find I must have a legal protector.'
She found Berrendale rather alarmed at her long absence; and, with a
beating heart, she related her adventures to him: but when she said that
Langley was not willing to take the fee, he exclaimed, 'Very genteel in
him, indeed! I suppose you took him at his word?'
'Good Heavens!' replied Adeline, 'Do you think I would deign to owe
such a man a pecuniary obligation?--No, indeed; I threw it with proud
indignation on the floor.'
'What madness!' returned Berrendale: 'you had much better have put it in
your pocket.'
'Mr Berrendale,' cried Adeline gravely, and with a look bordering on
contempt, 'I trust that you are not in earnest: for if these are your
sentiments,--if this is your delicacy, sir--'
'Say no more, dearest of women,' replied Berrendale pretending to laugh,
alarmed at the seriousness with which she spoke: 'how could you for one
moment suppose me in earnest? Insolent coxcomb!--I wish I had been
there.'
'I wish you had,' said Adeline, 'for then no one would have dared to
insult me:' and Berrendale, delighted at this observation, listened to
the rest of her story with a spirit of indignant knight-errantry which
he never experienced before; and at the end of her narration he felt
supremely happy; for Adeline assured him that the next week she would
make him her protector for life:--and this assurance opened his heart so
much, that he vowed he would not condescend to claim of the heir-at-law
the pitiful sum which he might think proper to withhold.
To be brief.--Adeline kept her word: and resolutely struggling with her
feelings, she became the next week the wife of Berrendale.
For the first six months the union promised well. Adeline was so
assiduous to anticipate her husband's wishes, and contrived so many
dainties for his table, which she cooked with her own hands, that
Berrendale, declaring himself completely happy for the first time in
his life, had not a thought or a wish beyond his own fireside; while
Adeline, happy because she conferred happiness, and proud of the name of
wife, which she had before despised, began to hope that her days would
glide on in humble tranquillity.
It was natural enough that Adeline should be desirous of imparting this
change in her situation to Mrs Pemberton, whose esteem she was eager to
recover, and whose kind intentions towards her, at a moment when she
was incapable of appreciating them, Savanna had, with great feeling,
expatiated upon. She therefore wrote to her according to the address
which Mrs Pemberton had left for her, and received a most friendly
letter in return. In a short time Adeline had again an expectation of
being a mother; and though she could not yet entertain for her husband
more than cold esteem, she felt that as the father of her child he would
insensibly become more dear to her.
But Berrendale awoke from his dream of bliss, on finding to what a large
sum the bills for the half-year's housekeeping amounted. Nor was he
surprised without reason. Adeline, more eager to gratify Berrendale's
palate than considerate as to the means, had forgotten that she was no
longer at the head of a liberal establishment like her mother's, and had
bought for the supply of the table many expensive articles.
In consequence of this terrible discovery Berrendale remonstrated very
seriously with Adeline; who meekly answered, 'My dear friend, good
dinners cannot be had without good ingredients, and good ingredients
cannot be had without money.'
'But, madam,' cried Berrendale, knitting his brows, but not elevating
his voice, for he was one of those soft-speaking beings who in the
sweetest tones possible can say the most heart-wounding things, and give
a mortal stab to your self-love in the same gentle manner in which they
flatter it:--'there must have been great waste, great mismanagement
here, or these expenses could not have been incurred.'
'There may have been both,' returned Adeline, 'for I have not been used
to economize, but I will try to learn;--but I doubt, my dear Berrendale,
you must endeavour to be contented with plainer food; for not all the
economy in the world can make rich gravies and high sauces cheap
things.'
'Oh! care and skill can do much,' said Berrendale;--'and I find a
certain person deceived me very much when he said you were a good
manager.'
'He only said,' replied Adeline sighing deeply, 'that I was a good
cook, and you yourself allow that; but I hope in time to please your
appetite at less expense: as to myself, a little suffices me, and I care
not how plain that food is.'
'Still, I think I have seen you eat with a most excellent appetite,'
said Berrendale, with a very significant expression.
Adeline shocked at the manner more than the words, replied in a
faltering voice, 'As a proof of my being in health, no doubt you
rejoiced in the sight.'
'Certainly; but less robust health would suit our finances better.'
Adeline looked up, wishing, though not expecting, to see by his face
that he was joking: but such serious displeasure appeared on it, that
the sordid selfishness of his character was at once unveiled to her
view; and clasping her hands in agony, she exclaimed, 'Oh Glenmurray!'
and ran into her own room.
It was the first time that she had pronounced his name since the hour
of his death, and now it was wrung from her by a sensation of acute
anguish; no wonder, then, that the feelings which followed completely
overcame her, and that Berrendale had undisputed and solitary possession
of his supper.
But he, on his side, was deeply irritated. The 'Oh, Glenmurray!' was
capable of being interpreted two ways:--either it showed how much she
regretted Glenmurray, and preferred him to his successor in spite of
the superior beauty of his person, of which he was very vain; or it
reproached Glenmurray for having recommended her to marry him. In either
case it was an unpardonable fault; and this unhappy conversation laid
the foundation of future discontent.
Adeline arose the next day dejected, pensive, and resolved that her
appetite should never again, if possible, force a reproach from the lips
of her husband. She therefore took care that whatever she provided for
the table, besides the simplest fare, should be for Berrendale alone;
and she flattered herself that he would be shamed into repentance of
what he had observed, by seeing her scrupulous self-denial:--she even
resolved, if he pressed her to partake of his dainties, that she would,
to show that she forgave him, accept what he offered.
But Berrendale gave her no such opportunity of showing her
generosity;--busy in the gratification of his own appetite, he never
observed whether any other persons ate or not, except when by eating
they curtailed his share of good things:--besides, to have an exclusive
dish to himself seemed to him quite natural and proper; he had been a
pampered child; and, being no advocate for the equality of the sexes, he
thought it only a matter of course that he should fare better than his
wife.
Adeline, though more surprised and more shocked than ever, could not
help laughing internally, at her not being able to put her projected
generosity in practice; but her laughter and indignation soon yielding
to contempt, she ate her simple meal in silence: and while her pampered
husband sought to lose the fumes of indigestion in sleep, she blessed
God that temperance, industry and health went hand-in-hand, and,
retiring to her own room, sat down to write, in order to increase, if
possible, her means of living, and consequently her power of being
generous to others.
But though Adeline resolved to forget, if possible, the petty conduct
of Berrendale, the mulatto, who, from the door's being open, had heard
every word of the conversation which had so disturbed Adeline, neither
could nor would forget it; and though she did not vow eternal hatred to
her master, she felt herself very capable of indulging it, and from that
moment it was her resolution to thwart him.
Whenever he was present, she was always urging Adeline to eat some
refreshments between meals, and drink wine or lemonade, and tempting
her weak appetite with some pleasant but expensive sweetmeats. In vain
did Adeline refuse them; sometimes they were bought, sometimes only
threatened to be bought; and once when Adeline had accepted some, rather
than mortify Savanna by a refusal, and Berrendale, by his accent and
expression, showed how much he grudged the supposed expense,--the
mulatto, snapping her fingers in his face, and looking at him with an
expression of indignant contempt, exclaimed, 'I buy dem, and pay for dem
wid mine nown money; and my angel lady sall no be oblige to you!'
This was a declaration of war against Berrendale, which Adeline heard
with anger and sorrow, and her husband with rage. In vain did Adeline
promise that she would seriously reprove Savanna (who had disappeared)
for her impertinence; Berrendale insisted on her being discharged
immediately; and nothing but Adeline's assurances that she, for slender
wages, did more work than two other servants would do for enormous ones,
could pacify his displeasure: but at length he was appeased. And as
Berrendale, from a principle of economy, resumed his old habit of dining
out amongst his friends, getting good dinners by that means without
paying for them, family expenses ceased to disturb the quiet of their
marriage; and after she had been ten months a wife Adeline gave birth to
a daughter.
That moment, the moment when she heard her infant's first cry, seem
to repay her for all she had suffered; every feeling was lost in the
maternal one; and she almost fancied that she loved, fondly loved, the
father of her child: but this idea vanished when she saw the languid
pleasure, if pleasure it could be called, with which Berrendale
congratulated her on her pain and danger being passed, and received his
child in his arms.
The mulatto was wild with joy: she almost stifled the babe with her
kisses, and talked even the next day of sending for the tawny boy to
come and see his new mistress, and vow to her, as he had done to her
mother, eternal fealty and allegiance.
But Adeline saw on Berrendale's countenance a mixed expression,--and he
had mixed feelings. True, he rejoiced in Adeline's safety; but he said
within himself, 'Children are expensive things, and we may have a large
family;' and, leaving the bedside as soon as he could, he retired, to
endeavour to lose in an afternoon's nap his unpleasant reflections.
'How different,' thought Adeline, 'would have been HIS feelings and HIS
expressions of them at such a time! Oh!--' but the name of Glenmurray
died away on her lips; and hastily turning to gaze on her sleeping babe,
she tried to forget the disappointed emotions of the wife in the
gratified feelings of the mother.
Still Adeline, who had been used to attentions, could not but feel the
neglect of Berrendale. Even while she kept her room he passed only a few
hours in her society, and dined out; and when she was well enough to
have accompanied him on his visits, she found that he never even wished
her to go with him, though the friends whom he visited were married;
and he met, from his own confessions, other ladies at their tables. She
therefore began to suspect that Berrendale did not mean to introduce her
as his wife; nay, she doubted whether he avowed her to be such; and at
last she brought him to own that, ashamed of having married what the
world must consider as a kept mistress, he resolved to keep her still in
the retirement to which she was habituated.
This was a severe disappointment indeed to Adeline: she longed for the
society of the amiable and accomplished of her own sex; and hoped that,
as Mr Berrendale's wife, that intercourse with her own sex might be
restored to her which she had forfeited as the mistress of Glenmurray.
Nor could she help reproaching Berrendale for the selfish ease and
indifference with which he saw her deprived of those social enjoyments
which he daily enjoyed himself, convinced as she was that he might, if
he chose, have introduced her at least to his intimate friends.
But she pleaded and reasoned in vain. Contented with the access which he
had to the tables of his friends, it was of little importance to him
that his wife ate her humble meal alone. His habits of enjoyment had
ever been solitary: the school-boy, who had at school eaten his tart and
cake by stealth in a corner, that he might not be asked to share them
with another, had grown up with the same dispositions to manhood: and as
his parents, thought opulent, were vulgar in their manners and low in
their origin, he had never been taught those graceful self-denials
inculcated into the children of polished life, which, though taught from
factitious and not real benevolence, have certainly a tendency, by long
habit, to make that benevolence real which at first was only artificial.
Adeline had both sorts of kindness and affection, those untaught of
the heart, and those of education;--she was polite from the situation
into which the accident of birth had thrown her, and also from the
generous impulse of her nature. To her, therefore, the uncultivated and
unblushing _personnalite_, as the French call it, of Berrendale, was a
source of constant wonder and distress: and often, very often did she
feel the utmost surprise at Berrendale's having appeared to Glenmurray
a man likely to make her happy. Often did she wonder how the defects of
Berrendale's character could have escaped his penetrating eyes.
Adeline forgot that the faults of her husband were such as could be
known only by an intimate connexion, and which cohabitation could alone
call forth;--faults, the existence of which such a man as Glenmurray,
who never considered himself in any transaction whatever, could not
suppose possible; and which, though they inflicted the most bitter pangs
on Adeline, and gradually untwisted the slender thread which had began
to unite her heart with Berrendale's, were of so slight a fabric as
almost to elude the touch, and of a nature to appear almost too trivial
to be mentioned in the narration of a biographer.
But though it has been long said that trifles make the sum of human
things, inattention to trifles continues to be the vice of every one;
and many a conjugal union which has never been assailed by the battery
of crime, has fallen a victim to the slowly undermining power of petty
quarrels, trivial unkindnesses and thoughtless neglect;--like the
gallant officer, who, after escaping unhurt all the rage of battle by
land and water, tempest on sea and earthquake on shore, returns perhaps
to his native country, and perishes by the power of a slow fever.
But Adeline, who, amidst all the chimaeras of her fancy and singularities
of her opinions, had happily held fast her religion, began at this
moment to entertain a belief that soothed in some measure the sorrows
which it could not cure. She fancied that all the sufferings she
underwent were trials which she was doomed to undergo, as punishments
for the crime she had committed in leaving her mother and living with
Glenmurray. She therefore welcomed her afflictions, and lifted up her
meek eyes to her God and Saviour, in every hour of her trials, with the
look of tearful but grateful resignation.
Meanwhile her child, whom, after her mother, she called Editha, was
nursed at her own bosom, and thrived even beyond her expectations. Even
Berrendale beheld its growing beauty with delight, and the mulatto was
wild in praise of it; while Adeline, wholly taken up all day in nursing
and in working for it, and every evening in writing stories and hymns to
publish, which would, she hoped, one day be useful to her own child as
well as to the children of others, soon ceased to regret her seclusion
from society; and by the time Editha was a year old she had learnt to
bear with patience the disappointment she had experienced in Berrendale.
Soon after she became a mother she again wrote to Mrs Pemberton, as she
longed to impart to her sympathizing bosom those feelings of parental
delight which Berrendale could not understand, and the expression of
which he witnessed with contemptuous and chilling gravity. To this
letter she anticipated a most gratifying return; but month after month
passed away, and no letter from Lisbon arrived. 'No doubt my letter
miscarried,' said Adeline to Savanna, 'and I will write again:' but
she never had resolution to do so; for she felt that her prospects of
conjugal happiness were obscured, and she shrunk equally from the task
of expressing the comfort which she did not feel, or unveiling to
another the errors of her husband. The little regard, meanwhile, which
she had endeavoured to return for Berrendale soon vanished, being unable
to withstand a new violence offered to it.
Editha was seized with the hooping-cough; and as Adeline had sold her
last little volume to advantage, Berrendale allowed her to take a
lodging at a short distance from town, as change of air was good for the
complaint. She did so, and remained there two months. At her return she
had the mortification to find that her husband, during her absence, had
intrigued with the servant of the house:--a circumstance of which she
would probably have remained ignorant, but for the indiscreet affection
of Savanna, who, in the first transports of her indignation on
discovering the connexion, had been unable to conceal from her mistress
what drove her almost frantic with indignation.
But Adeline, though she felt disgust and aversion swallowing up the few
remaining sparks of regard for Berrendale which she felt, had one great
consolation under this new calamity.--Berrendale had not been the choice
of her heart: 'But, thank Heaven! I never loved this man,' escaped her
lips as she ran into her own room; and pressing her child to her bosom,
she shed on its unconscious cheeks the tears which resentment and a deep
sense of injury wrung from her.--'Oh! had I loved him,' she exclaimed,
'this blow would have been mortal!'
She, however, found herself in one respect the better for Berrendale's
guilt. Conscious that the mulatto was aware of what had passed, and
afraid lest she should have mentioned her discovery to Adeline,
Berrendale endeavoured to make amends for his infidelity by attention
such as he had never shown her since the first weeks of his marriage;
and had she not been aware of the motive, the change in his behaviour
would have re-awakened her tenderness. However, it claimed at least
complaisance and gentleness from her while it lasted: which was not
long; for Berrendale, fancying from the apparent tranquillity of Adeline
(the result of indifference, not ignorance,) that she was not informed
of his fault, and that the mulatto was too prudent to betray him, began
to relapse into his old habits; and one day, forgetting his assumed
liberality, he ventured, when alone with Savanna, who was airing one of
Editha's caps, to expatiate on the needless extravagance of his wife in
trimming her child's caps with lace.
This was enough to rouse the quick feelings of the mulatto, and she
poured forth all her long concealed wrath in a torrent of broken
English, but plain enough to be well understood.--'You man!' she cried
at last, 'you will kill her; she pine at your no kindness;--and if she
die, mind me, man! never you marry aden.--You marry, forsoot! you marry
a lady! true bred lady like mine! No, man!--You best get a cheap miss
from de street and be content--'
As she said this, and in an accent so provoking that Berrendale was pale
and speechless with rage, Adeline entered the room; and Savanna,
self-condemned already from what she had uttered, was terrified when
Adeline, in a tone of voice unusually severe, said, 'Leave the room; you
have offended me past forgiveness.'
These words, in a great measure, softened the angry feelings of
Berrendale, as they proved that Adeline resented the insult offered to
him as deeply as he could wish; and with some calmness he exclaimed,
'Then I conclude, Mrs Berrendale, that you will have no objection to
discharge your mulatto directly?'
This conclusion, though a very natural one, was both a shock and a
surprise to Adeline; nor could she at first reply.
'You are _silent_, madam,' said Berrendale; 'what is your answer? Yes,
or No?'
'Yes,--yes,--certainly,' faltered out Adeline; 'she--she ought to go--I
mean that she has used very improper language to you.'
'And, therefore, a wife who resents as she ought to do, injuries offered
to her husband cannot hesitate for a moment to discharge her.'
'True, very true in some measure,' replied Adeline; 'but--'
'But what?' demanded Berrendale. 'O Berrendale!' cried Adeline, bursting
into an agony of frantic sorrow, 'if she leaves me, what will become of
me! I shall lose the only person now in the world, perhaps, who loves me
with sincere and faithful affection!'
Berrendale was wholly unprepared for an appeal like this; and,
speechless from surprise not unmixed with confusion, staggered into the
next chair. He was conscious, indeed, that his fidelity to his wife had
not been proof against a few weeks' absence; but then, being, like most
men, not over delicate in his idea on such subjects, as soon as Adeline
returned he had given up the connexion which he had formed, and
therefore he thought she had not much reason to complain. In all other
respects he was sure that he was an exemplary husband, and she had no
just grounds for doubting his affection. He was sure that she had no
reason to accuse him of unkindness; and, unless she wished him to be
always tied to her apron-string, he was certain he had never omitted to
pay her all proper attention.
Alas! he felt not the many wounds he had inflicted by
'The word whose meaning kills; yet, told,
The speaker wonders that you thought it cold.'
and he had yet to learn, that in order to excite or testify affection,
it is necessary to seem to derive exclusive enjoyment from the society
of the object avowed to be beloved, and to seek its gratification in
preference to one's own, even in the most trivial things. He knew
not that opportunities of conferring large benefits, like bank-bills
for L1,000, rarely come into use; but little attentions, friendly
participations and kindnesses, are wanted daily, and like small change,
are necessary to carry on the business of life and happiness.
A minute more perhaps, elapsed, before Berrendale recovered himself
sufficiently to speak: and the silence was made still more awful to
Adeline, by her hearing from the adjoining room the sobs of the mulatto.
At length, 'I cannot find words to express my surprise at what you have
just uttered,' exclaimed Berrendale. 'My conscience does not reproach me
with deserving the reproof it contained.'
'Indeed!' replied Adeline, fixing her penetrating eyes on his, which
shrunk downcast and abashed from her gaze. Adeline saw her advantage,
and pursued it.
'Mr Berrendale,' continued she, 'it is indeed true, that the mulatto has
offended both of us; for in offending _you_ she has offended _me_; but,
have you committed no fault, nothing for _me_ to forgive? I know that
you are too great a lover of truth, too honourable a man, to declare
that you have not deserved the just anger of your wife: but you know
that I have never reproached you, nor should you ever have been aware
that I was privy to the distressing circumstance to which I allude, but
for what has just passed: and, now, do but forgive the poor mulatto, who
sinned only from regard for me, and from supposed slight offered to her
mistress, and I will not only assure you of my forgiveness, but, from
this moment, will strenuously endeavour to blot from my remembrance
every trace of what has passed.'
Berrendale, conscious and self-condemned, scarcely knew what to answer;
but, thinking that it was better to accept Adeline's offer even on her
own conditions, he said, that if Savanna would make a proper apology,
and Adeline would convince her that she was seriously displeased with
her, he would allow her to stay; and Adeline having promised every thing
which he asked, peace was again restored.
'But what can you mean, Adeline,' said Berrendale, 'by doubting my
affection? I think I gave a sufficient proof of that, when, disregarding
the opinion of the world, I married you, though you had been the
mistress of another: and I really think that, by accusing me of
unkindness, you make me a very ungrateful return.' To this indelicate
and unfeeling remark Adeline vainly endeavoured to reply; but, starting
from her chair, she paced the room in violent agitation. 'Answer me,'
continued Berrendale, 'name one instance in which I have been unkind to
you.' Adeline suddenly stopped, and, looking steadfastly at him, smiled
with a sort of contemptuous pity, and was on the point of saying, 'Is
not what you have now said an instance of unkindness?' But she saw that
the same want of delicacy, and of that fine moral _tact_ which led him
to commit this and similar assaults on her feelings, made him
unconscious of the violence which he offered.
Finding, therefore, that he could not understand her causes of
complaint, even if it were possible for her to define them, she replied,
'Well, perhaps I was too hasty, and in a degree unjust: so let us drop
the subject; and, indeed, my dear Berrendale, you must bear with my
weakness: remember, I have always been a spoiled child.'
Here the image of Glenmurray and that of _home_, the home which she once
knew, the home of her childhood, and of her _earliest_ youth, pressed
on her recollection. She thought of her mother, of the indulgencies
which she had once known, of the advantages, of opulence, the value of
which she had never felt till deprived of them; and, struck with the
comparative forlornness of her situation--united for life to a being
whose sluggish sensibilities could not understand, and consequently not
soothe, the quick feelings and jealous susceptibility of her nature--she
could hardly forbear falling at the feet of her husband, and conjuring
him to behave, at least, with forbearance to her, and to speak and look
at her with kindness.
She did stretch out her hand to him with a look of mournful entreaty,
which, though not understood by Berrendale, was not lost upon him
entirely. He thought it was a confession of her weakness and his
superiority; and, flattered by the thought into unusual softness, he
caught her fondly to his bosom, and gave up an engagement to sup at an
oyster club, in order to spend the evening tete-a-tete with his wife.
Nay, he allowed the little Editha to remain in the room for a whole
hour, though she cried when he attempted to take her in his arms, and,
observing that it was a cold evening, allowed Adeline her due share of
the fire-side.
These circumstances, trivial as they were, had more than their due
effect on Adeline, whose heart was more alive to kindness than
unkindness; and those paltry attentions of which happy wives would not
have been conscious, were to her a source of unfeigned pleasure.--As
sailors are grateful, after a voyage unexpectedly long, for the muddy
water which at their first embarking they would have turned from with
disgust.
That very night Adeline remonstrated with the mulatto on the impropriety
of her conduct; and, having convinced her that in insulting her husband
she failed in respect to her, Savanna was prevailed upon the next
morning to ask pardon of Berrendale; and, out of love for her mistress,
she took care in future to do nothing that required forgiveness.
As Adeline's way of life admitted of but little variety, Berrendale
having persisted in not introducing her to his friends, on the plea of
not being rich enough to receive company in return, I shall pass over in
silence what occurred to her till Editha was two years old; premising
that a series of little injuries on the part of Berrendale, and a quick
resentment of them on the part of Adeline, which not even her habitual
good humour could prevent, had, during that time, nearly eradicated
every trace of love for each other from their hearts.
One evening Adeline as usual, in the absence of her husband, undressed
Editha by the parlour fire, and, playing with the laughing child, was
enjoying the rapturous praises which Savanna put forth of its growing
beauty; while the tawny boy, who had spent the day with them, built
houses with cards on the table, which Editha threw down as soon as they
were built, and he with good-humoured perseverance raised up again.
Adeline, alive only to the maternal feeling, at this moment had
forgotten all her cares; she saw nothing but the happy group around her,
and her countenance wore the expression of recovered serenity.
At this moment a loud knock was heard at the door, and Adeline, starting
up, exclaimed, 'It is my husband's knock!'
'O! no:--he never come so soon,' replied the mulatto running to the
door; but she was mistaken--it was Berrendale: and Adeline, hearing his
voice, began instantly to snatch up Editha's clothes, and to knock down
the tawny boy's newly-raised edifice: but order was not restored when
Berrendale entered; and, with a look and tone of impatience, he said,
'So! fine confusion indeed! Here's a fire-side to come to! Pretty
amusement too, for a literary lady--building houses of cards! Shame on
your extravagance, Mrs Berrendale, to let that brat spoil cards in that
way!'
The sunshine of Adeline's countenance on hearing this vanished: to be
sure, she was accustomed to such speeches; but the moment before she had
felt happy, for the first time, for years. She, however, replied not;
but hurrying Editha to bed, ordering the reluctant tawny boy into the
kitchen, and setting Berrendale's chair, as usual, in the warmest place,
she ventured in a faint voice to ask, what had brought him home so
early.
'More early than welcome,' replied Berrendale, 'if I may judge from the
bustle I have occasioned.'
'It is very true,' replied Adeline, 'that, had I expected you, I should
have been better prepared for your reception; and then you, perhaps,
would have spoken more kindly to me.'
'There--there you go again.--If I say but a word to you, then I am
called unkind, though I never speak without just provocation: and, I
declare, I came home in the best humour possible, to tell you what
may turn out of great profit to us both:--but when a man has an
uncomfortable home to come to, it is enough to put him out of humour.'
The mulatto, who was staying to gather up the cards which had fallen,
turned herself round on hearing this, and exclaimed, 'Home was very
comfortable till you come;' and then with a look of the most angry
contempt she left the room, and threw the door to with great violence.
'But what is this good news, my dear?' said Adeline, eager to turn
Berrendale's attention from Savanna's insolent reply.
'I have received a letter,' he replied, 'which, by the by, I ought to
have had some weeks ago, from my father-in-law in Jamaica, authorizing
me to draw on his banker for L900, and inviting me to come over to him;
as he feels himself declining, and wishes to give me the care of his
estate, and of my son, to whom all his fortune will descend: and of
whose interest, he properly thinks, no one can be so likely to take good
care as his own father.'
'And do you mean that I and Editha should go with you?' said Adeline
turning pale.
'No, to be sure not,' eagerly replied Berrendale; 'I must first see how
the land lies. But if I go--as the old man no doubt will make a handsome
settlement on me--I shall be able to remit to you a very respectable
annuity.'
Adeline's heart, spite of herself, bounded with joy at this discovery;
but she had resolution to add,--and if duplicity can ever be pardonable,
this was,--'So then the good news which you had to impart to me was,
that we were going to be separated!' But as she said this, the
consciousness that she was artfully trying to impress Berrendale with
an idea of her feeling a sorrow which was foreign to her heart, overcame
her; and affected also at being under the necessity of rejoicing at the
departure of that being who ought to be the source of her comfort, she
vainly struggled to regain composure, and burst into an agony of tears.
But her consternation cannot be expressed, when she found that
Berrendale imputed her tears to tender anguish at the idea of parting
with him: and when, his vanity being delighted by this homage to his
attractions, he felt all his fondness for her revive, and, overwhelming
her with caresses, he declared that he would reject the offer entirely
if by accepting it he should give her a moment's uneasiness; Adeline,
shocked at his error, yet not daring to set him right, could only weep
on his shoulder in silence: but, in order to make real the distress
which he only fancied so, she enumerated to herself all the diseases
incident to the climate, and the danger of the voyage. Still the idea of
Berrendale's departure was so full of comfort to her, that, though her
tears continued to flow, they flowed not for his approaching absence. At
length, ashamed of fortifying him in so gross an error, she made an
effort to regain her calmness, and found words to assure him, that she
would no longer give way to such unpardonable weakness, as she could
assure him that she wished his acceptance of his father-in-law's offer,
and had no desire to oppose a scheme so just and so profitable.
But Berrendale, to whose vanity she had never before offered such a
tribute as her tears seemed to be, imputed these assurances to
disinterested love and female delicacy, afraid to own the fondness which
it felt; and the rest of the evening was spent in professions of love on
his part, which, on Adeline's, called forth at least some grateful and
kind expressions in return.
Still, however, she persisted in urging Berrendale to go to Jamaica:
but, at the same time, she earnestly begged him to remember, that
temperance could alone preserve his health in such a climate:--'or the
use of pepper in great quantities,' replied he, 'to counteract the
effects of good living?'--and Adeline, though convinced temperance was
the _best_ preservation, was forced to give up the point, especially as
Berrendale began to enumerate the number of delicious things for the
table which Jamaica afforded.
To be brief: Berrendale, after taking a most affectionate leave of his
wife and child, a leave which almost made the mulatto his friend, and
promising to allow them L200, a-year till he should be able to send
over for them, set sail for Jamaica; while Adeline, the night of his
departure, endeavoured, by conjuring up all the horrors of a tempest at
sea on his passage, and of a hurricane and an earthquake on shore when
he arrived, to force herself to feel such sorrow as the tenderness which
he had expressed at the moment of parting seemed to make it her duty to
feel.
But morning came, and with it a feeling of liberty and independence so
delightful, that she no longer tried to grieve on speculation as it
were; but giving up her whole soul to the joys of maternal fondness, she
looked forward with pious gratitude to days of tranquil repose, save
when she thought with bitter regret of the obdurate anger of her mother,
and with tender regret of the lost and ever lamented Glenmurray.
Berrendale had been arrived at Jamaica some months, when Adeline
observed a most alarming change in Savanna. She became thin, her
appetite entirely failed, and she looked the image of despondence. In
vain did Adeline ask the reason of a change so apparent: the only answer
she could obtain was, 'Me better soon;' and, continuing every day to
give this answer, she in a short time became so languid as to be obliged
to lie down half the day.
Adeline then found that it was necessary to be more serious in her
interrogatories; but the mulatto at first only answered, 'No, me die,
but me never break my duty vow to you: no, me die, but never leave you.'
These words implying a wish to leave her, with a resolution not to
do so how much soever it might cost her, alarmed in a moment the ever
disinterested sensibility of Adeline; and she at length wrung from her a
confession that her dear William, who was gone to Jamaica as a servant
to a gentleman, was, she was credibly informed, very ill and like to
die.
'You therefore wish to go and nurse him, I suppose, Savanna?'
'Oh! me no wish; me only tink dat me like to go to Jamaica, see if be
true dat he be so bad; and if he die, I den return and die wid you.'
'Live with me, you mean, Savanna; for, indeed, I cannot spare you.
Remember, you have given me a right to claim your life as mine; nor can
I allow you to throw away my property in fruitless lamentations, and the
indolent indulgence of regret. You shall go to Jamaica, Savanna: Heaven
forbid that I should keep a wife from her duty! You shall see and try
to recover William if he be really ill,' (Savanna here threw herself
on Adeline's neck,) 'and then you shall return to me, who will either
warmly share in your satisfaction or fondly sooth your distress.'
'Den you do love poor Savanna?'
'Love you! Indeed I do, next to my child, and,--and my mother,' replied
Adeline, her voice faltering.
'Name not dat woman,' cried Savanna hastily; 'me will never see, never
speak to her even in heaven.'
'Savanna, remember, she is my mother.'
'Yes, and Mr Berrendale be your husban; and yet, who dat love you can
love dem?'
'Savanna,' replied Adeline, 'these proofs of your regard, though
reprehensible, are not likely to reconcile me to your departure; and I
already feel that in losing you--' Here she paused, unable to proceed.
'Den me no go--me no go:--yet, dearest lady, you have love yourself.'
'Aye, Savanna, and can feel for you: so say no more. The only difficulty
will be to raise money enough to pay for your passage, and expenses
while there.'
'Oh! me once nurse the captain's wife who now going to Jamaica, and
she love me very much; and he tell me yesterday that he let me go
for nothing, because I am good nurse to his wife, if me wish to see
William.'
'Enough,' replied Adeline: 'then all I have to do is to provide you with
money for your maintenance when you arrive; and I have no doubt but that
what I cannot supply the tawny boy's generous patroness will.'
Adeline was not mistaken. Savanna obtained from her son's benefactress
a sum equal to her wants; and almost instantly restored to her wonted
health, by her mind's being lightened of the load which oppressed it,
she took her passage on board her friend's vessel, and set sail for
Jamaica, carrying with her letters from Adeline to Berrendale; while
Adeline felt the want of Savanna in various ways, so forcibly, that not
even Editha could, for a time at least, console her for her loss. It had
been so grateful to her feelings to meet every day the eyes of one being
fixed with never-varying affection on hers, that, when she beheld those
eyes no longer, she felt alone in the universe,--nor had she a single
female friend to whom she could turn for relief or consolation.
Mrs Beauclerc, to whose society she had expected to be restored by
her marriage, had been forced to give up all intercourse with her, in
compliance with the peremptory wishes of a rich old maid, from whom her
children had great expectations, and who threatened to leave her fortune
away from them, if Mrs Beauclerc persisted in corresponding with a woman
so bad in principle, and so wicked in practice, as Adeline appeared to
her to be.
But, at length, from a mother's employments, from writing, and, above
all, from the idea that by suffering she was making some atonement for
her past sins, she derived consolation, and became resigned to every
evil that had befallen, and to every evil that might still befall her.
Perhaps she did not consider as an evil what now took place: increasing
coldness in the letters of Berrendale, till he said openly at last, that
as they were, he was forced to confess, far from happy together, and
as the air of Jamaica agreed with him, and as he was resolved to stay
there, he thought she had better remain in England, and he would remit
her as much money occasionally as his circumstances would admit of.
But she thought this a greater evil than it at first appeared; when
an agent of Berrendale's father-in-law in England, and a friend of
Berrendale himself, called on her, pretending that he came to inquire
concerning her health, and raised in her mind suspicions of a very
painful nature.
After the usual compliments:--'I find, madam,' said Mr Drury, 'that our
friend is very much admired by the ladies in Jamaica.'
'I am glad to hear it, sir,' coolly answered Adeline.
'Well, that's kind and generous now,' replied Drury, 'and very
disinterested.'
'I see no virtue, sir, in my rejoicing of what must make Mr Berrendale's
abode in Jamaica pleasant to him.'
'May be so; but most women, I believe, would be apt to be jealous on the
occasion.'
'But it has been the study of my life, sir, to endeavour to consider my
own interest, when it comes in competition with another's, as little as
possible;--I doubt I have not always succeeded in my endeavours: but on
this occasion I am certain that I have expressed no sentiment which I do
not feel.'
'Then, madam, if my friend should have an opportunity, as indeed I
believe he has, of forming a most agreeable and advantageous marriage,
you would not try to prevent it?'
'Good heavens! sir,' replied Adeline; 'What can you mean? Mr Berrendale
form an advantageous marriage when he is already married to me?'
'Married to you, ma'am!' answered Mr Drury with a look of incredulity.
'Excuse me, but I know that such marriages as yours may be easily
dissolved.'
At first Adeline was startled at this assertion; but recollecting that
it was impossible any form or ceremony should have been wanting at the
marriage, she recovered herself, and demanded, with an air of severity,
what Mr Drury meant by so alarming and ill-founded a speech.
'My meaning, ma'am,' replied he, 'must be pretty evident to you: I mean
that I do not look upon you, though you bear Mr Berrendale's name, to be
his lawful wife; but that you live with him on the same terms on which
you lived with Mr Glenmurray.'
'And on what, sir, could you build such an erroneous supposition?'
'On Mr Berrendale's own words, madam; who always spoke of his connexion
with you, as of a connexion which he had formed in compliance with love
and in defiance of prudence.'
'And is it possible that he could be such a villain?' exclaimed
Adeline. 'Oh my child! and does thy father brand thee with the stain of
illegitimacy?--But, sir, whatever appellation Mr Berrendale might choose
to give his union with me to his friends in England, I am sure he will
not dare to incur the penalty attendant on a man's marrying one wife
while he has another living; for, that I am his wife, I can bring pretty
sufficient evidence to prove.'
'Indeed, madam! You can produce a witness of the ceremony, then, I
presume?'
'No, sir; the woman who attended me to the altar, and the clergyman who
married us, are dead; and the only witness is a child now only ten years
old.'
'That is unfortunate!' (with a look of incredulity) 'but, no doubt, when
you hear that Mr Berrendale is married to a West Indian heiress, you
will come forward with incontrovertible proofs of your prior claims; and
if you do that, madam, you may command my good offices:--but, till then,
I humbly take my leave.'--Saying this, with a very visible sneer on his
countenance he departed, leaving Adeline in a state of distress--the
more painful to endure from her having none to participate in it,--no
one to whom she could impart the cause of it.
That Mr Drury did not speak of the possible marriage of Berrendale from
mere conjecture, was very apparent; and Adeline resolved not to delay
writing to her husband immediately, to inform him of what had passed,
and put before his eyes, in the strongest possible manner, the guilt of
what he was about to do; and also the utter impossibility of its being
successful guilt, as she was resolved to assert her claims for the sake
of her child, if not for her own. This letter she concluded, and with
truth too, with protestations of believing all Mr Drury said to be
false: for, indeed, the more she considered Berrendale's character,
the more she was convinced that, however selfish and defective his
disposition might be, it was more likely Mr Drury should be mistaken,
than Berrendale be a villain.
But, where a man's conduct is not founded on virtuous motives and
immutable principles, he may not err while temptation is absent; but
once expose him to her presence, and he is capable of falling into the
very vices the most abhorrent to his nature: and though Adeline knew it
not, such a man was Berrendale.
Adeline, having relieved her mind by this appeal to her husband, and
being assured that Berrendale could not be married before her letter
could reach him, as it was impossible that he should dare to marry while
the mulatto was in the very town near which he resided, felt herself
capable of attending to her usual employments again, and had recovered
her tranquillity, when an answer to her letter arrived; and Adeline,
being certain that the letter itself would be a proof of the marriage,
had resolved to show it, in justification of her claims, to Mr Drury.
What then must have been her surprise, to find it exactly such a letter
as would be evidence against a marriage between her and Berrendale
having ever taken place! He thanked her for the expressions of fond
regret which her letter contained, and for the many happy hours which he
owed to her society; but hoped that, as Fate had now separated their
destinies, she could be as happy without him as she had been with him;
and assuring her that he should, according to his promise, regularly
remit her L150 a-year if possible, but that he could at present only
inclose a draft for L50.
Adeline was absolutely stupified with horror at reading this apparent
confirmation of the villany of her husband and the father of her child;
but roused to indignant exertion by the sense of Berrendale's baseness,
and of what she owed her daughter, she resolved to take counsel's
opinion in what manner she should proceed to prove her marriage, as soon
as she was assured that Berrendale's (which she had no doubt was fixed
upon) should have taken place; and this intelligence she received
a short time after the mulatto herself, who, worn out with sorrow,
sickness, and hardship, one day tottered into the house, seeming as if
she indeed only returned to die with her mistress.
At first the joy of seeing Savanna restored to her swallowed up every
other feeling; but tender apprehension for the poor creature's health
soon took possession of her mind, and Adeline drew from her a narrative,
which exhibited Berrendale to her eyes as capable of most atrocious
actions.