"Oh how this tyrant doubt torments my breast!
My thoughts, like birds, who frighted from their rest,
Around the place where all was hushed before,
Flutter, and hardly settle any more."--OTWAY.
Lord Mortimer, distressed by the indisposition of Amanda, hastened, at
an earlier hour than usual (for his morning visits), to Portman Square,
and was ushered into Lady Euphrasia's dressing-room, where she and Miss
Malcolm, who had continued with her the preceding night, were sitting
_tete-à-tete_ at breakfast. His lordship was a welcome visitor, but it
was soon obvious on whose account he had made his appearance, for
scarcely were the usual compliments over, ere he inquired about Miss
Fitzalan.
Lady Euphrasia said she was still unwell, and had not yet left her
apartment. "She has not recovered her surprise of last night," exclaimed
Miss Malcolm, with a malicious smile. "What surprise?" asked his
lordship. "Dear me," replied Miss Malcolm, "was not your lordship
present at the time she met Colonel Belgrave?" "No," said Lord Mortimer,
changing color, "I was not present. But what has Colonel Belgrave to say
to Miss Fitzalan?" asked he, in an agitated voice. "That is a question
your lordship must put to the young lady herself," answered Miss
Malcolm. "Now, I declare," cried Lady Euphrasia, addressing her friend,
"'tis very probable her illness did not proceed from seeing Colonel
Belgrave--you know she never mentioned being acquainted with him, though
her father was his tenant in Devonshire."
Lord Mortimer grew more disturbed, and rose abruptly.
Lady Euphrasia mentioned their intention of going that evening to the
play, and invited him to be of the party. He accepted her invitation,
and retired.
His visible distress was a source of infinite mirth to the young ladies,
which they indulged the moment he quitted the room. The circumstance
relative to Belgrave, the marchioness had informed them of, as she and
Lady Greystock were near Amanda when she met him.
Lord Mortimer was unhappy. The mind which has once harbored suspicion
will, from the most trivial circumstance, be tempted again to give
admission to the unpleasing guest--nor was it a trivial circumstance
which discomposed the too susceptible heart of Mortimer. The sudden
illness of Amanda, her extraordinary agitation, her eagerness to quit
the room, the close, though silent attendance of Belgrave--all these, I
say, when recalled to recollection, gave an air of probability to Miss
Malcolm's insinuation, that her disorder was occasioned by seeing him.
From residing more constantly in England than Sir Charles Bingley had
done, he had had more opportunities of learning Belgrave's real
character, which he knew to be that of a professed libertine. It was
strange, he thought, that when Amanda informed him she once resided in
Devonshire, she should conceal her father being the colonel's tenant. He
began to think her reluctance to a clandestine and immediate marriage
might have proceeded from some secret attachment, and not from the
strict adherence to filial duty, which had exalted her so much in his
opinion.
Yet the idea was scarcely formed, ere he endeavored to suppress it. He
started, as if from an uneasy dream, and wondered how he could have
conceived this, or any other idea, injurious to Amanda. He felt a degree
of remorse at having allowed her, for a moment, to be lessened in his
opinion--her tenderness, her purity, he said to himself, could not be
feigned; no, she was a treasure greater than he deserved to possess; nor
would he, like a wayward son of error, fling away the happiness he had
so long desired to obtain.
The calm this resolution produced was but transient. Doubts had been
raised, and doubt could not be banished; he was inclined to think them
unjust, yet had not power to dispel them. Vainly he applied to the ideas
which had heretofore been such consolatory resources of comfort to
him--namely, that his father would consent to his union with Amanda,
through the interference of his aunt, and the felicity he should enjoy
in that union. An unusual heaviness clung to his heart, which, like a
gloomy sky, cast a shade of sadness over every prospect. Thoughtful and
pensive he reached home, just as Sir Charles Bingley was entering the
door, who informed him he had just received a note from Lord Cherbury,
desiring his immediate presence.
Lord Mortimer attended him to the earl, who acquainted him, that he had
received a letter from Mr. Fitzalan, in which he expressed a warm sense
of the honor Sir Charles did his family, by addressing Miss Fitzalan;
and that to have her united to a character so truly estimable, would
give him the truest happiness, from the conviction that hers would be
secured by such a union. "He has written to his daughter expressing his
sentiments," continued Lord Cherbury. "I have therefore no doubt, Sir
Charles, but that everything will succeed as you wish." "I am sorry, my
lord," cried Sir Charles, with an agitated voice, and a cheek flushed
with emotion, "that I ever troubled your lordship in this affair, as I
have now, and forever, relinquished all ideas of a union with Miss
Fitzalan." "The resolution is really somewhat extraordinary and sudden,"
replied the earl, "after the conversation which so lately passed between
us." "Adopted, however, my lord, from a thorough conviction that
happiness could never be attained in a union with that young lady." Sir
Charles's tenderness for Amanda was still undiminished; he wished to
preserve her from censure, and thus proceeded: "Your lordship must allow
I could have little chance of happiness in allying myself to a woman who
has resolutely and uniformly treated me with indifference. Passion
blinded my reason when I addressed your lordship relative to Miss
Fitzalan; but its mists are now dispersed, and sober reflection obliges
me to relinquish a scheme, whose accomplishment could not possibly give
me satisfaction." "You are certainly the best judge of your own actions,
Sir Charles," replied the earl. "My acting in the affair proceeded from
a wish to serve you, as well as from my friendship for Captain Fitzalan.
I must suppose your conduct will never disparage your own honor, or cast
a slight upon Miss Fitzalan." "That, my lord, you may be assured of,"
said Sir Charles, with some warmth; "my actions and their motives have
hitherto, and will ever, I trust, bear the strictest investigation. I
cannot retire without thanking your lordship for the interest you took
in my favor. Had things succeeded as I then hoped and expected, I cannot
deny but I should have been much happier than I am at present." He then
bowed and retired.
Lord Mortimer had listened with astonishment to Sir Charles's
relinquishment of Amanda. Like his father, he thought it a sudden and
extraordinary resolution. He was before jealous of Amanda's love; he was
now jealous of her honor. The agitation of Sir Charles seemed to imply
even a cause more powerful than her coldness for resigning her. He
recollected that the baronet and the colonel were intimate friends.
Distracted by apprehensions, he rushed out of the house, and overtook
Sir Charles ere he had quitted the square.
"Why, Bingley," cried he, with affected gayety, "I thought you too
valiant a knight to be easily overcome by despair; and that without
first trying every effort to win her favor, you never would give up a
fair lady you had set your heart on." "I leave such efforts for your
lordship," replied Sir Charles, "or those who have equal patience." "But
seriously, Bingley, I think this sudden resignation of Miss Fitzalan
somewhat strange. Why, last night I could have sworn you were as much
attached to her as ever. From Lord Cherbury's friendship for Captain
Fitzalan, I think her, in some degree, under his protection and mine.
And as the particularity of your attention attracted observation, I
think your abruptly withdrawing them requires explanation." "As Lord
Cherbury was the person I applied to relative to Miss Fitzalan,"
exclaimed Sir Charles, "and as he was satisfied with the motive I
assigned for my conduct, be assured, my lord, I shall never give another
to you." "Your words," retorted Lord Mortimer, with warmth, "imply that
there was another motive for your conduct than the one you avowed. What
horrid inference may not be drawn from such an insinuation? Oh! Sir
Charles! reputation is a fragile flower, which the slightest breath may
injure." "My lord, if Miss Fitzalan's reputation is never injured but by
my means, it will ever continue unsullied."
"I cannot, indeed," resumed Lord Mortimer, "style myself her guardian,
but I consider myself her friend: and from the feelings of friendship,
shall ever evince my interest in her welfare, and resent any conduct
which can possibly render her an object of censure to any being." "Allow
me to ask your lordship one question," cried Sir Charles, "and promise,
on your honor, to answer it." "I do promise," said Lord Mortimer. "Then,
my lord, did you ever really wish I should succeeded with Miss
Fitzalan?"
Lord Mortimer colored. "You expect, Sir Charles, I shall answer you on
my honor? Then, really, I never did." "Your passions and mine,"
continued Sir Charles, "are impetuous. We had better check them in time,
lest they lead us to lengths we may hereafter repent of. Of Miss
Fitzalan's fame, be assured, no man can be more tenacious than I should.
I love her with the truest ardor. Her acceptance of my proposals would
have given me felicity. My suddenly withdrawing them can never injure
her, when I declare my motive for so doing was her indifference. Lord
Cherbury is satisfied with the reason I have assigned for resigning her.
He is conscious that no man of sensibility could experience happiness
with a woman in whose heart he had no interest. This, I suppose, your
lordship will also allow." "Certainly," replied Lord Mortimer. "Then,
it strikes me, my lord, that it is your conduct, not mine, which has a
tendency to injure Miss Fitzalan. That it is your words, not mine, which
convey an insinuation against her. You really appear as if conscious
some other cause existed, which would have made me relinquish her,
without the one I have already assigned for doing so."
Lord Mortimer was instantly convicted of the justice of what Sir Charles
said. He began to fear his warmth would really prove prejudicial to
Amanda, betray the doubts that had obtruded on his mind, and communicate
them to those who might not be equally influenced by tenderness and
delicacy to conceal them.
"You are right, Sir Charles," said he, "in what you have said; passion,
like a bad advocate, hurts the cause in which it is engaged. From my
knowledge of your character, I should have been convinced your honor
would have prevented any improper conduct. You are going to Ireland.
Permit me, Sir Charles, to offer you my best wishes for your future
happiness."
Sir Charles took Lord Mortimer's extended hand. He respected and
esteemed his lordship, and a mutual interchange of good wishes took
place between them, as this was the last interview they expected for a
long time.
The indisposition of Amanda was more of the mental than the bodily kind,
and on the first intimation of a party to the play she agreed to join
it, in hopes the amusement would remove her dejection. Her father's
letter, relative to Sir Charles Bingley, had given her some uneasiness;
but as he left her free to act, she contented herself with using the
negative he allowed her, by a solemn resolution of never acting contrary
to his inclinations, and answered his letter to this purpose.
Lord Mortimer and Freelove attended the ladies in the evening to the
play. His lordship found an opportunity of tenderly inquiring after
Amanda's health. When they were seated in the house he perceived a lady
in another box to whom he wished to speak, and accordingly left his
party. This lady offered him a seat by herself, which he accepted. She
was a stranger to Amanda, young and extremely beautiful. Amanda,
however, had none of that foolish weakness which could make her dread a
rival in every new face, or feel uneasiness at Lord Mortimer's attention
to any woman but herself. Assured that his affections for her were
founded on the basis of esteem, and that she should retain them while
worthy of esteem, she could, without being discomposed by the agreeable
conversation he appeared to be enjoying, fix her attention on the stage;
so entirely, indeed, that she observed not from time to time, the
glances Lord Mortimer directed towards her. Not so his fair companion.
She noticed the wanderings of his eyes, and her own involuntarily
pursued their course. She was speaking at the moment, but suddenly
stopped, and Lord Mortimer saw her change color. He turned pale himself,
and in a faltering voice, asked her, "if she knew the lady she had been
long looking at?" "Know her?" replied she; "oh, heavens! but too well."
Lord Mortimer trembled universally, and was compelled to have recourse
to his handkerchief to hide his emotion.
It was by Adela, the lovely and neglected wife of Belgrave, he was
sitting. She had been a short time in London, and her acquaintance with
Lord Mortimer commenced at a ball, where she had danced with him. He was
not one of those kind of men who, when in love, had neither eyes nor
ears but for the object of that love. He could see perfections in other
women besides his Amanda, and was particularly pleased with Mrs.
Belgrave. He instantly perceived that she knew Amanda; also, that that
knowledge was attended with pain. The well-known profligacy of her
husband intruded on his memory, and he shuddered at the dreadful
thoughts which arose in his mind.
Curiosity had directed the eyes of Adela to Amanda, but admiration, and
an idea of having somewhere seen her face, riveted them upon her; at
last the picture Oscar Fitzalan had shown occurred to her recollection,
and she was immediately convinced it was no other than the original of
that picture she now saw. Shocked at the sight of a person who, as she
thought had stepped (though innocently) between her and felicity, and
distressed by the emotions which past scenes, thus recalled, gave rise
to, she entreated Lord Mortimer to conduct her from the box, that she
might return home.
He complied with her request, but stopped in the lobby, and entreated
her to tell him "where she had known the lady she had so attentively
regarded." Adela blushed, and would, if possible, have evaded the
question; but the earnestness of his lordship's manner compelled her to
answer it. She said "she had no personal knowledge of the lady, but
recollected her face, from having seen her picture with a gentleman."
"And who was the gentleman?" asked Lord Mortimer, with a forced smile
and a faltering voice. "That," replied Adela, with involuntary
quickness, "I will not tell." "I should apologize, indeed," cried Lord
Mortimer, recollecting himself, "for a curiosity which may appear
impertinent." He led her to a chair, and deliberated whether he should
not follow her example in quitting the house.
Miss Malcolm had first made him uneasy: uneasiness introduced doubts
which Sir Charles Bingley had increased, and Mrs. Belgrave almost
confirmed. He dreaded a horrid confirmation of his fears; the picture,
like Othello's handkerchief, was a source of unspeakable anguish. The
agitation that Mrs. Belgrave had betrayed on mentioning it, joined to
her concealment of the gentleman she had seen it with, tempted him to
believe he was no other than her husband.
Yet, that he might not be accused of yielding rashly to jealousy, he
resolved to confine his suspicions, like his pangs, to his own bosom,
except assured they were well founded. A little time he supposed, would
determine the opinion he should form of Amanda. If he found she
encouraged Belgrave, he resolved to leave her without any explanation;
if, on the contrary, he saw that she avoided him, he meant to mention
the circumstance of the picture to her, yet so as not to hurt her
feelings, and be regulated by her answer relative to his future conduct.
He returned, at last, to the box, and procured a seat behind her. He had
not occupied it long ere Colonel Belgrave (who, from a retired part of
the house where he sat with some female friends, had observed Amanda)
entered the next box, and made his way to the pillar against which she
leaned. He endeavored to catch her eyes, but the noise he made on
entering put her on her guard, and she instantly averted her face. Her
embarrassment was visible to her party, and they all, Lord Mortimer
excepted, enjoyed it. Scarcely could he refrain from chastising the
audacity of Belgrave's looks, who continued to gaze on Amanda, though he
could not see her face. Nothing but the discovery which such a step
would produce could have prevented his lordship, in his irritable state
of mind, from chastising what he deemed the height of insolence.
At last the hour came for relieving Amanda from a situation extremely
painful to her. As Lord Mortimer sat next the marchioness, he was
compelled to offer her his hand. Freelove led Lady Euphrasia; Lady
Greystock and Miss Malcolm followed her, and Amanda was the last who
quitted the box. A crowd in the lobby impeded their progress. Amanda was
close behind the marchioness, when Belgrave forced his way to her, and
attempted to take her hand at the very moment Lord Mortimer turned to
look at her, who heard him say, "Dear, though unkind, Amanda, why this
cruel change in your conduct?"
The eyes of Mortimer flashed fire. "Miss Fitzalan," said he, in a voice
trembling through passion, "if you will accept my arm, I will make way
for you, or at least secure you from impertinence." Amanda, though
trembling and confounded by his looks, hesitated not to accept his
offer. Belgrave knew his words alluded to him. At present, however, he
resolved not to resent them, convinced, that if he did, his views on
Amanda would be defeated. From that moment her beauty was not more
powerful in stimulating his designs than his desire of revenge on Lord
Mortimer. He saw he was fondly attached to Amanda, and he believed his
proud heart would feel no event so afflictive as that which should
deprive him of her.
Lord Mortimer handed Amanda in silence to the carriage; he was pressed
to return to supper, but refused. The ladies found the marquis and Lord
Cherbury together. Amanda retired to her chamber immediately after
supper; the presence of Belgrave had increased the dejection which she
hoped the amusements of the theatre would have dissipated; she now
indeed longed for the period when she should be entitled to the
protection of Lord Mortimer; when she should no longer dread the
audacity or stratagems of Belgrave. Lord Cherbury, on her retiring,
expressed his regret at her coldness to Sir Charles Bingley, by which
she had lost a most honorable and advantageous attachment.
This was an opportunity not to be neglected by the marchioness, for
commencing her operations against Fitzalan. A glance to Lady Greystock
was the signal to begin.
"To those," said Lady Greystock, "who are ignorant of Miss Fitzalan's
real motives for refusing Sir Charles, it must appear, no doubt,
extraordinary; but ambitious people are not easily satisfied; indeed, I
cannot blame her so much for entertaining aspiring notions as those who
instilled them into her mind."
Lord Cherbury stared, and requested an explanation of her words.
"Why, I declare, my lord," cried she, "I do not know but that it will be
more friendly to explain than conceal my meaning. When once informed of
the young lady's views, your lordship may be able to convince her of
that fallacy, and prevail on her not to lose another good opportunity of
settling herself in consequence of them; in short, my lord, Miss
Fitzalan, prompted by her father, has cast her eyes on Lord Mortimer.
Presuming on your friendship, he thought a union between them might
easily be accomplished. I do not believe Lord Mortimer, at first, gave
any encouragement to their designs; but when the girl was continually
thrown in his way, it was impossible not to notice her at last. I really
expressed a thorough disapprobation to her coming to London, knowing
their motives for desiring the excursion, but her father never ceased
persecuting me till I consented to take her under my protection." "Upon
my word," cried the marquis, who was not of the ladies' privy council,
though if he had it is probable he would not have objected to their
schemes, "Captain Fitzalan must have had some such motive as this Lady
Greystock has mentioned for sending his daughter to London, or else he
would not have been so ridiculous as to put himself at the expense of
fitting her out for company she has no right to enter." "I never
thought," exclaimed Lord Cherbury, whose mind was irritated to the most
violent degree of resentment against his injured friend, "that Captain
Fitzalan could have acted with such duplicity. He knew the views I
entertained for my son, and there is a mean treachery in his attempting
to counteract them." "Nay, my lord," said Lady Greystock, "you are a
father yourself, and must make allowances for the anxiety of a parent to
establish a child." "No, madam," he replied; "I can make no allowance
for a deviation from integrity, or for a sacrifice of honor and
gratitude at the shrine of interest. The subject has discomposed me, and
I must beg to be excused for abruptly retiring; nothing, indeed, I
believe, can wound one so severely as deceit, where one reposed implicit
confidence."
The ladies were enraptured at the success of their scheme. The passion
of Lord Cherbury could scarcely be smothered in their presence. On the
head of Fitzalan they knew it would burst with full violence. They did
not mention Belgrave; relative to him they resolved to affect profound
ignorance.
The passions of Lord Cherbury were impetuous. He had, as I have already
hinted, secret motives for desiring a connection between his family and
the marquis's; and the idea of that desire being defeated drove him
almost to distraction. He knew his son's passions, though not so easily
irritated as his own were, when once irritated, equally violent. To
remonstrate with him concerning Miss Fitzalan, he believed, would be
unavailing; he therefore resolved, if possible, to have her removed out
of his way ere he apprised him of the discovery he had made of his
attachment. He entertained not a doubt of Lady Greystock's veracity;
from his general knowledge of mankind, he believed self the predominant
consideration in every breast. His feelings were too violent not to seek
an immediate vent, and ere he went to bed, he wrote a bitter and
reproachful letter to Fitzalan, which concluded with an entreaty, or
rather a command, to send without delay for his daughter. A dreadful
stroke this for poor Fitzalan.
"After all his wanderings round this world of care
And all his griefs,"
He hoped he had at last found a spot where his latter days might close
in tranquillity.
The innocent Amanda was received the next morning with smiles by those
who were preparing a plot for her destruction.
Whilst at breakfast, a servant informed Lady Greystock a young woman
wanted to speak to her. "Who is she?" asked her ladyship; "did she not
send up her name?" "No, my lady; but she said she had particular
business with your ladyship."
The marchioness directed she might be shown up; and a girl about
seventeen was accordingly ushered into the room. Her figure was
delicate, and her face interesting not only from its innocence, but the
strong expression of melancholy diffused over it. She appeared trembling
with confusion and timidity, and the poverty of her apparel implied the
source of her dejection.
"So, child," said Lady Greystock, after surveying her from head to foot,
"I am told you have business with me." "Yes, madam," replied she, in an
accent so low as scarcely to be heard; "my father, Captain Rushbrook,
desired me to deliver a letter to your ladyship."
She presented it, and endeavored to screen herself from the scrutinizing
and contemptuous glances of Lady Euphrasia by pulling her hat over her
face.
"I wonder, child," said Lady Greystock, as she opened the letter, "what
your father can write to me about. I don't suppose it can be about the
affair he mentioned the other day. Why, really," continued she, after
she had perused it, "I believe he takes me for a fool. I am astonished,
after his insolent conduct, how he can possibly have the assurance to
make application to me for relief. No, no, child, he neglected the
opportunity he had of securing me his friend. 'Twould really be a sin to
give him the power of bringing up his family in idleness. No, no,
child, he must learn you and the other little dainty misses he has, to
do something for yourselves."
The poor girl blushed; a tear trembled in her eye; she tried to suppress
it, but it forced its way, and dropped into her bosom. Amanda,
inexpressibly shocked, could support the scene no longer. She retired
precipitately, and descended to the parlor. Sympathy, as well as
compassion, made her feel for this daughter of affliction, for she
herself knew what it was to feel the "insolence of prosperity, the proud
man's scorn, and all those ills which patient merit of the unworthy
takes."
In a few minutes Miss Rushbrook quitted the drawing-room, and stopped in
the hall to wipe away her tears. Amanda had been watching for her, and
now appeared. She started, and was hurrying away, when Amanda caught her
hand, and leading her softly into the parlor, endeavored, with angelic
sweetness, to calm her emotion. Surprised at this unexpected attention,
and overcome by her feelings, the poor girl sunk on her chair, and
dropping her head on Amanda's bosom, wet it with a shower of tears, as
she exclaimed: "Alas! my unfortunate parents, how can I return to behold
your misery? The grave is the only refuge for you and your wretched
children!" "You must not encourage such desponding thoughts," said
Amanda. "Providence, all bounteous and all powerful, is able in a short
time to change the gloomiest scene into one of brightness. Tell me," she
continued, after a pause, "where do you reside?" "At Kensington."
"Kensington!" repeated Amanda. "Surely, in your present situation, you
are unable to take such a walk." "I must attempt it, however," replied
Miss Rushbrook.
Amanda walked from her to the window, revolving a scheme which had just
darted into her mind, "If you know any house," said she, "where you
could stay for a short time, I would call on you in a carriage, and
leave you at home."
This offer was truly pleasing to the poor weak trembling girl, but she
modestly declined it, from the fear of giving trouble. Amanda besought
her not to waste time in such unnecessary scruples, but to give her the
desired information. She accordingly informed her there was a
haberdasher's in Bond Street, mentioning the name, where she could stay
till called for.
This point settled, Amanda, fearful of being surprised, conducted her
softly to the hall-door, and immediately returned to the drawing-room,
where she found Lady Euphrasia just beginning Rushbrook's letter, for
her mother's amusement. Its style evidently denoted the painful
conflicts there were between pride and distress, ere the former could be
sufficiently subdued, to allow an application for relief to the person
who occasioned the latter. The sight of a tender and beloved wife,
languishing in the arms of sickness, and surrounded by a family, under
the pressure of the severest want, had forced him to a step, which, on
his own account, no necessity could have compelled him to take. He and
his family, he said, had drank of the cup of misery to the very dregs.
He waived the claims of justice; he only asserted those of humanity, in
his present application to her ladyship; and these, he flattered
himself, she would allow. He had sent a young petitioner in his behalf,
whose tearful eye, whose faded cheek, were sad evidences of the misery
he described.
The marchioness declared she was astonished at his insolence in making
such an application, and Lady Euphrasia protested the letter was the
most ridiculous stuff she had ever read.
Amanda, in this, as well as in many other instances, differed from her
ladyship; but her opinion, like a little project she had in view about
the Rushbrooks, was carefully concealed.
Out of the allowance her father made her for clothes and other expenses
about ten guineas remained, which she had intended laying out in the
purchase of some ornaments for her appearance at a ball, to be given in
the course of the ensuing week by the Duchess of B----, and, for which,
at the time of invitation, Lord Mortimer had engaged her for his
partner. To give up going to this ball, to consecrate to charity the
money devoted to vanity, was her project; and most fortunate did she
deem the application of Rushbrook, ere her purchase was made, and she
consequently prevented from giving her mite. Her soul revolted from the
inhumanity of the marchioness, her daughter, and Lady Greystock. Exempt
from the calamities of want themselves, they forgot the pity due to
those calamities in others. If this coldness, this obduracy, she cried,
within herself, is the effect of prosperity; if thus it closes the
avenues of benevolence and compassion, oh! never may the dangerous
visitor approach me--for ill should I think the glow of compassion and
sensibility exchanged for all its gaudy pleasures.
The ladies had mentioned their intention of going to an auction, where,
to use Lady Euphrasia's phrase, "they expected to see all the world."
Amanda excused herself from being of the party, saying, "she wanted to
make some purchases in the city." Her excuse was readily admitted, and
when they retired to their respective toilets, she sent for a coach, and
being prepared against it come, immediately stepped into it, and was
driven to Bond Street, where she found Miss Rushbrook, with trembling
anxiety, waiting her arrival.
On their way to Kensington, the tenderness of Amanda at once conciliated
the affection, and gained the entire confidence of her young companion.
She related the little history of her parents' sorrows. Her father, on
returning from America, with his wife and six children, had been advised
by Mr. Heathfield, the friend who had effected a reconciliation between
him and his uncle, to commence a suit against Lady Greystock, on the
presumption that the will, by which she enjoyed Sir Geoffry's fortune,
was illegally executed. He offered him his purse to carry on the suit,
and his house for an habitation. Rushbrook gratefully and gladly
accepted both offers, and having disposed of his commission, to
discharge some present demands against him, he and his family took up
their residence under Mr. Heathfield's hospitable roof. In the midst of
the felicity enjoyed beneath it, in the midst of the hopes their own
sanguine tempers, and the flattering suggestions of the lawyers had
excited, a violent fever carried off their benevolent friend, ere a will
was executed, in which he had promised largely to consider Rushbrook.
His heir, narrow and illiberal, had long feared that his interest would
be hurt by the affection he entertained for Rushbrook; and, as if in
revenge for the pain this fear had given, the moment he had the power he
showed his malignant disposition, sold all the furniture of the house at
Kensington, and as a great favor told Rushbrook, he might continue in it
till the expiration of the half year, when it was to be given up to the
landlord. The lawyers understanding the state of his finances, soon
informed him he could no longer expect their assistance. Thus, almost in
one moment, did all his pleasing prospects vanish, and,
"Like the baseless fabric of a vision,
Left not a rack behind."
As a duty he owed his family, he tried whether Lady Greystock would make
a compromise between justice and avarice, and afford him some means of
support. Her insolence and inhumanity shocked him to the soul; and as he
left her presence, he resolved never to enter it again, or to apply to
her. This last resolution, however, only continued till the distresses
of the family grew so great as to threaten their existence, particularly
that of his wife, who, overpowered by grief, had sunk into a languishing
illness, which every day increased for want of proper assistance.
In hopes of procuring her some, he was tempted again to apply to Lady
Greystock. The youth and innocence of his daughter would, he thought, if
anything could do it, soften her flinty heart. Besides, he believed that
pleasure, at finding his pretensions to the fortune entirely withdrawn,
would influence her to administer from it to his wants.
"We have," said Miss Rushbrook, as she concluded her simple narration,
"tried, and been disappointed in our last resource. What will become of
us, I know not; we have long been strangers to the comforts, but even
the necessaries of life we cannot now procure." "Comfort," cried Amanda,
"often arrives when least expected. To despair, is to doubt the goodness
of a Being who has promised to protect all his creatures."
The carriage had now reached Kensington, and within a few yards of
Rushbrook's habitation. Amanda stopped it. She took Miss Rushbrook's
hand, and as she slipped a ten-pound note into it, exclaimed: "I trust
the period is not far distant, when the friendship we have conceived for
each other may be cultivated under more fortunate auspices."
Miss Rushbrook opened the folded paper. She started, and "the hectic of
a moment flushed her cheek." "Oh! madam!" she cried, "your goodness--"
tears impeded her further utterance.
"Do not distress me," said Amanda, again taking her hand, "by mentioning
such a trifle; was my ability equal to my inclination, I should blush to
offer it to your acceptance. As it is, consider it as but the foretaste
of the bounty which heaven has, I doubt not, in store for you."
She then desired the door to be opened, and told her companion she would
no longer detain her. Miss Rushbrook affectionately kissed her hand, and
exclaimed, "You look like an angel, and your goodness is correspondent
to your looks. I will not, madam, refuse your bounty. I accept it with
gratitude, for those dearer to me than myself. But ah! may I not indulge
a hope of seeing you again. You are so kind, so gentle, madam, that
every care is lulled into forgetfulness whilst conversing with you."
"I shall certainly see you again as soon as possible," replied Amanda.
Miss Rushbrook then quitted the carriage, which Amanda ordered back to
town, and bid the coachman drive as fast as possible. They had not
proceeded far, when the traces suddenly gave way, and the man was
obliged to dismount, and procure assistance from a public-house on the
road, in repairing them. This occasioned a delay, which greatly
distressed Amanda. She wished to get home before the ladies, lest, if
this was not the case, her long absence should make Lady Greystock, who
was remarkably inquisitive, inquire the reason of it; and to tell her
she had a strong objection, convinced, as she was, that her ladyship's
knowing she relieved objects so extremely disagreeable to her, would
occasion a quarrel between them, which would either render a longer
residence together impossible or highly disagreeable. And to leave
London at the present crisis, when everything relative to Lord Mortimer
was drawing to a conclusion, was not to be thought of without the
greatest pain.
At length the coachman remounted his box, and the velocity with which he
drove, flattered her with the hope of reaching home as soon as she
wished. Tranquillized by this hope, she again indulged her imagination
with ideas of the comfort her little bounty had probably given Rushbrook
and his dejected family. So sweet to her soul was the secret approbation
which crowned her charity; so preferable to any pleasure she could have
experienced at a ball, that even the disappointment she believed Lord
Mortimer would feel from her declining it, was overlooked in the
satisfaction she felt from the action she had performed. She was
convinced he would inquire her reason for not going, which she
determined at present to conceal. It would appear like ostentation, she
thought, to say that the money requisite for her appearance at the ball
was expended in charity, and perhaps excite his generosity in a manner
which delicacy at present forbade her allowing.
She asked the footman who handed her from the carriage whether the
ladies were returned; and on being answered in the affirmative, inquired
the hour, and learned it was just dinner time. Flurried by this
intelligence she hastened to her chamber, followed by the maid appointed
to attend her, who said Lady Greystock had inquired for her as soon as
she came home. Amanda dressed herself with unusual expedition, and
repaired to the drawing-room, where, in addition to the family party,
she found Lord Mortimer, Freelove, Miss Malcolm, and some other ladies
and gentlemen assembled.
"Bless me, child," said Lady Greystock the moment she entered the room,
"where have you been the whole day?" "I declare, Miss Fitzalan,"
exclaimed Lady Euphrasia, "I believe you stole a march somewhere upon us
this morning." "Well," cried Miss Malcolm, laughing, "your ladyship
must know that people generally have some important reason for stolen
marches which they do not choose to divulge."
Amanda treated this malicious insinuation with the silent contempt it
merited; and on Lady Greystock's again asking her where she had been,
said, in a low hesitating voice, "in the city."
"In the city!" repeated Lord Mortimer.
This sudden exclamation startled her. She looked at him, and perceived
him regarding her with the most scrutinizing earnestness. She blushed
deeply, as if detected in a falsehood, and immediately bent her eyes to
the ground.
The conversation now changed, but it was sometime ere Amanda's confusion
subsided.
Lord Mortimer, indeed, had a reason for his exclamation she little
thought of. He had met the marchioness and her companions, by
appointment, at the auction, but soon grew weary of his situation, which
the presence of Amanda could alone have rendered tolerable. He pleaded
business as an excuse for withdrawing, and hurrying home, ordered his
phaeton, and proceeded towards Kensington. As he passed the coach in
which Amanda sat, at the time the traces were mending, he carelessly
looked into it, and directly recognized her. Lady Euphrasia had informed
him she excused herself from their party on account of some business in
the city. He never heard of her having any acquaintance in or about
Kensington, and was at once alarmed and surprised by discovering her. He
drove to some distance from the carriage, and as soon as it began to
move, pursued it with equal velocity till it reached town, and then
giving his phaeton in charge to the servant, followed it on foot, till
he saw Amanda alight from it at the Marquis of Roslin's. Amanda had
escaped seeing his lordship by a profound meditation in which she was
engaged at the moment, as she pensively leaned against the side of the
coach. Lord Mortimer walked back with increased disorder to meet his
phaeton. As he approached it, he saw Colonel Belgrave by it, on
horseback, admiring the horses, which were remarkably fine, and asking
to whom they belonged. His acquaintance with the colonel had hitherto
never exceeded more than a passing bow. Now prompted by an irresistible
impulse, he saluted him familiarly; inquired "whether he had had a
pleasant ride that morning, and how far he had been." "No farther than
Kensington," replied the colonel.
This answer was confirmation strong to all the fears of Lord Mortimer.
He turned pale, dropped the reins which he had taken, with an intention
of remounting, and, without even noticing the colonel, flew from the
place, and arrived at home almost in a state of distraction. He was
engaged to dine at the Marquis's, but in the first violence of his
feelings, resolved on sending an apology. Ere the servant, however,
summoned for that purpose had entered his apartment, he changed his
resolution. "I will go," said he: "though appearances are against her,
she may, perhaps," (and he tried to derive some comfort from the idea,)
"be able satisfactorily to account for her being at Kensington."
Tortured by conflicting passions, alternately hoping and doubting, he
arrived at Portman Square.
Lady Greystock and Lady Euphrasia dwelt with wonder on the length of
Amanda's morning excursion. When she entered the room, he thought she
appeared embarrassed; and that, on Lady Greystock's addressing her, this
embarrassment increased. But when she said she had been in the city, her
duplicity, as he termed it, appeared so monstrous to him, that he could
not forbear an involuntary repetition of her words. So great, indeed,
was the indignation it excited in his breast, that he could scarcely
forbear reproaching her as the destroyer of his and her own felicity.
Her blush appeared to him, not the ingenuous coloring of innocence, but
the glow of shame and guilt. It was evident to him that she had seen
Belgrave that morning; that he was the occasion of all the mystery which
had appeared in her conduct, and that it was the knowledge of the
improper influence he had over her heart which made Sir Charles Bingley
so suddenly resign her.
"Gracious Heaven!" said he to himself, "who, that looked upon Amanda,
could ever suppose duplicity harbored in her breast? Yet that too surely
it is, I have every reason to suppose. Yet a little longer I will bear a
torturing state of suspense, nor reveal my doubts till thoroughly
convinced they are well founded."
He sat opposite to her at dinner, and his eyes were directed towards her
with that tender sadness which we feel on viewing a beloved object we
know ourselves on the point of losing forever.
His melancholy was quickly perceived by the penetrating marchioness and
Lady Euphrasia. They saw, with delight, that the poison of suspicion,
infused into his mind, was already beginning to operate. They
anticipated the success of all their schemes. Their spirits grew
uncommonly elevated; and Lady Euphrasia determined, whenever she had the
power, to revenge, on the susceptible nature of Mortimer, all the
uneasiness he had made her suffer, and to add, as far as malice could
add to it, to the misery about to be the lot of Amanda.
The dejection of Lord Mortimer was also observed by Amanda. It excited
her fears and affected her sensibility. She dreaded that his aunt had
refused complying with his request relative to her interference with his
father, or that the earl had been urging him to an immediate union with
Lady Euphrasia. Perhaps he now wavered between love and duty. The
thought struck a cold damp upon her heart. Yet no, cried she, it cannot
be; if inclined to change, Lord Mortimer would at once have informed me.
In the evening there was a large addition to the party; but Lord
Mortimer sat pensively apart from the company. Amanda, by chance,
procured a seat next his. His paleness alarmed her, and she could not
forbear hinting her fears that he was ill.
"I am ill, indeed," sighed he, heavily. He looked at her as he spoke,
and beheld her regarding him with the most exquisite tenderness. But the
period was past for receiving delight from such an appearance of
affection: an affection, he had reason to believe was never more than
feigned for him; and, also, from his emotions when with her, that he
should never cease regretting the deception. His passions, exhausted by
their own violence, had sunk into a calm, and sadness was the
predominant feeling of his soul. Though he so bitterly lamented, he
could not, at the moment, have reproached her perfidy. He gazed on her
with mournful tenderness, and to the involuntary expression of regret,
which dropped from her on hearing he was ill, only replied, by saying,
"Ah! Amanda, the man that really excites your tenderness must be happy."
Amanda, unconscious that any sinister meaning lurked beneath these
words, considered them as an acknowledgment of the happiness he himself
experienced from being convinced of her regard, and her heart swelled
with pleasure at the idea.
Any further conversation between them was interrupted by Miss Malcolm,
who, in a laughing manner, seated herself by Lord Mortimer, to rally
him, as she said, into good spirits.