"And to be plain, 'tis not your person
My stomach's set so sharp and fierce on:
But 'tis your better part, your riches.
That my enamored heart bewitches."--HUDIBRAS.
A month after the departure of Lord Mortimer the Roslin family left
Ulster Lodge. Amanda sighed, as she saw them pass, at the idea of the
approaching meeting, which might, perhaps, soon be followed by an event
that would render her fond remembrance of Lord Mortimer improper. Many
of the families about the castle were already gone to town for the
winter. Those who remained in the country till after Christmas, among
whom were the Kilcorbans, had so entirely neglected Amanda, from the
time the marchioness arrived in the neighborhood, that they could not
think of renewing their visits, confident as they were, from the proper
dignity of her and Fitzalan's manner, that they would be unwelcome.
The weather was now often too severe to permit Amanda to take her usual
rambles; and the solitude of the castle was heightened by her own
melancholy ideas, as well as by the dreariness of the season. No more
the magic hand of hope sketched scenes of flattering brightness, to
dissipate the gloominess of the present ones. The prospects of Amanda's
heart were as dreary, as desolate, as those she viewed from the windows
of the castle. Her usual avocations no longer yielded delight. Every
idea, every occupation, was embittered by the reflection of being
lessened in the estimation of Lord Mortimer. Her health declined with
her peace, and again Fitzalan had the anguish of seeing sorrow nipping
his lovely blossom. The rose forsook her cheek, and her form assumed a
fragile delicacy, which threatened the demolition of his earthly
happiness. He was not ignorant of the cause of her dejection, but he
would not shock her feelings by hinting it. Every effort which
tenderness could suggest, he essayed to cheer her, but without any
durable effect; for though she smiled when he expressed a wish to see
her cheerful, it was a smile transient as the gleamings of a wintry sun,
and which only rendered the succeeding gloom more conspicuous.
At this period of distress, Lady Greystock, who continued her visits at
the castle, made a proposal, which Fitzalan eagerly embraced. This was
to take Amanda with her to London, whither she was obliged to go
directly, about a lawsuit carrying on between her and the nephew of her
late husband.
Change of scene, Fitzalan trusted, would remove from Amanda's mind the
dejection which oppressed it, and consequently aid the restoration of
her health. Of Lord Mortimer's renewing his addresses, he had not the
slightest apprehension, as he neglected the opportunities he might have
had in the country for such a purpose. Fitzalan, it may be remembered
knew not that his lordship had ever deviated from his indifference, and
he believed it occasioned by a transfer of his affections to Lady
Euphrasia. He was also ignorant of the great intimacy between the Roslin
family and Lady Greystock, and consequently of the probability there
was, from such an intimacy, of Amanda's being often in the way of Lord
Mortimer. If she met him, he was confident it would be as the husband or
favored lover of Lady Euphrasia; and, in either of these characters, he
was certain, from the rectitude and purity of her principles, she would
be more than ever impressed with the necessity of conquering her
attachment; whilst the pain attending such a conviction would be
lessened, and probably soon removed by surrounding objects, and the gay
scenes she must engage in from being the companion of Lady Greystock,
who had a numerous and elegant acquaintance in London.
Her ladyship appeared to him, as she did to many others, a pleasing,
rational woman--one to whose care his heart's best treasure might safely
be consigned. He was induced to accept her protection for his Amanda,
not only on account of her present but future welfare. His own health
was extremely delicate. He deemed his life very precarious, and
flattered himself Lady Greystock, by having his beloved girl under her
care, would grow so attached to her, as to prove a friend if he should
be snatched away ere his newly-obtained independence enabled him to make
a provision for her. In indulging this hope, his heart could not
reproach him for anything mean or selfish. Her ladyship had frequently
assured him all her relations were very distant ones, and in affluent
circumstances, so that if his Amanda received any proof of kindness from
her, she could neither injure nor encroach on the rights of others.
This, however, was not the case, though carefully concealed from him, as
well as many others, by her ladyship. Her education had either given
birth to, or strengthened, the artful propensities of her disposition.
She had been one of the numerous offspring of a gentleman in the
southern part of Ireland, whose wife, a complete housewife, knowing his
inability of giving his daughters fortunes, determined to bring them up
so as to save one for their future husbands.
At the age of nineteen, Miss Bridget, by her reputation for domestic
cleverness, attracted the notice of a man of easy independence in the
neighborhood, who, being a perfect Nimrod, wanted somebody to manage
those concerns at home, which he neglected for the field and kennel; and
in obtaining Miss Bridget, he procured this valuable acquisition. His
love of sport, with his life, was fatally terminated the second year of
his marriage, by his attempting to leap a five-bar gate. A good jointure
devolved to his widow, and the office of consoling her to the rector of
the parish, a little fat elderly man, who might have sat very well for
the picture of Boniface. So successful were his arguments, that he not
only expelled sorrow from her heart, but introduced himself into it, and
had the felicity of receiving her hand as soon as her weeds were laid
aside. Four years they lived in uninterrupted peace, but too free an
enjoyment of the good things of this life undermined the constitution of
the rector. He was ordered to Bath, where his mortal career was shortly
terminated, and his whole fortune was left to his wife.
In the house where she lodged was an ancient baronet, who had never been
married. His fortune was considerable, but his manner so strange and
whimsical, that he appeared incapable of enjoying the advantages it
would have afforded to others. Notwithstanding his oddities, he was
compassionate; and as the fair relict was unaccompanied by a friend, he
waited on her for the purpose of offering consolation, and any service
in his power. This attention instantly inspired her with an idea of
trying to make him feel tenderer sentiments than those of pity for her.
His title and fortune were so attractive, that neither his capricious
disposition, nor the disparity of their ages, he being sixty, and she
only eight-and-twenty, could prevent her ardently desiring a connection
between them. Her efforts to effect this were long unsuccessful; but
perseverance will almost work miracles. Her constant good-humor, and
unremitted solicitude about him, who was in general an invalid, at last
made an impression on his flinty heart, and in a fit of sudden gratitude
he offered her his hand, which was eagerly accepted.
The presumptive heir to the baronet's large possessions was the son and
only child of a deceased sister. At the period this unexpected alliance
took place, he was about twenty, pleasing in his person, and engaging in
his manner, and tenderly beloved by his uncle. This love, Lady Greystock
saw, if it continued, would frustrate her wish of possessing the
baronet's whole property. Various schemes fluctuated in her mind
relative to the manner in which she should lay the foundation for
Rushbrook's ruin. Ere she could determine on one, chance discovered a
secret which completely aided her intentions.
In the neighborhood of the baronet's country residence, Rushbrook had
formed an attachment for the daughter of a man against whom his uncle
entertained the most inveterate enmity. A union with this girl, she was
well convinced, would ruin him. She therefore gave him to understand she
knew of his attachment, and sincerely pitied his situation, encouraging
his love by the most flattering eulogiums on his adored Emily; declared
her regret that hearts so congenial should be separated; and at last
intimated that if they wished to unite, she was convinced she would soon
be able to obtain Sir Geoffry's forgiveness for such a step. Her artful
insinuations hurried the unsuspicious pair into the snare she had spread
for them. The consequence of this was what she expected.
Sir Geoffry's rage was unappeasable, and he solemnly vowed never more to
behold his nephew. Lady Greystock wished to preserve, if possible,
appearances to the world, and prevailed on him to give her five hundred
pounds for Rushbrook, to which she added five of her own, and presented
the notes to him, with an assurance of pleading his cause whenever she
found a favorable opportunity for doing so.
He purchased an ensigncy in a regiment on the point of embarking for
America, where he felt he would rather encounter distress than among
those who had known him in affluence.
Her ladyship now redoubled her attention to Sir Geoffry, and at last
prepossessed him so strongly with the idea of her affection for him,
that he made a will, bequeathing her his whole fortune, which she
flattered herself with soon enjoying. But the constitution of Sir
Geoffry was stronger than she imagined, and policy obliged her to adhere
to a conduct which had gained his favor, as she knew the least
alteration of it would, to his capricious temper, be sufficient to make
him crush all her hopes.
Fifteen years passed in this manner, when a friend of Rushbrook's
advised him no longer to be deluded by the promises Lady Greystock still
continued to make, of interceding in his favor, but to write himself to
his uncle for forgiveness, which the duty he owed his family, and the
distress of his situation, should prompt him to immediately. Rushbrook
accordingly wrote a most pathetic letter, and his friend, as he had
promised, delivered it himself to the baronet. The contents of the
letter, and the remonstrance of his visitor, produced a great change in
the sentiments of the baronet. Tenderness for a nephew he had adopted as
his heir from his infancy began to revive, and he seriously reflected,
that by leaving his fortune to Lady Greystock, he should enrich a family
unconnected with him, whilst the last branch of his own was left to
obscurity and wretchedness. Pride recoiled from such an idea, and he
told the gentleman he would consider about a reconciliation with his
nephew.
The conversation between them, which Lady Greystock had contrived to
overhear, filled her with dismay; but this was increased almost to
distraction, when an attorney being sent for, she repaired again to her
hiding-place, and heard a new will dictated entirely in Rushbrook's
favor.
Sir Geoffry was soon prevailed on to see his nephew, but Mrs. Rushbrook
and the children were not suffered to appear before him. They were,
however, supplied with everything requisite for making a genteel
appearance, and accompanying the regiment (again ordered abroad) with
comfort.
Soon after their departure, Sir Geoffry sunk into a sudden state of
insensibility, from which no hopes of his ever recovering could be
entertained. The situation was propitious to the designs of Lady
Greystock; none but creatures of her own were admitted to his chamber.
An attorney was sent for, who had often transacted business for her,
relative to her affairs in Ireland; and a good bribe easily prevailed on
him to draw up a will she dictated, similar to that before made in her
favor. The baronet was raised in her arms, whilst the attorney guided
his almost lifeless hand in signing it; and two clerks set their names
as witnesses. Sir Geoffry expired almost immediately after this scheme
was executed.
Rushbrook's friend, who had been appointed to act for him, if this event
took place whilst he was abroad, now appeared. A will found in Sir
Geoffry's cabinet was read, by which it appeared Mr. Rushbrook was his
sole heir. The exultation of the peruser, however, was of short
continuance; her ladyship's attorney appeared, and declared the will was
rendered null by one of later date, which he had drawn up in Sir
Geoffry's last moments, by his express desire. Consternation and
surprise pervaded the mind of Rushbrook's friend; he saw the will was
too well attested for him to dispute it, yet he suspected foul play,
and lost no time in communicating his suspicion to Rushbrook.
Her ladyship settled her affairs most expeditiously and returned with
delight to her native country, after a very long absence from it. Most
of her near relations were dead, but she had many distant ones, who,
prompted by the knowledge of her large fortune, eagerly reminded her of
their affinity, and vied with each other in paying her attention. This
was extremely pleasing to her ladyship, who was fond of pleasure at
other people's expense. For herself she had laid down rules of the most
rigid economy, which she strictly adhered to. From the many invitations
she received she was seldom a resident in her own house; she judged of
others by herself, and ascribed the attentions she received to their
real source, self-interest, which she laughed secretly to think she
should disappoint.
She was remarkable (as Miss Kilcorban informed Amanda) for asking young
people to do little matters for her, such as making her millinery,
working ruffles, aprons, and handkerchiefs.
The tranquillity she enjoyed for two years after Sir Geoffry's death was
a little interrupted by his nephew's arrival from America, and
commencing a suit directly against her by the advice of his friends and
some eminent lawyers, on the supposition that the will by which she
inherited had been made when his uncle was in a state of imbecility.
Lady Greystock, however, received but a trifling shock from this; she
knew he had no money to carry on such an affair, and that his advocates
would lose their zeal in his cause, when convinced of the state of his
finances. On being obliged to go to London to attend the suit, it
immediately occurred that Amanda would be a most pleasing companion to
take along with her, as she would not only enliven the hours she must
sometimes pass at home, but do a number of little things in the way of
dress, which would save a great deal of expense.
Amanda, on the first proposal of accompanying her, warmly opposed it;
she felt unutterable reluctance to leave her father, and assured him she
would, by exerting herself, prove that a change of scene was not
requisite for restoring her cheerfulness. Fitzalan knew her sincerity in
making this promise, but he also knew her inability of performing it;
his happiness, he declared, depended on her complying with this request:
he even said his own health would probably be established by it, as
during her absence he would partake of the amusements of the country,
which he had hitherto declined on her account. This assertion prevailed
on her to consent, and immediate preparations were made for her journey,
as the invitation had not been given till within a few days of her
ladyship's intended departure. As she went by Holyhead, Fitzalan
determined on sending Ellen to her parents till Amanda returned from
England, which determination pleased Ellen exceedingly, as she longed to
see her family, and tell them particulars of Chip. As the hour
approached for quitting her father, the regret and reluctance of Amanda
increased; nor were his feelings less oppressive, though better
concealed: but when the moment of parting came, they could no longer be
suppressed; he held her with a trembling grasp to his heart, as if life
would forsake it. On her departure, the gloom on his mind seemed like a
presentiment of evil; he repented forcing her from him, and scarcely
could he refrain from saying they must not part.
Lady Greystock, who in every scene and every situation preserved her
composure, hinted to him the injury he was doing his daughter by such
emotions; and mentioned how short their separation would be, and what
benefit would accrue to Amanda from it.
This last consideration recalled to his mind instantly composed him, and
he handed them to her ladyship's chariot, which was followed by a hired
chaise containing her woman and Ellen; he then sighed her a last adieu,
returned to his solitary habitation to pray, and in spite of all his
efforts, weep for his darling child.
Amanda's tears streamed down her pale cheek, and never did she
experience a pang of such sorrow as that she felt, when, the chaise
descending a hill, she caught the last glimpse of Castle Carberry.
She perceived, however, that her ladyship had no relish for a gloomy
companion, and therefore endeavored to recover her spirits, and enter
into conversation.
Lady Greystock had a number of friends in that part of Ireland, and
therefore never stopped at an inn.
"I always, my dear," said she to Amanda, "make use of the friendship
professed for me, and thus endeavor to render the great road of life
delightful."
They arrived the third day in Sackville Street, where her ladyship had a
house, and two days after embarked for England. They slept the first
night they landed at Holyhead, and the next morning pursued their
journey.