When I arrived in the nursery I found I was not wanted. I therefore
retired to my own apartment, where I gave way to a violent burst of
tears. I had scarcely recovered myself, and had bathed my eyes again and
again in rose water, when my husband entered the room.
He had witnessed my emotion, and he could not be easy without coming to
inquire after me, on pretence that the child's cry had alarmed him.
This affectionate attention was not lost upon me, and I went down stairs
with him with restored spirits, and in perfect composure.
My mother, who had walked to her own house, was only just entering the
door as we appeared; therefore Lord Charles had been left alone; and
whether he thought this an affront to his dignity or not, I cannot tell;
but we did not find him in a more amiable mood than when we left him.
After looking at me very earnestly, while sipping his coffee, he came
close up to me, and said, resuming his most affected tone, "Pray! what
eye-water do you use?"
"Rose water only," was my reply.
"Very bad, 'pon honour; I must send you some of mine, as you are a
person of exquisite sensibility, and I fancy it is likely to be tried.
Upon my word, it took me a week to compose it; and as I occasionally
read novels, and the _Tete-a-tete Magazine_, (which is, you know,
exceedingly affecting), I use it continually in order to preserve the
lustre of my eyes; and you see that in spite of my acute feelings they
retain all their pristine brilliancy."
As he said this, neither Pendarves nor myself, though provoked at his
noticing my swelled eyes, could retain our gravity; for the eyes, which
he had thus opened to their utmost extent, were of that description
known by the name of boiled gooseberries, and were really dead eyes,
except when the rays of satirical intelligence forced themselves through
them: for the sake of exciting a laugh, he had now dismissed from them
every trace of meaning, and consequently every tint of colour.
His purpose effected, he resumed his sarcastic expression; and turning
from me with a look full of sarcastic meaning, he said, "Ah! _comme de
coutume_--after tragedy comes farce."
My mother now asked him whether he had ever seen her house and garden;
and on his answering in the negative, she challenged him to take a walk
with her.
"I never," replied he, bowing very low, "refused the challenge of a fine
woman in my life; and till my horses come round, I am at your service,
madam." Then, hiding his real chagrin under a thousand impertinent
grimaces, he followed my mother.
"I would give something to hear their conversation," said Pendarves,
thoughtfully.
"And so would I: no doubt it will be monitory on her part."
"Monitory! What for?"
"If you do not know, I am sure I shall not tell you."
And with an expression of conscious embarrassment on his countenance,
my husband asked me to walk with him round the shrubbery.
My mother and Lord Charles did not return till the carriage was driving
up. We examined their countenances with a very scrutinizing eye; but on
my mother's all we could distinguish was her usual expression of placid
and dignified intelligence; that of Lord Charles exhibited its usual
_cattish_ and alarming look.
What had passed, therefore, we could not guess; but we saw very clearly,
that we should not be justified in joking on the subject of their
_tete-a-tete_; and simply saying that it was beyond the time fixed for
his departure, Lord Charles now respectfully kissed my hand, and told
Pendarves he hoped he should soon see him in London. He then left the
room without taking the smallest notice of my mother, and was driving
off before my husband could ask him a reason of conduct so strange.
"Pray, madam," said Pendarves, when he returned into the room, "did Lord
Charles take leave of you?"
"He did not."
"Then I solemnly declare that before we ever meet again he shall give me
a sufficient reason for his impertinence, or apologize to you; for there
lives not the being who shall dare, while I live, to affront you with
impunity."
"My dear, dear son," cried my mother, "look not so like, so _very_
like--"
Here her voice failed her, and she leant on Seymour's shoulder, while he
affectionately embraced her. Dear to my heart were any tokens of love
which passed between my mother and my husband.
Seymour's strong likeness to my father in moments of great excitement
always affected her thus, and endeared him to her.
When my mother recovered herself, she desired Pendarves would remain
quiet, and not trouble himself to revenge her quarrels.
"Indeed," said she, "I am much flattered, and not affronted, by the
rudeness of Lord Charles, as it proves that what I said to him gave him
the pain which I intended. The wound therefore will rankle for some
time, and produce a good effect. Nor should I be surprised if he were to
send me a letter of apology in a day or two; for, if I read him aright,
he has understanding enough to value the good opinion of a respectable
woman, and would rather be on amicable terms with me than not."
"I hope you are right," replied Pendarves; "for I do not wish to quarrel
with him: yet I will never own as my friend the man who fails in respect
to you."
"I thank you, my dear son," said my mother with great feeling, and the
evening passed in the most delightful and intimate communion. Nor I
really believe, were Charlotte Jermyn or Lord Charles again remembered.
So true is it, that when the tide of family affection runs smooth and
unbroken, it bears the bark of happiness securely on its bosom.
Shortly after Lord Charles's visit I was so unwell, that I was
forbidden to nurse my child any longer, and I had to endure the painful
trial of weaning and surrendering her to the bosom of another. But most
evils in this life, even to our mortal vision, are attended with a
counter-balancing good.
At this time it was the height of the gay season in London, and I saw
that my husband began to grow tired of home, and sigh for the busy
scenes of the metropolis, whither, had I been still a nurse, I could not
have accompanied him: but now, however unwilling I might be to leave my
infant, I felt that it must not interfere with the duty which I owed its
father; for my mother had often said, and my own observation confirmed
the truth of the saying, that alienation between husband and wife has
often originated in the woman's losing sight of the duty and attention
she owes the father of her children, in exclusive fondness and attention
to the children themselves, and she often warned me against falling into
this error.
She therefore highly approved my intention to leave my babe under her
care, and accompany Pendarves to London, where she well knew he was
exposed to temptations and to dangers against which my presence might
probably secure him.
"Yes: my child!" said she, as if thinking aloud, for I am sure she did
not intend to grieve me, "Yes, go with your husband while you can, and
have as few separate pleasures and divided hours as possible; for they
lead to divided hearts. But if you have a large family you will not be
able to leave home. Go therefore while you can, and while I am with
you, and turn me to account while I am still here to serve you. That
time I know will be short enough!"
It is not in the power of language to convey an adequate idea of the
agony with which I listened to these words. Never before had my mother
so pointedly alluded to her conviction that her health was decaying; and
if the idea of separation from her by a happy marriage was so painful to
my feelings, what must be the idea of that terrible and eternal
separation?
Pendarves came in in the midst of my distress and almost fiercely
demanded who had been so cruelly afflicting me, fearing, no doubt, that
I had heard something concerning him, and naturally enough conceiving
that no great grief could reach me, except through that or from him.
My mother gently replied, "She has been afflicting herself, foolish
child! I said, unwillingly I allow, what might have prepared her for an
unavoidable evil; but she chooses to fancy, poor thing! that I am not
mortal: yet, see here, Seymour!" As she said this she turned up her long
loose sleeves, and showed him her once fine arm fallen away
comparatively to nothing!
I never saw my husband much more affected: he seized that faded arm,
and, pressing it repeatedly to his lips, turned away and burst into
tears--then folding us in one embrace he faltered out, "My poor Helen!
Well indeed might I find you thus!" But my mother solemnly promised that
she would never so afflict me again.
In the midst of this scene a letter was brought to my mother. It was
from Lord Charles, and was so like the man, that I shall transcribe it.
"Madam,
"I doubt not but you were amazed, and probably offended, at my
quitting the house of your son-in-law without taking leave of
you, as you are not a woman likely to think my silence at the
moment of parting from you was to be attributed to the
tender passion which I had conceived for your beauty and
accomplishments. But, madam, if my silence was not attributable
to love, so neither was it caused by hate; and I beg leave, hat
in hand, and on bended knee, to explain whence my conduct
proceeded. In the first place, madam, you had given me a blow, a
stunning blow; and after a man has been stunned, he does not soon
recover himself sufficiently to know what he is about, and how he
ought to behave. In the next place, I endeavoured to remember how
the great Earl of Essex behaved when Queen Elizabeth gave him a
blow, or in other words a box on the ear (for blow I need not
tell a lady of your erudition is the _genus_, and box on the ear
the _species_). Now that noble Earl did not return the blow
(which I own I was very much inclined to do), but he departed in
silence from her presence, I believe; and so _I_ in imitation of
_him_ from yours. Methinks I hear you exclaim 'The little lord is
mad! I gave him no blow.' Not with your hand, I own; but with
your tongue, 'that unruly member,' as St. James so justly calls
it; you gave me a tingling blow on the cheek of my mind, which
it still feels, and for which perhaps it may be the better. It is
this consideration, and the belief that your motives were kind,
though your treatment was rough, and that you only meant, like
the bear in the fable, to guard me from a slight evil, though you
broke my head in doing it; it is this belief, I say, that now
throws me thus a suppliant at your feet, and makes me beg of you
to excuse all my rudeness, and all my faults, whether caused by
imitation of Lord Essex, or my own sinful propensities, and to
raise me up to receive not the kiss of peace, for to that I dare
not aspire, but to grasp and carry to my heart the white hand
tendered to me in token of forgiveness.
"I am, madam, with the liveliest esteem, and the deepest respect,
your obliged, though stricken servant,
"CHARLES FIREBRAND."
"Ridiculous person!" said my mother, when she had finished the letter,
giving it to me at the same time.
When I had read it, I asked her to tell us what she had said to him.
"And why," said Pendarves, "does he sign himself Charles Firebrand?"
"Oh! thereby hangs a tale," said my mother blushing, "which I, I assure
you, shall not tell: therefore ask me no questions. If ever Lord Charles
and I meet again, the white hand shall be tendered to him. Nay, perhaps
I shall answer his letter."
And so she did; but we never saw what she wrote: however, I am
convinced, that she had called him a firebrand, and reproved him for his
evident desire of making mischief between my husband and me. Nor can I
doubt but that the justice of her reproofs made them more stinging to
the heart of the offender, and that he felt at the time a degree of
unspeakable and unutterable resentment, on which his cooler judgment
made him feel it impolitic to act; for he had, as my mother said, too
much good sense not to value her acquaintance.
I must now return to Charlotte Jermyn. I forgot to say, that she wrote a
very fawning letter of thanks to me after her return home, thanking me
for my kindness to her, and hoping that I would send for her again
whenever she could be of any service to me. I have reason to think that
she also wrote more than once to my husband: but he never communicated
what she wrote to me; and I had the mortification to find how vainly I
had tried to give him those habits of openness and ingenuousness which
can alone render the nearest and tenderest ties productive of confidence
and happiness.
Now, after a silence of four months, she again wrote to me to inform me
that she was married to a young ensign in a marching regiment quartered
near her father's house; but as it was against her father's consent, she
had been forced to go to Gretna Green, and that her father, Mr. Jermyn,
continued inexorable.
This letter I communicated to my husband, who was, I found, already
acquainted with the circumstance, though he did not tell me by what
means he knew it. He also told me that her father has since assured her
of his forgiveness; but told her at the same time, that he could bestow
on her nothing else, as he had ten children, and a small income; and
that the young couple had nothing to live upon except the pay of an
ensign of foot.
"I am sure _I_ can do nothing for her," Pendarves added; "for my own
wants, or rather my expenses, are beyond my means."
"And were they not," answered I, "I do not feel that Charlotte Jermyn,
or rather Mrs. Saunders, has any claims on you."
"Still, I would not let her starve, if I could help it; but I cannot."
I did not like to ask whether she had applied to him to lend her money;
but I suspected that she had, and that he had refused: for soon after
I saw him receive a letter, which he read with an angry and flushed
countenance, and thrust into the fire, muttering as he did so,
"Confounded fool, insolent!"
I felt, however, that her visit to me, and the terms which we had been
upon, made it indispensable for me to give her a wedding gift, and I
sent her money instead of a present in consideration of her poverty,
desiring her to buy what she wanted most in remembrance of me. My letter
and its contents, much to the annoyance of us both, she answered in
person, bringing her husband with her; and they came with so evident
an intention of staying all night, spite of the coldness of their
reception, that we were forced to offer them a bed.
The next day, however, even their assurance was not proof against the
repelling power of our cold civility, and they departed, neither of us
prejudiced in favour of the husband, and leaving me disgusted by the
wife's forward behaviour to Pendarves.
I now, according to my mother's advice, proposed to Pendarves a visit to
London: but, to my great surprise, he seemed to have no relish for the
scheme; and telling me we would talk further about it, he dropped the
subject.
Most gladly should I have welcomed this unwillingness to go to London,
if I could have attributed it to a preference for home and for the
country; but I had no reason to do this, and I feared it proceeded only
from inability to meet the expenses of a London establishment, even for
a few weeks; and of this I was soon convinced.
I told you a few pages back, that I was so cruel as to rejoice in my
aunt's being rendered unable to write, by a violent inflammation in the
eyes; but as that did not deprive her of locomotion, most unexpectedly
one day, Mr. and Mrs. Pendarves drove up to my mother's door, and soon
after she accompanied them to our house. I was dressing when they
arrived, and I saw myself change even to alarming paleness when my
mother came up to announce them. I also saw she was as much disconcerted
as I was.
"Oh! if my dear uncle had but come alone," said she, "the visit would
have been delightful!" But, here we were interrupted by Pendarves, who
came in with "So, Helen! I suppose you know who is come. Oh! that one
could but transfer the disease from the eyes to the tongue, and bandage
that up instead of the former! What shall we do? For, probably, as she
can't use her eyes, she makes her tongue work double tide."
"Suppose," replied I, "we bribe our surgeon to assure her that entire
silence is the only cure for inflamed eyes?"
"The best thing we can do," observed my mother, "is to bear with
fortitude this unavoidable evil; and also to try to remember her virtues
more than her faults."
When I went down, I found my mother admiring her beaver hat and
feathers.
"Yes," she replied, "I think my beaver very pretty. What is it the mad
poet says about 'my beaver?' Oh! I have it--
'When glory like a plume of feathers stood
Perched on my beaver in the briny flood.'"
"Do you then bathe in the sea with your beaver on?" said my mother.
"Well! there's a question for a sensible woman!" cried my aunt, not
seeing the sarcasm: then turning to me, she welcomed me with a cordial
kiss; but I was struck by the great coldness with which she greeted
Seymour.
My uncle, however, received us both with the kindest manner possible.
But I forgave all her oddness, when she saw my child; for praise of her
child always finds its way to a mother's heart; and she was in raptures
with its beauty. She pitied me too for being forced to give her up to
a nurse; but she added, "I hope she is not, to use the words of the
bard, a
'Stern rugged nurse, with rigid lore,
Our patience many a year to bore.'"
Then renewing her caresses and her praises, she banished from my
remembrance for a while all but her affectionate heart.
At dinner, however, she restored to me my fears of her, and my dislike
to her visit; for she called my husband Mr. Seymour Pendarves at every
word, though my mother she called Julia, and me Helen;--wishing, as I
saw, to point out to every one that _he_ was not in her good graces. But
why? Alas! I doubted not but I should hear too soon; and, feeling myself
a coward, I carefully avoided being alone with her that evening.
What she had to tell I knew not, and whether it regarded Charlotte
Jermyn or Lady Bell; but I summoned up resolution to ask Pendarves
whether he had ever visited Lady Bell Singleton in company with Lord
Charles; and without hesitation, though with great confusion, he owned
that he had.
"What! more than once?"
"Yes."
"Why did you not tell me of it?"
"Because I thought, after what you had heard, it might make you uneasy."
"Should you ever do," I replied, forcing a smile, "what in our relative
situation it would make me uneasy to be informed of?"
"Not if your uneasiness would be at all well founded."
"But concealment implies consciousness of something indiscreet, if not
wrong; and had you told me yourself of your visits to Lady Bell, I could
have set Mrs. Pendarves and her insinuations at defiance."
"And can you not now?"
"Perhaps so; but no thanks to your ingenuousness. However, I must own,"
said I, smiling affectionately, "that no one answers questions more
readily."
I had judged rightly in preparing myself for my encounter with Mrs.
Pendarves, as she took the first opportunity of telling me how much she
pitied me: for she had heard of the affair with the young lady who came
to nurse me in my lying in, which was of a piece with the renewal of
intercourse with Lady Bell Singleton. "But I assure you," she added,
"his uncle means to tell him a piece of his mind; and if he does not, I
will."
On hearing this I thought proper to laugh as well as I could; which
perfectly astonished my aunt, as I knew it would do, and she demanded
a reason of my ill-timed mirth. I told her that I laughed at her
mountain's having brought forth a mouse: for that the affair with the
young lady ended in her marrying a young ensign, soon after she left us,
for love, and that I had given her a wedding present; and that I knew
from Seymour himself that he visited Lady Bell Singleton: I therefore
begged she would keep her pity, and my uncle his advice, for those who
required them.
My mother entered the room at this moment, and I had great pleasure in
repeating to her what had passed: for I was glad to impress her with an
idea that my husband confided in me. I saw that I had succeeded.
"Mrs. Pendarves," said she, gravely, "I am sorry to find you are one of
those who act the part of an enemy while fancying you are performing
that of a friend. What good could you do my daughter by telling her of
her husband's errors, had the charge been a true one? Answer me that.
Surely, where 'ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise.'"
"But she could not be ignorant long--she must know it some time or
other, and it was better she should hear it from a sympathizing and
affectionate friend like me. However, I did not mean to be officious and
troublesome, and I am glad Mr. Seymour Pendarves is better than I
supposed he was."
"Madam," replied my mother, "Seymour, like other persons, is better,
much better than a gossiping world is willing to allow any one to be.
And it is hard indeed that a man's own relations should implicitly
believe and propagate what they hear against him."
"Take my advice, my dear little aunt, and always inquire before you
condemn; which advice is your due, in return for the large store of that
commodity which you are so willing to bestow on other people."
My aunt was silent a moment, as if considering whether in what was said
there was most of compliment, or most of reproof. Be that as it might,
she was too politic not to choose to believe there was much of compliment
implied in the mention made of her willingness to bestow advice. She
therefore looked pleased, declared her pleasure at finding all was well,
and that she found even the best authority was not always to be depended
upon. At dinner that day, to show, I conclude, that Seymour was restored
to her favour, she asked him to pay her a visit at their house in town;
but on my saying that I expected she would include me in the invitation,
as I wished to go to London, she turned round with great quickness and
exclaimed, "What! and leave your sweet babe?"
The censure which this abrupt question conveyed gave a sort of shock
to my feelings, and I could not answer her; but my mother instantly
replied, "My daughter's health requires a little change of scene, and
surely she can venture to intrust her infant to my care."
"Oh, yes! but how can she bear to leave it?"
"The trial will be great, I own," said I; "but I am not yet so very a
mother as to forget I am a wife; and as I must either leave my child, or
give up accompanying my husband, of the two evils I prefer the first."
"Oh! true, true, I never thought of that," was her sage reply; "and you
are right, my dear, quite right, as husbands are, to go to take care of
yours; and I advise you to keep a sharp look-out--for there are hawks
abroad."
"Hawks!" said my uncle smiling, "turtle doves more likely; and they are
the most dangerous bird of the two."
This observation gave Pendarves time to recover the confusion his aunt's
speech had occasioned him, and he told me he was much amused to see that
I had positively arranged a journey to London for him and for myself,
without his having ever expressed an intention of going at all.
"But I knew you wished to go, and I thought it was your kind reluctance
to ask me to leave my child which alone prevented your expressing your
wishes."
"Indeed, Helen, you are right: I never should have thought of asking you
to leave your child; and I own I am flattered to find I am still dearer
to you than she is: therefore, if my uncle and aunt will be troubled
with us, I shall be very happy to visit London as their guest."
"Is it possible," cried I, "that you can think of going any where but to
a lodging?"
"Is it possible," cried Mrs. Pendarves, "that you can prefer a lodging
to being the guest of your uncle and aunt?"
"To being the guest even of a father and mother; for when one has much
to see in a little time, there is nothing like the liberty and
convenience of a lodging."
"Well, well, Helen," said Pendarves, rather impatiently, "that may be;
but _this year_, if you please, we will go to Stratford Place."
I said no more, and it was settled that we should follow my uncle and
aunt to town, and take up our residence with them. But the next day
my mother, who thought the plan as foolish and disagreeable as I did,
desired me to find out, if I could, why my husband consented to be the
guest of a woman whose society was so offensive to him: "And if," said
she, "it is because he cannot afford to take lodgings, you may tell
him, that I have both means and inclination to answer all the necessary
demands; and moreover I have a legacy of L2000 untouched, which I have
always meant to give you, Helen, on the birth of your first child; and
that also is at your service."
I shall pass over my feelings on this occasion, and my expression of
them. Suffice that my husband owned his "poverty, and not his will,
consented" to his acceptance of our relation's offer; and that he
thankfully received my mother's bounty. The legacy, however, he resolved
to secure to me, as my own property, and so tied up that he could not
touch it. We found, however, that we must spend part of our time with my
uncle and aunt; but at the end of ten days we removed to lodgings near
them.
I was soon sensible of the difference between the present time in London
and the past. I found that Pendarves, though his manner was as kind as
ever, used to accept in succession engagements in which I had no share;
and if it had not been for the society of Mr. and Mrs. Ridley, and my
uncle and aunt, I should have been much alone; and have pined after my
child and mother even more than I did. Still ardently indeed did I long
to return home; and had I not believed I was at the post of duty, I
should have urged my husband to let me go home without him.
Lord Charles was frequently with us, and, had I chosen it, would
have been my escort every where: but I still distrusted him; and I
suspect that it was in revenge he so often procured Pendarves dinner
invitations, from which he rarely returned till day-light; and once he
was evidently in such low spirits, that I was sure he had been at play,
and had lost every thing.
We had now been several weeks in London, and I grew very uneasy at
my prolonged separation from my child, and at my mother's evidently
declining health--besides having reason to think that my husband would
have enjoyed London more without me; for Lord Charles took care to
tell me often, that had I not been with him, Pendarves would have gone
thither; always adding, "So you see what a tame domestic animal you have
made of him, and what a tractable obedient husband he is." There is
perhaps nothing more insiduous and pernicious, than to tell a proud man
that he is governed by a wife, or a mistress, provided he has great
conscious weakness of character; and Lord Charles knew that was the case
with Pendarves. And I am very sure that he accepted many invitations
which he would otherwise have declined, because his insiduous friend
reproached him with being afraid of me.
Ranelagh was still the fashion, and my husband had still a pride in
showing me in its circles; but even there I was sensible of a change. He
now was not unwilling to resign the care of me to other men, while he
went to pay his compliments to dashing women of fashion, and give them
the arm once exclusively mine. Still, these occasional neglects were
too trifling to excite my fears or my jealousy, and I expected, when we
returned to our country home, that it would be with unclouded prospects.
But while I dreamt of perpetual sunshine, the storm was gathering which
was to cloud my hours in sorrow.
I had vainly expected a letter from my mother for two days,--and she
usually wrote every day,--a circumstance which had depressed my spirits
in a very unusual manner; and I was consequently little prepared to bear
with fortitude the abrupt entrance of my husband in a state of great
agitation: but pale and trembling I awaited the painful communication
which I saw he was about to make.
"Helen!" cried he, "if you will not or cannot assist me, I am likely to
be arrested every moment."
"Arrested! What for?" cried I, relieved beyond measure at hearing it was
a distress which money could remove.
"Aye, Helen, dearest creature! There is the pang--for a debt so weakly
contracted!"
"Oh! a gaming debt to Lord Charles, I suppose?"
"No, no, would it were!--though I own that way also I have been very
culpable."
"Keep me no longer in suspense, I conjure you."
"Why you know what a rash marriage that silly girl Charlotte Jermyn
made."
"Go on."
"Well--her husband was forced to sell his commission to pay his debts:
but that was not sufficient; and to save him from a jail, I had the
folly to be bound for him in no less a sum than several hundreds."
"But who asked you? Are they in London?"
"They were."
"And you saw them?"
"Yes."
"Why did you not tell me they were here?"
"Because they were persons with whom I did not choose my wife to
associate."
"Were they fit associates for you then?" was on my tongue, but I
suppressed it; for mistaken indeed is the wife who thinks reproach can
ever do ought but alienate the object of it.
"But did you often visit them? and what made them presume to apply to
you?"
"Necessity. She wrote to me again and again, and she way-laid me
too--what could I do? I was never proof against a woman's tears--and I
was bound for him."
"Well, and what then?"
"Why, the rascal is gone off, and left his wife without a farthing, to
maintain herself as she can."
"Is she in London?" cried I, turning very faint.
"No, at Dover; but, as soon as it is known that he is off, I expect to
be arrested for the money; and for me to raise it is impossible; but
you, Helen--"
"Yes, yes--I understand you," I replied, speaking with great difficulty:
"the legacy--I will drive instantly to the bankers--and take it, take
it all, if you wish."
Here my voice and even my eye-sight totally failed me, and almost my
intellects; but I neither fell nor fainted.--Miserable suspicions and
certain anxiety came over me, and in one moment life seemed converted
into a dreary void. My situation alarmed Pendarves almost to phrensy. He
rung for the servants, sent for the nearest surgeon, without my being
able to oppose any thing he ordered--for I could not speak: and I was
carried to my room, and even bled, before I had the power of uttering a
word.
"The lady has undergone a violent shock," said the surgeon; and the
conscience-stricken Seymour ran out of the room in an agony too mighty
for expression.
I was now forced to swallow some strong nervous medicine; and at length,
feeling myself able to speak again, I ejaculated "Thank God!" and fell
into a passion of tears, which considerably relieved me.
My kind but officious maid had meanwhile sent for Mrs. Pendarves, who
eagerly demanded the original cause of my seizure.
"Dearest Helen, do you tell your aunt," said Seymour, "how it was."
"I had been fretting for two days," I replied, "on account of my
mother's silence; and while I was talking to Seymour, this violent
hysterical seizure came over me. Indeed, I had experienced all
the morning, my love, previous to your coming in, a most unusual
depression." This statement, though true, was I own deceptive; but I
could not tell all the truth without exposing my husband.--Oh! how
fondly did his eyes thank me! My aunt was satisfied; she insisted on
sitting by my bedside while I slept,--for an anodyne was given me,--and
I consented to receive her offered kindness. Nay, I must own that, in
the conscious desolation of my heart at that moment, I felt strangely
soothed by expressions of kindness, and was covetous of those endearments
from her which before I had wished to avoid. But my hand now returned
and courted the affectionate pressure of hers; and I seemed to cling to
her as a friend who, if she knew all, would have sorrowed over me like a
mother; and while sleep was consciously stealing over me, I was pleased
to know that she was watching beside my pillow.
I had forbidden Pendarves to come near me, because the sight of his
distress prevented my recovery, and perfect quiet was enjoined.
But, when I was asleep he would not be kept from the bedside; and he
betrayed so much deep feeling, and exhibited so much affection for
me, that when I woke, and desired to rise and dress, as I was quite
recovered, my aunt was lavish in his praise, and declared she was now
convinced he was the best of husbands.
Pendarves would fain have staid at home with me that day; but I insisted
on his going out, as I thought it would be better for us both; and I
told him with truth I preferred his aunt's company to his. Our next
meeting alone was truly painful; for we could neither of us advert to
my excessive emotion. He could not explain away its cause, nor could I
name it: but he, though silent, was affectionate and attentive, and I
tried to force my too busy fancy to dwell only on what I knew and saw,
and not to fly off to sources of disquiet, which spite of appearances
might really not exist.
The next morning, as soon as breakfast was over, we drove to the
banker's, resumed the whole of the deposit, and I insisted that
Pendarves should accept it all. This he was very unwilling to do--but I
was firm, and my mind was tranquillized by his consenting at last to my
desire. Yet, I think I was not foolish enough to suppose I could buy his
constancy.
One thing which I said to him I instantly repented. I asked him whether
Mrs. Saunders was likely to remove to London. He said, he did not know:
"But if she does, what then? O Helen! can you suppose I will ever see
her now?" he added.
"And why not?" thought I, when he quitted me--"If it was ever proper
to see her, why not now? And why should I seem to be accusing him, by
appearing solicitous to know whether he would see her or not?"
Alas! his reply only served to make me more wretched; but, fortunately I
may say, my mother's continued silence made a sort of diversion to my
thoughts, and substituted tender for bitter anxiety.
That very day the demand was made on my husband by the creditor of
Saunders, and while he was gone out with this man on business in bustled
my kind but mischievous aunt.
"How are you to-day," said she, "my poor child? but I see how you
are--sitting like patience on a monument, smiling with grief!"
"With grief! dear aunt?"
"Yes: for do you think I do not know all? Oh, the wicked man!"
"Whom, madam, do you call wicked?"
"Your husband, child: has he not been keeping up an acquaintance with
that girl, who married? and has he not been bound for her husband? and
is not the man run away, and he liable to be arrested for the debt? and
where he can get the money to pay it I can't guess--I am sure my Mr.
Pendarves will not pay it. Nay, _I_ know 'tis all, all true--my maid,
I find, met him walking in the park with her, and the creditor is my
maid's brother."
Here she paused exhausted with her own vehemence; and I replied, "I am
sorry, madam, that you listen to tales told you by your servant: I am
also sorry that a transaction which though rash was kind, is known to
more persons than my husband and me. I know as well as you that Pendarves
visited at Mrs. Saunders's lodgings, and he was very likely seen in the
park with her. To the money transaction I am also privy, and I assure
you my Mr. Pendarves need not apply to yours on this or, I trust, on any
occasion; for the creditor has been here, and he is paid by this time."
"Then he must have borrowed the money, for I know he has lost a great
deal lately."
"Mrs. Pendarves," said I, rising with great agitation, "I will not
allow you to speak thus of the husband whom I love and honour. I tell
you that he has paid the creditor with his _own_ money; and if you
persist in a conversation so offensive to me, I will quit the room."
"How! this to me? Do you consider who I am--and our relationship?"
"You are the wife of my great uncle, madam, no more; and were you even
my mother, I would not sit and listen tamely to aspersions of my
husband, and I must desire that our conversations on this subject may
end here."
I believe there is nothing more formidable while it lasts, than the
violence of those who are habitually mild--because surprise throws the
persons who are attacked off their guard; and it also magnifies to them
the degree of violence used.
The poor little woman was not only awed into silence, but affected unto
tears; and I was really obliged to sooth her into calmness, declaring
that I was sure she meant well, and that I had never doubted the
goodness of her heart.
The next day brought the long expected letter from my mother; and its
contents made all that I had yet endured light, in comparison; for they
alarmed me for the life of my child! She was, however, declared out of
danger for the present, when my mother wrote.
It is almost needless to add, that as soon as horses could be procured,
Pendarves and I were on the road home.
I must pass rapidly over this part of my narrative. Suffice, that she
vacillated between life and death for three months; that then she was
better, and my husband left me to join Lord Charles at Tunbridge Wells,
whither he had been ordered for his health; that he had not been gone a
fortnight, when her worst symptoms returned, and my mother wrote to him
as follows:
"Come instantly, if you wish to see your child alive, and
preserve the senses of your wife! When all is over, your presence
alone can, I believe, save her from distraction.
J. P."
He instantly set off for home, and arrived at a moment when I could be
alive to the joy of seeing him; for my child had just been pronounced
better! But what a betterness! For six weeks longer, watched by us
all day and all night with never-failing love, it lingered on and on,
endeared to us every day the more, in proportion as it became more
helpless, and we more void of hope, till I was doomed to see its last
faint breath expire, and----no more on this subject--
* * * * *
I believe my mother was right; I believe that, dearly as I loved her,
her presence alone would not have kept my grief within the bounds of
reason: but the presence of him whose grief was on a par with mine, of
him whom love and duty equally bade me exert myself to console, had
indeed a salutary effect on me; and it at length became a source of
comfort to reflect, that the object of our united regrets was mercifully
removed from a state of severe suffering, and probably from evils to
come. But my progress towards recovered tranquillity bore no proportion
to Seymour's; for, when I was capable of reflection, I felt that in
losing my child I lost one of my strongest holds on the affection of my
husband. Consequently, the clearer my mind grew after the clouds of
grief dispersed, the more vividly was I sensible of my loss.
I also became conscious that the habitual dejection of my spirits, which
was pleasing to Seymour's feelings while his continued in unison with
mine, would become distasteful, and make his home disagreeable, as soon
as he was recovering his usual cheerfulness. Still, I could not shake it
off--and by my mother's advice I urged him to renew his visit to Lord
Charles, who was still an invalid.
To Tunbridge Wells he therefore again went, leaving me to indulge
unrestrained that pernicious grief which even his presence had not
controuled, and also to impair both my health and my person in a degree
which it might be difficult ever to restore.
When Pendarves returned, which he did at the end of six weeks, during
which time he had written in raptures of the new acquaintances which he
had formed at the Wells, he was filled with pain and mortification at
sight of my pale cheek, meagre form, and neglected dress.
What a contrast was I to the women whom he had left! And even his
affectionate disposition and fine temper were not proof, after the first
ebullitions of tenderness had subsided, against my dowdy wretched
appearance, and my dejection of manner.
"Helen!" said he, "I cannot stand this--I must go away again, if you
persist to forget all that is due to the living, in regard for the dead.
I have not been accustomed lately to pale cheeks, meagre forms, and
dismal faces. I love home, and I love you; but neither my home nor you
are now recognisable."
I was wounded, but reproved and amended: I felt the justice of what he
said, and resolved to do my duty.
Soon after he told me he was going away again; and on my mother's gently
reproaching him for leaving me so much, he replied that he could not
bear to witness my altered looks, and to listen to my mournful voice.
While Pendarves was gone, I resolved to renew my long neglected
pursuits. I played on the guitar; I resumed my drawing, and sometimes I
tried to sing: but that exertion I found at present beyond my powers.
After three weeks had elapsed, Seymour wrote me word that he was
about to return from the Wells with some new friends of his, who were
coming to the mansion within four miles of us, which had been so long
uninhabited, called Oswald Lodge. He said he should arrive there very
late on the Saturday night; but that after attending church on the
Sunday to hear a new curate preach, whom they were to bring with them,
he should return home.
I was mortified I own to think that he could stop, after so long an
absence, within four miles of home; but I felt that I had lately made so
few efforts for his sake, that I had no right to expect he would pay me
an attention like this. But to repine or look back was equally vain and
weak; and I resolved to act, in order to make amends for what I could
not but consider an indolent indulgence of my own selfishness, however
disguised to me under the name of sensibility, at the expense of my
husband's happiness. And as six months had now elapsed since the death
of my child, I resolved to throw off my mourning, and make the house and
myself look as cheerful as they were wont to do.
I also resolved to meet him at the church, which was common to the
parish whence he would come, and ours also, and not to sit, as I had
lately done, in a pew whence I could steal in and out unseen; but walk
up the aisle, and sit in my own seat, where I could see and be seen of
others.
My mother meanwhile observed in joyful silence all my proceedings; and
when she saw me stop at the door in the carriage on the Sunday morning,
dressed in white, with a muslin bonnet, and pelisse, lined with full
pink, and a countenance which was in a measure at least cheerful, she
embraced me with the warmest affection, and said she hoped she should
now see her own child again.
Spite, however, of my well-motived exertions, my nerves were a little
fluttered when I recollected that I was going to encounter the
scrutinizing observation of Seymour's new friends, who, if arrived,
would no doubt, from the situation of the pew, see me during my
progress to mine, which was opposite. They were arrived before me;
for I saw white and coloured feathers nodding at a distance: but I
remembered it was not in the temple of the Most High that fear of man
ought to be felt, and I followed my mother up the aisle with my
accustomed composure.
Oh! how I longed to see whether my husband was with the party! but I
forebore to seek the creature till the dues to the Creator were paid. I
then looked towards the opposite pew; but soon withdrew my eyes again:
for I saw my husband listening with an animated countenance to what a
gentleman was saying to him, who was gazing on me with an expression of
great admiration. I therefore only exchanged a glance of affectionate
welcome with Pendarves, and tried to remember him and his companions no
more.
When service was ended Seymour eagerly left his seat, and coming into
mine proposed to introduce me to his friends; "for now," said he in a
low voice, "I again see the wife I am proud of." I smiled assent, and a
formal introduction took place.
The party consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Oswald, who after a long residence
abroad were come to live on their estate, and resume those habits of
extravagance, the effects of which they had gone abroad to recover; of a
Lord Martindale, the gentleman I had before observed; and of one or two
persons, a sort of hangers-on in the family, who ministered in some way
or other to the entertainment of the host and hostess.
Mr. and Mrs. Oswald now politely urged my mother and myself to favour
them with our company at dinner, my husband having promised to return to
them by five o'clock; but we declined it, and Seymour attended us home.
Seymour expressed more by his looks than his words the pleasure my
change of dress and countenance had occasioned him; for he was too
delicate to expatiate on what must recall to my mind only too forcibly
the cause of the difference which he had deplored: but when he rejoiced
over my recovered bloom, and _embonpoint_, I reminded him that my bloom
was caused by my lining, and my seeming plumpness by my pelisse. This
was only too true. Still I was, he saw, disposed to be all he wished
me; and when we reached our house, and he beheld baskets of flowers
in all the rooms, as usual; when he beheld the light of day allowed to
penetrate into every apartment, except where the sun was too powerful;
when he saw my guitar had been moved from its obscurity, and that my
portfolio seemed full of drawings; he folded my still thin form with
fondness to his heart, and declared that he now felt himself quite a
happy man again. Nor would he leave me, to dine at Oswald Lodge; and
he sent an excuse, but promised to call there on the morrow and take
me with him. The next day he summoned me to get ready to fulfil his
promise, and I obeyed him, but with reluctance; for I felt already sure
that I should not like these new friends.
In Lord Martindale I already saw an audacious man of the world; and
those spendthrift Oswalds, those beings who seemed to think they came
into life merely to amuse it away, did not seem at all suited to my
taste or principles, and were certain to be dangerous to a man of
Seymour's tendency to expense.
On our way thither I asked if Lord Martindale was married; and with a
cheek which glowed with emotion he replied, "Married! Oh yes! did I not
mention Lady Martindale to you? How strange!" But I did not think it so,
when I heard him descant on her various attractions and talents with an
eloquence which was by no means pleasing to me.
"Indeed," said I, sighing as I spoke, "I feel it a great compliment,
that you preferred staying with your faded wife to dining with this
brilliant beauty."
"Brilliant beauty! dear girl! In beauty she is not to be compared to
you. She is certainly ten years older, and never was a beauty in her
life. She has very fine eyes, fine teeth, fine hair, and a little
round, perfectly formed person: _au reste_, she is sallow, and, when
not animated, plain: in her expression, her endless variety, her
gracefulness, and her vivacity, lies her great charm. Altogether _c'est
une petite personne des plus piquantes_; and with even more than the
usual attraction of her countrywomen."
"Is she French then?"
"Yes: she was well born, but poor; and her great powers of fascination
led Lord Martindale, who was living abroad, to marry her, in spite of
his embarrassed fortune. They came over in the same ship with the
Oswalds, and thence the intimacy."
By this time we had reached Oswald Lodge, and were ushered through a
hall redolent with sweets to the morning room, where we found Mrs.
Oswald, splendidly attired, stringing coral beads, and the gentlemen
reading the papers. If there ever was a complete contrast in nature,
it was my appearance and that of Mrs. Oswald. Figure to yourself the
greeting between a woman of my great height, excessive meagreness, and
long neck, and one not exceeding five feet, with legs making up in
thickness for what they wanted in length, with a short neck buried
in fat, and the rest of her form of suitable dimensions, while the
dropsical appearance of her person did not however impede a short and
quick waddling walk. Figure to yourself also, a fair, fat, flat face,
full of good humour, and betokening a heart a stranger to care, and then
call to mind my different style of features, complexion, and expression,
particularly at that melancholy period of my life.
"What a fine caricature we should make!" thought I; and it required all
my dislike to employ the talent for caricature which I possessed, to
prevent my drawing her and myself when I went home. But I was ashamed of
the satirical manner in which I regarded her, when she welcomed me
with such genuine kindness; and ill befall the being whom welcome and
courtesy cannot disarm of even habitual sarcasm! Mr. Oswald was as
courteous and kind as his wife, and Lord Martindale looked even more
soft meanings than he uttered--adding, "When I saw you yesterday, Mrs.
Pendarves, I did not expect to see Mr. Pendarves return to us to
dinner. Nay, if he had, I never could have forgiven him."
"My lord," cried Oswald, "I did not expect him for another reason,
though I admit the full force of yours. He knew Lady Martindale was
too unwell to dine below, for I told him so myself; and 'my fair,
fat, and forty' here was not likely to draw him from 'metal more
attractive'"--bowing to me.
"So then," said I to myself, "his staying with me, for which I expressed
my thanks, was no compliment after all; and disingenuous as usual, he
did not tell me Lady Martindale would not be visible!" I am ashamed to
own how this little incident disconcerted me. I had been flattered by
Seymour's staying at home, but now there was nothing in it. Oh! the
weakness of a woman that loves!
Seymour, who knew that I should be mortified, and he lowered in my eyes
by this discovery, was more embarrassed and awkward than I ever knew
him, in paying his respects and making his inquiries concerning the
health of Lady Martindale, and had just expressed his delight at
hearing she was recovered when the lady herself appeared: she paid her
compliments to me in a very easy and graceful manner, and expressed
herself much pleased to see the lady of whom her lord had raved ever
since he saw her; and I suspect her broken English gave what she said
much of its charm. At least I wished to think so then. I found Seymour
had painted her as she was, as to externals; whether he had been as
accurate a delineator of her mind and general manners, I was yet to
learn.
That she could dance, I had soon the means of discovering; for she
had a little French dog with her, which had been taught to dance to
a tune; and while Mrs. Oswald played a slow waltz, and then a jig, Lady
Martindale, on pretence of showing off the little dog, showed herself
off to the greatest possible advantage.--Whether she glided smoothly
along in graceful abandonment of the waltz measure, or whether she
sprung lightly on the "gay fantastic toe," her fine arms floated
gracefully on the air, and her beautiful feet moved with equal and as
becoming skill. When she had ended, she was repaid with universal bravos
and clapping of hands.
Nothing could exceed the grace with which she curtsied; and snatching
the dog under her arm, she went round the circle, extending her
beautiful hand to each of us, saying "_De grace! donnez des gateaux
a ma Fanchon:_"[1] and the plate of macaroons that stood near us was
immediately emptied before the little animal, who growled and ate, to
the great delight of his mistress, who knelt in an attitude _fait a
peindre_ beside him.
[Footnote 1: Pray give cakes to my Fanchon.]
I cannot express to you what I felt when I saw Seymour's eyes rivetted
on this woman of display. He watched her every movement, and seemed
indeed to feel she possessed _la grace plus belle encore que la
beaute_.[2] But who and what was she? A French woman, and well-born,
though poor.
[Footnote 2: Grace more beautiful still than beauty.]
Was it the quick-sightedness of jealousy, I wonder, or was it that women
read women better than men do, where their love or their vanity is
concerned, which made me suspect that she had been not only a _femme_ de
_talens_, but a _femme_ a _talens_, and that Lord Martindale had married
a woman who had been in public life? However, what did that matter to
me? Whatever she was, she possessed fascinations which I had not; she
had a power of amusing and interesting which I had never possessed; and
I feared that to him who could admire her I must soon cease to be an
object of love, though I might continue to be one of esteem. But did I
wish to please as she had been pleasing? Did I wish to be able to exhibit
my person in attitudes so alluring? Would it have been consistent with
the modest dignity of an English gentlewoman? Nay, would my husband have
liked to see me so exhibit in company? Notwithstanding, to charm, amuse
and fix his roving eye, and enliven our domestic scenes, I could not
help wishing that I could do all she did. But I could not do it, and
I feared her. We were asked to stay dinner, but we refused: however,
another day was fixed for our waiting on them, so the evil was only
delayed.
And what were we doing? and wherefore? We were entering into dinner
visits, and with a reduced income, with persons who lived in all the
luxuries of life, and of whom we knew nothing but that ten years before
they had been forced to run away from their creditors, and that the
chances were they would be forced to do so again. The wherefore was
still less satisfactory to me. We did it that my husband might amuse
away his hours; and, as I had reason to fear, forget in this stimulating
sort of company and diversions the anxieties and the unhappy feelings
which were in future likely to cling to him at home. For I was sure
he was involved in debts which he could not pay, and those who are
so involved are always forced to substitute constant amusement for
happiness. If they do not, they fly to intoxication; but agreeable
company and gay pursuits are the better intoxication, I own, of the two.
And was it come to this? Was my husband for ever unfitted for the
enjoyment of domestic comfort; and was I reduced to the cruel alternative
of seeing him abstracted and unhappy, or of parting with him to the
abode of the Syren? while I was sometimes forced to accompany him
thither, and witness his evident devotion to her, his forgetfulness
of me? Alas! such seemed to be my situation at that moment; but I was
resolved to talk with him seriously on the state of his affairs, and to
make any retrenchments, and offer any sacrifices, to remove from his
mind the burthen which oppressed it. But for some time, like most
persons so distressed, he was decidedly averse to talk on the subject,
and liked better to drive care away by pleasant society, than to meet
the evil though it was in order to remove it. In the meanwhile I went to
Oswald Lodge occasionally, and occasionally invited its owners and their
guests to our home, till the party there grew too large for our rooms to
receive them: and then I had an excuse for not accompanying my husband
often, in not having carriage horses, as I had prevailed on Pendarves to
drop that unnecessary expense. This produced urgent invitations to sleep
there; but that I never would do; and I would not consent to be with
these people on so intimate a footing, especially as I had not my
mother's countenance or presence to sanction it; she having resolutely
declined visiting them at all, as she disliked the manners and appearance,
as well as the mode of life, of the whole party. But she confirmed me in
my resolution never to seem to under-value, though I did not commend,
Lady Martindale, as she well knew my disapprobation would be imputed
to envy and jealousy even by Pendarves, and she advised me to endure
patiently what I could not prevent. Not that she for a moment suspected
that my husband was seriously alienated from me, and was acting a
dishonourable part towards Lord Martindale; but she could not be blind
to Seymour's long absences at Oswald Lodge, and his now passing nights
there, as well as days. But his pleasures were, for a little while at
least, put a stop to; for he received at length so many dunning letters,
that he was forced to unburthen his mind to me, and ask my aid if
possible to relieve his distresses. He positively, however, forbade me
to apply to my mother, and I was equally unwilling to let her know the
errors of my still beloved husband.
Yet what could I do for him? I could dismiss one, if not two
servants,--and he could sell another horse; but then money was wanted to
pay debts. There was therefore no alternative, but for me to prevail on
my trustees to give up some of my marriage settlement; and as I knew
that my mother's fortune must come to me and my children, if I had any,
I was very willing to relieve my husband from his embarrassments, by
raising for him the necessary supplies. Nor did I find my trustees very
unwilling to grant my request, and once more I believed my husband free
from debt. I also hoped my mother knew nothing of either the distress,
or the means of relief. But, alas! one of the trustees concluded our
uncle knew of these transactions, and was probably desirous to know
why he had, though a very rich man, allowed me to diminish my marriage
settlement, in order to pay debts which he could have paid without the
smallest inconvenience, as he had only two daughters, who were both well
married.
Accordingly he mentioned the subject to my astonished and indignant
uncle, who with his usual indiscretion revealed it to his wife.
The consequence was inevitable: she immediately wrote a letter of
lamentation to my mother, detailing the whole affair, adverting to the
other transaction concerning Saunders's debts, pointing out the great
probability there was that what every one said was true, namely, that
my husband had prevailed on Saunders to marry Charlotte Jermyn, and
therefore was bound in justice to assist him, and concluding with a
broad hint concerning his evident attachment to a Lady Martindale.
What a letter for a fond mother to receive! But to the money
transactions alone did she vouchsafe any credit; and relative to these
she demanded from me the most open confession, saying, "The rest of the
letter I treat with the contempt it deserves." I had no difficulty in
telling her every thing which related to the last transaction; but my
voice faltered, and my eye was downcast, when I described the other,
because I had never been entirely able to conquer some painful
suspicions of my own; and her quick eyes and penetrating mind soon
discovered, though she was too delicate to notice it, that in my own
heart I was not sure that all my aunt suspected was unjust. But if I
shrunk from the searching glance of her eyes, how was I affected when
she fixed them on me with looks of approving tenderness, and told me
with evidently suppressed feeling, that I had done well and greatly in
concealing my husband's extravagant follies even from her!
That day's post brought a letter of a more pleasant nature from my uncle
to me. He informed me, that though he utterly disapproved my giving to
an erring husband what was intended as a provision for my innocent
children, he could not bear that I should suffer by my erroneous but
generous conception of a wife's duty, and had therefore replaced the sum
which I had so rashly advanced, desiring me on any future emergency to
apply to him.
Kind and excellent old man! How pleasant were the tears which I shed
over this letter! but still how much more welcome to my soul were those
which it wrung from the heart of Pendarves!
But amidst the various feelings which made my cheek pale, my brow
thoughtful and sad, my form meagre, and which deprived me of every thing
but the mere outline of former beauty, was the consciousness that my
mother's heart was estranged from my husband. He had even exceeded all
her fears and expectations; and her manner to him was full of that cold
civility, which when it replaces ardent affection is of all things the
most terrible to endure from one whom you love and venerate. He felt it
to his heart's core, and alas! he resented it by flying oftener from his
home and the wife whom he thus rendered wretched.
At this period my mother was surprised by a most unexpected guest, and,
situated as I was, an unwelcome visitor to both; for it was Ferdinand de
Walden.
Business had brought him to England; and as time had, he believed,
mellowed his attachment to me into friendship, he had no objection to
visit my mother, and renew his acquaintance with me. But though she
prepared him to see me much altered, as I had not, she said, recovered
the loss of my child, he was so overcome when he saw me, that he was
forced to leave the room; and the sight of that faded face and form,
nay, I may say, the utter loss of my beauty, endeared me yet more to the
heart of De Walden.
Had I been an artful, had I been a coquettish woman, this was the time
to show it; for I might have easily roused the jealousy of my husband,
and perhaps have terrified him back to his allegiance. But I should have
felt debased if I had excited one feeling of jealousy in a husband's
heart, and my manner was so cold to De Walden that he complained of it
to my mother.
Mr. Oswald called on De Walden, as soon as he heard of his arrival, for
he had known him abroad, and a day was fixed for our meeting him at
Oswald Lodge: nay, my mother, to mark her great respect for her guest,
would have joined the party had she not sprained her ankle severely the
day before.
It was now some weeks since I had dined there; therefore I had not
seen the great increase of intimacy which was visible between Seymour
and Lady Martindale, and which I dreaded should be observed by Lord
Martindale himself: but he did not seem to mind it, and looked at me
with such an expression of countenance, lavishing on me at the same time
such disgusting flatteries, that the dark eye of De Walden flashed fire
as he regarded him, and he beheld my absorbed and inattentive husband
with a look in which scorn contended with agony. But if Seymour was
so completely absorbed in looking at and listening to the Syren who
bewitched him, she was not equally absorbed in him: but I saw that when
he was not looking at her, she was earnestly examining De Walden, and
that his eye dwelt on her with a very marked and scornful meaning.
Lady Martindale was solicited at the dinner table to promise some new
guests who were there, to exhibit to them the scene with the dog;
but on pretence of having hurt her foot she refused. This led to a
conversation on dancing, of which art, to my great surprise, De Walden
declared himself a great admirer in the early part of his life. "When I
was very young," said he in French, "I saw such dancing as I shall never
forget. It was that of a young creature on the Paris stage, who was then
called Annette Beauvais, and she quite bewitched my young heart, both on
and off the stage; for I once saw her in a private party, but then I was
quite a boy: she was at that time the mistress of a _fermier general_:
since then she has figured, as I have heard, in many different capacities,
and I should not be surprised to hear of her as a peeress, or a princess;
so great and versatile were her powers."
This discussion, so little _a-propos_, for what did any one present care
for Annette Beauvais? convinced me De Walden had a meaning beyond what
appeared; and casting my eyes on Lord Martindale and his lady, I saw
they were both covered with confusion: but the former recovering himself
first, said, "Annette Beauvais! My dear Eugenie, is not that the name of
the girl who was reckoned so like you?"
"_Mais oui--sans doute_--I was much sorry--for I was take for her very
oft'--_et cependant elle est plus grande que moi._[3]"
[Footnote 3: Yet she is taller than I.]
"She may look taller on the stage, my lady," said De Walden, again
speaking in French, that she might not lose a word; "but I would wager
any money, that off the stage, no one would know Annette from you, or
you from her."
"_A la bonne heure_," said she in a tone of pique, and avoiding the
searching glance of his eye; then, on her making a signal to Mrs.
Oswald, she rose, and we left the dining-room.
With the impression which I had just received on my mind of Lady
Martindale's former profession, or rather character, I could not help
replying to the attentions which she now lavished on me with distant
politeness; and I saw clearly that she observed my change of manner,
and, resenting it in her heart, resolved to take ample vengeance; for,
as I stood with my arms folded in a long mantle which I wore, lost in
reverie, it happened that I did not answer Lady Martindale when she
first spoke, and when I did, it was in a cold and absent manner, and
as if I addressed an inferior; on which the artful woman, who sat in a
recess by the side of my husband, threw herself back, exclaiming, "_Mais
voyez donc comme elle me traite! Ah! comment ai-je merite cette durete
de sa part?_"[4] She accompanied these words with a few touching tears.
[Footnote 4: Only see how she treats me! How have I deserved such
hard treatment from her?]
On seeing and hearing this, for the first time in his life since we
married, Seymour felt irritated against me; and coming up to me, he
said, in a voice nearly extinct with passion, "Mrs. Pendarves, I insist
on your apologizing to that lady for the rudeness of which you have been
guilty." For one moment my spirit revolted at the word "insist," and my
feelings were overset by the "Mrs. Pendarves;" but it was only for a
moment.
I felt that I had been rude; and I also felt that I should not have
acted as I did, spite of my suspicions, if I had not been jealous of
Seymour's adoration for her.
Accordingly, drawing so near to her that no one could hear what passed,
I told her that at the command of my husband, I assured her I did not
mean to wound or offend her, and that I was sorry I had done so.
"Ah! 'tis your husban spoak den, not your own heart--dat's wat I want."
"The feelings of my heart," said I, "are not at the command even of my
husband; but my words are, and I have obeyed him--but I am really sorry
when I have given pain to any one." Then with a low curtsy I left them,
and retired to a further part of the room.
During this time I saw that Seymour looked still angry, and was not
satisfied with my apology, or the manner in which I delivered it; and I
repented I had not been more gracious. But now I was requested to sing
a Venetian air to the Spanish guitar, to which I had written English
words; and I complied, glad to do something to escape from my own
painful reflections, and also from the earnest manner in which De Walden
examined my countenance, and watched what had just passed. But in order
no doubt to mortify my vanity by calling off the attention from me to
herself, the moment I began, Lady Martindale set her little dog down who
was lying in her lap, and began to make him dance to the tune; but as
she did not get up herself and dance as usual with him, the poor beast
did not know what to make of it, but set up a most violent barking. I
had had resolution to go on both singing and playing during the grimaces
of the dog and its mistress, even though my own husband instead of
resenting the affront to me had seemed to enjoy it; but when the dog
spoke I was silent; on which De Walden seized the little animal in
his arms in spite of Lady Martindale's resistance, and put it out of
the room. Then stooping down he whispered something in her ear which
silenced her at once. During this scene I trembled in every limb; for I
feared that Seymour might be mad enough to resent De Walden's conduct.
I was therefore relieved when Lord Martindale came up to him, as if
he meant to resent the violence offered to his lady's dog; but on
approaching De Walden, he said, with great good humour--"That was right,
Count De Walden; and if you had not done it, _I_ should. Only think that
a beast like that should presume to interrupt a Seraph!"
"Ah! if it was but he alone that presumed in this room, it would be
well; but we often make example of one who is guilty the least."
Lord Martindale did not choose to ask an explanation of these words,
but, turning to me, requested me to resume my guitar and my song. But
I had not yet recovered my emotion, nor perhaps would it have been
consistent with my self-respect to comply.
Certainly De Walden thought not; for he said in a low voice "_Ma chere
amie, de grace ne chantez pas!_"[5] and I was firm in my refusal.
[Footnote 5: My dear friend, pray do not sing!]
Perhaps it was well that I was not allowed to go on with my song, as the
words were only too expressive of my own feelings, for they were as
follows:--