Convinced of the noble and disinterested nature of Lord Westhaven,
Emmeline thought she ought immediately on his return to shew him the
papers she had found, and entreat him to examine, for farther
particulars, Le Limosin, who seemed providentially to have been thrown
in her way on purpose to elucidate her history.
After having formed this resolution, her mind was at liberty for other
reflections. Delamere returned to it: his unjust suspicions; his haughty
reproaches; his long, indignant anger, which vouchsafed not even to
solicit an explanation; she involuntarily compared with the gentleness,
the generosity of Godolphin; with his candid temper, his warm
affections, his tender heart. And with pain she remembered, that unless
Delamere would relinquish the fatal promise she had given him, she could
not shew the preference which she feared she must ever feel for him.
Sometimes she thought of asking Lord Westhaven to apply to Delamere for
her release. But how could she venture on a measure which might involve,
in such difficulties, Lady Adelina, and engage Lord Westhaven in an
enquiry fatal to his repose and that of his whole family? How could she,
by this application, counteract the wishes of Lady Westhaven, who
anxiously hoped to re-unite her brother and her friend; and who desired
ardently to be in England, that she might explain herself, to Delamere,
all the circumstances that had injured Emmeline in his opinion; which
she thought she could easily do without hazarding any of the evils that
might follow from an inconsiderate disclosure of the occurrences he had
misunderstood.
Uneasily ruminating on the painful uncertainty of her situation and the
difficulties which every way surrounded her, she continued alone; till
Lady Westhaven, alarmed at hearing she had been ill, sent her woman to
enquire after and know if she might herself come to her? Emmeline, to
relieve at once her friendly solicitude, arose and went to her
apartment; where she made light of her sickness, and endeavoured to
assume as much chearfulness as possible.--'Till she had seen Lord
Westhaven, she determined not to mention to her Ladyship the discovery
of the morning; feeling that there would be great indelicacy in eagerly
divulging to her a secret by which she must tacitly accuse the Marquis
of Montreville of having thus long detained from its legal owner the
Mowbray estate; and of having brought up in indigence and obscurity, the
daughter of his brother, while conscious of her claim to education and
affluence.
Struggling therefore to subdue the remaining tumult of her spirits, she
rejoined her friend. They passed the afternoon tranquilly with Mrs. St.
Alpin; and about eleven o'clock the following morning, Lord Westhaven,
the Baron, and the Chevalier, returned.
Emmeline took the earliest opportunity of telling Lord Westhaven that
she wished to speak to him alone. There was no way of escaping from the
Chevalier but by his Lordship's openly declaring that he wanted a
private conference with his fair cousin, whom he led into the garden.
Bellozane, who hoped that his earnest solicitations had prevailed on
Lord Westhaven to befriend his love, was glad to see them walk out
together, while he watched them from a window.
Emmeline put into her pocket the two certificates and the memorandum
written by her father. Without explanation or comment, she gave them, as
soon as they were at a little distance from the house, to Lord
Westhaven.
He read them twice over in silence; then looking with astonishment at
Emmeline, he asked her from whence she had these papers?
'They were enclosed, my Lord,' answered she 'in two little boxes or
caskets which were left to me among other things by my father's nurse;
who becoming the housekeeper at Mowbray Castle, brought me up. They
afterwards long remained at the house of Mrs. James Crofts, with whom
you know I resided; on her removal after her marriage, they were sent,
together with some of my cloaths, to Mrs. Stafford's agent in London;
from whence she lately received them; and having an opportunity of
sending them to Geneva by a family travelling thither, she forwarded
them to me, and I found them yesterday in the trunk brought by the
messenger which you know the Baron sent thither on purpose.'
Again Lord Westhaven read the papers; and after pausing a moment said--
'There is no doubt, there can be none, of the authenticity of these
papers, nor of your consequent claim to the Mowbray estate. Surely,'
added he, again pausing--'surely it is most extraordinary that Lord
Montreville should have suffered the true circumstances of your birth to
remain thus long unexplained. Most cruel! most ungenerous! to possess
himself of a property to which he must know he had no right! Your
father's memorandum says that he had forwarded a duplicate of it to
Francis Williamson; do you know whether that person is yet living?'
'He is dead, my Lord. He died in consequence of an accident at Mowbray
Castle, where he was many years steward.'
'He must however have had sufficient time to give Lord Montreville every
information as to his master's marriage, even if his Lordship knew it
not, as he probably did, by other means. Yet from a man of honour--from
Lord Montreville--such conduct is most unworthy. I can hardly conceive
it possible that he should be guilty of such concealment.'
'Surely, my Lord, it is possible,' said the candid and ingenuous
Emmeline--'surely it _is_ possible that my uncle might, by some
accident, (for which without knowing more we cannot account) have been
kept in ignorance of my mother's real situation. For your satisfaction
and mine, before we say more on this subject, would it not be well to
hear what Le Limosin, who was I suppose present both at my mother's
marriage and at my father's death, has to relate?'
To this proposal Lord Westhaven agreed. The _sal a compagnie_[28] was
usually vacant at this time of the day. Thither they went together, and
sent for Le Limosin; who loved talking so much that nothing was more
easy than to make him tell all he remembered, and even minutely describe
every scene at which he had been present.
'Le Limosin,' said Lord Westhaven, as soon as he came into the room, 'I
was much pleased and interested with the account you gave me when I
first met you, of the English master whom you call _Milor Mowbray_. I
know his family well. Tell me, does this picture resemble him?'
His Lordship shewed him a portrait of Mr. Mowbray which had been drawn
at Paris.
Le Limosin looked a moment at it--the tears came into his eyes.
'_O oui--oui, mi Lor!--je me rappelle bien ce portrait!--Ah! quel
resemblance! Quelques mois avant sa mort tel etoit mon pauvre maitre!
Ah!_' added he, giving back, with a sigh, the picture to Lord
Westhaven--'_cela me fend le coeur!_'[29]
'Now then,' reassumed Lord Westhaven, 'look, Le Limosin, at that.' He
put before him the resemblance of Emmeline's mother, which had been
painted at the same time.
'_Eh! pardi oui--voila--voila Madame! la charmante femme, dont la perte
couta la vie a mon maitre. Helas!--je m'en souviens bien du jôur que je
vis pour la premiere fois cette aimable dame. Elle n'avoit qu'environ
quatorze a quinze ans. Ah! qu'elle etoit pour lors, gaï, espiegle,
folatre, et si belle!--si belle!_'[30]
'Tell me,' said Lord Westhaven, 'all you remember of her.'
'I remember her, my Lord,' said Le Limosin, speaking still in French, 'I
remember her from the first of my going to England with Milor Mowbray.
She lived then with Madame Mowbray; and the servants told me, that being
a distant relation and an orphan, Madame had taken her and intended to
give her a fortune. Milor Mowbray, when he first returned from his
travels, used to live for two or three months together with Madame his
mother; but she was strict and severe, and used frequently to reproach
him with his gaieties--_il etoit un peu libertin Milor, comme sont a
l'ordinaire les jeunes seigneurs de sa nation_.[31] He admired
Mademoiselle Stavordale as a beautiful child, and used to romp with her;
but as she grew older, Madame Mowbray was dissatisfied with him for
taking so much notice of her, and would oblige her to live always up in
Madame's dressing room, so that my master could hardly ever see her.
Madame, however, told my master one day, that tho' Mademoiselle
Stavordale had no fortune, she would not object to his marrying her in a
year or two if he was then in the same mind. But my master was in his
turn offended. He said he would not be dictated to, nor told whether he
should marry or remain single. _Madame etoit forte brusque--elle piquoit
Monsieur par un reponse un peu vive_[32]--and they had a violent
disagreement; in consequence of which he quitted her house, and only
went now and then afterwards to see her quite in form. Some months
afterwards he called me to him; and as I was dressing him he asked me if
I had no female friend among his mother's servants. 'Baptiste,' said he,
'I cannot get the Demoiselle Stavordale out of my head.--_J'aime a la
folie cette fille mais pour le mariage, je ne suis pas trop sur, que je
m'acquitterai bien, en promissant de l'aimer pour la vie.--Je veux aussi
qu'elle m'aime sans que l'interet y'entre pour quelque chose.--Puisque
Madame ma mere s'amuse a me guetter, je voudrois bien la tromper; je
scais que tu est habile--ne pourra tu pas nous menager une petite tete a
tete?[33] 'Milor, je faisois mon possible--et enfin--par la bonté et
l'honeteté--d'une fille qui servoit Madame--je vins heureusement
about--Quelque jours apres--Monsieur enleva la belle Stavordale tant en
depit--qu'en amour._'[34]
At this recital, Emmeline found herself cruelly hurt; but Lord Westhaven
besought her to command herself, and Le Limosin went on.
'To avoid the rage and reproaches of Madame Mowbray, which it was likely
would be very loud, my master took Mademoiselle Stavordale immediately
abroad. We landed at Dunkirk; but the young lady was so unhappy at the
step she had taken, _elle pleuroit, elle se desoloit, elle s'abandonna a
le desespoir--enfin, tant elle faisoit_,[35] that Monsieur sent for a
priest, and they were married. Soon afterwards my lady was likely to
bring Monsieur an heir. _Ah! qu'ils etoient pour lors heureux._ But
their happiness was interrupted by the death of my master's mother,
Madame Mowbray, who had never forgiven him, and who disposed of all her
money that was in her own power to his brother. My poor lady took this
sadly to heart. She reproached herself with being the cause of my
master's losing such a fortune. He said he had yet enough; and tried to
console my lady. Still, still it hung on her spirits; and she could not
bear to think that Madame Mowbray, who had brought her up, and had been
kind to her when she had no other friend, should have died in anger with
her. I believe my master was sorry then that he had not reconciled
himself with his mother, as my lady often begged and entreated that he
would; but it was now too late; and he said his brother had used him
unkindly, and had certainly helped to irritate his mother against him;
and he would not write to him tho' my lady often desired and prayed that
he would. As she grew near her time, she was more and more out of
spirits, and my master finding her uneasy because they had not been
married by an English priest, had the ceremony performed again in the
chapel of the English Ambassador. My master could not however make her
forget her concern for the death of his mother; and she was always
melancholy, as if she had foreseen how little a time she had herself to
live. Alas! she brought my master a daughter, and died in three hours!'
'If I were to live a thousand years,' continued Le Limosin, 'I should
never forget my poor master's distraction when he heard she was dead. It
was with great difficulty that even with the assistance of his English
servants I could prevent his destroying himself in the phrenzy of his
grief. I dared not leave him a moment. He heard nothing we said to him;
he heeded not the questions I asked him about the child; and at last I
was forced to send an express to Mr. Oxenden, his friend, who was at
some distance from Paris. He came; and by the help of another English
gentleman they forced him out of the house while the body of my mistress
was removed to be carried to England. He was so near madness, that his
friends were afraid of his relapsing, even after he grew better, if they
asked him many questions about it. So they gave me orders as to her
funeral; and after about a fortnight he came back to the house where the
child was, attended by his two friends.
'It was an heart-piercing sight, Milor, to see him weep over the little
baby as it lay in the arms of it's nurse. After some time he called me,
and told me that he should not be easy, unless he was sure his poor
little girl would be taken proper care of; that he had no friend in
France to whom he chose to entrust her; and therefore ordered me to go
with the nurse to England, and directed Therése, my mistress's _fille de
chambre_, to go also, that the child might be well attended. He told me
that he should perhaps quit Paris before I could get back; in which case
he would leave directions where I should follow him. Then he kissed his
little girl, and his two friends tore him away. I immediately proceeded
to England as he directed, with the nurse, and Therése, and we carried
the infant to the Chateau de Mowbray. The French nurse could speak no
English, and could not be prevailed upon to stay above two days. Therése
too longed to get back to France; and we immediately returned to Paris,
where I found a letter from my master, ordering me to follow him into
Italy.
'At Milan, Milor, I rejoined him. He looked very ill; and complained of
feeling himself indisposed. But still he went out; and I believe drank
too much with his English friends. The third or fourth day after I got
there he came home from a party which he had made out of town with them
about ten o'clock in the morning, and told me he had a violent pain in
his head. He went up into his room. "I am strangely disordered,
Baptiste," said he, as he put his hand to his temples--"perhaps it may
go off; but if it should grow worse, as I am afraid it will, remember
that you take those two little boxes in which I keep my papers, to
England, and deliver them to my steward at Mowbray Castle. I have
already written to him about my daughter." Then almost shrieking with
the acute pain which darted into his head, he cried--"I cannot talk, nor
can I now write to my brother as I think I ought to do about my child.
But send, send for a notary, and when I am a little easier I will
dictate a will."
'Milor, I sent for the notary, But he waited all day in the anti-room to
no purpose. My poor master was never again easy enough to see him--never
again able to dictate a will. He grew more and more delirious, and
continued to complain of his head, his head! Alas! he did not even know
me, till about an hour before his death.'
Emmeline, whose tears had almost choaked her during the greatest part of
this narration, now said to Lord Westhaven--
'My Lord, do not let him repeat the scene of my father's death; I am not
now able to bear it.'
'Well, Le Limosin,' said his Lordship, 'this young lady, who is the
daughter of your master; the same whom you helped to carry, an infant,
to Mowbray Castle, will soon have it in her power to reward your
fidelity and attachment to her father.'
Le Limosin now threw himself on his knees in a transport of joy and
acknowledgment. Lord Westhaven, fearing that his raptures might quite
overcome the disturbed spirits of his fair mistress, desired her to give
him her hand to kiss; which she did, and trying, but ineffectually, to
smile thro' her tears, was led by his Lordship into her own room. He
told her that at present he wished to conceal from Lady Westhaven the
discovery they had made. 'For tho' I am convinced,' added he, 'that for
your sake she will rejoice in it, she will be hurt at the extraordinary
conduct of her father, and harrass herself with conjectures about it and
apologies for it, which I wish to spare her in her present state.'
Emmeline assured him she would observe a strict silence; and he left her
to give to Le Limosin a charge of secresy. He then retired to his room,
and wrote to Lord Montreville, stating the simple fact, and enclosing
copies of the certificates; and after shewing his letter to Emmeline,
sent it off to England.
Emmeline now went out to walk, in hopes of recovering her composure and
being able to appear at dinner without betraying by her countenance that
any thing extraordinary had been the subject of her conversation with
Lord Westhaven. The Chevalier, however, was soon at her side. And still
flattering himself that his Lordship had undertaken to plead his cause,
he addressed her with all the confidence of a man sure of success.
Emmeline was very little disposed to listen to him; and with a greater
appearance of chagrin and impatience than she had yet shewn, repeated to
him her determination not to marry. He still declared himself sure of
her relenting; and added, that unless she had designed finally to hear
him favourably she would never have allowed him so repeatedly to press
his attachment. This speech, which indirectly accused her of coquetry,
encreased her vexation. But the persevering Chevalier was not to be
repressed. He told her that he had projected a party of pleasure on the
lake the next day, in which he intended to include a visit to the Rocks
of Meillerie.
'It is classic ground, Mademoiselle,' said he, 'and is fitted to love
and despair. Ah! will you not there hear me? Will you still inhumanly
smile; will you still look so gentle, while your heart is harder than
the rocks we shall see--colder than the snow that crowns them!--an heart
on which even the pen of fire which Rousseau held would make no
impression!'
He held her hands during this rhapsody. She could not therefore
immediately escape. But on the appearance of a servant, who announced
the dinner's being ready, she coldly disengaged herself and went into
the house.
[Footnote 28: Drawing room.]
[Footnote 29: O yes, my Lord; I recollect well this picture. What a
likeness! Such, a few months before he died, was my poor master! Alas!
it cuts me to the heart.]
[Footnote 30: Ah! hah! yes,--there is, sure enough, my Lady. The charming
woman whose loss cost my master his life. Alas! how well I recollect the
first day I saw this amiable lady; she was then only between fourteen
and fifteen; and at that time so gay, so full of frolic and vivacity,
and so very, very pretty!]
[Footnote 31: He was a little free, my Lord; as the young noblemen of his
country usually are.]
[Footnote 32: Madame was very hasty; she irritated my master by a sharp
answer.]
[Footnote 33: I love that girl to madness; but as to marrying her I am
not quite sure I should acquit myself well were I to promise that I
would love her for ever. I desire too that interest may have nothing to
do with her affection for me. As my mother amuses herself with watching
me, I long to deceive her. You are a clever fellow; cannot you contrive
for us a private meeting?]
[Footnote 34: My Lord, I did my best; and at last by the goodness and
civility of a young woman who waited on Madame, I happily accomplished
it. Some days after which, my master carried off the fair Stavordale, as
much thro' revenge as love.]
[Footnote 35: She wept, she lamented, she gave herself up to despair.]