When they arrived at Canterbury, the ladies were shewn into a parlour,
where Godolphin did not join them for near half an hour. Emmeline had
accounted for her lowness of spirits by her dread of meeting her uncle
on such terms as they were likely to meet; but Mrs. Stafford knew the
human heart too well to be ignorant that there was another and a
concealed source of that melancholy which overwhelmed her. It was in
vain she had attempted to dissemble. It was, to her friend, evident,
that her compassion, her good wishes, were Delamere's, but that her
heart was wholly Godolphin's, and was now pierced with the poignant
thorns of new-born jealousy and anxious mistrust.
While they waited together the return of Godolphin, Mrs. Stafford
said--'I fancy that post chaise that passed us about half an hour ago,
contained Mr. Godolphin's _acquaintance_.'
'Did it? Why do you think so?'
'Because he looked after it so earnestly; and there seemed to be only a
young woman in it.'
'I did not observe it indeed,' replied Emmeline, with the appearance of
carelessness.
'I should like to see her nearer,' continued Mrs. Stafford, with some
archness--'By the glympse I had of her she appeared to be very
handsome.'
'Do you think she is a French woman?' enquired Emmeline, still affecting
great indifference.
'No, she appeared to be English. But if you please I will enquire of
him?'
'I beg you will not,' in an half angry tone, answered Emmeline--'I am
sure it is very immaterial.'
At this moment Godolphin entered; and with looks of uneasiness
apologized for his long stay. 'I have an awkward embarrassment,' said
he, 'on my hands: a poor young woman, who is wholly a stranger in this
country, and whom I have undertaken to conduct to London; but she is so
ill that I am afraid she is unfit to go on.--Yet how to leave her here I
know not.'
'Pray, Sir,' said Emmeline, 'do not let us be any restraint to you. If
your presence is necessary to the lady, you had surely better continue
with her, than put her to any inconvenience to go on.'
Godolphin, who was at once pleased and pained by the quickness with
which she spoke, said--'I will tell you, my dear Miss Mowbray, very
ingenuously, that if I were quite sure the character of this unhappy
young woman is such as may entitle her to your's and Mrs. Stafford's
protection, I should without scruple have asked it. _I_ know,' continued
he, looking distressed, 'how compassionate and good you both are; but I
ought not therefore to hazard improperly taxing such generosity and
sensibility.'
'Who is this young person, Sir?' asked Mrs. Stafford.
'If it will not tire you I will tell you. On my arrival at Calais this
day se'nnight, I found all the pacquet boats on the other side, and was
obliged to wait with my friend Cleveland a whole day. As I was
sauntering about the streets after dinner, I passed by an Englishman
whose face I thought I recollected. The man looked confused, and took
off his hat; and I then perfectly remembered him to have been one of the
best sailors I had on board in the West Indies, where he received a
dangerous wound in the arm.
'I stopped, and asked him by what accident he came to Calais, and why
his appearance was no better; for his honest hard features seemed
pinched with want, his dress was shabby, his person meagre, and his look
dejected.
'"I am ashamed to tell you, Captain," said he, "how I came hither; but
in short because I could not live at home. You know I got prize money
when I served under your honour. Mayhap I might have managed it better;
but howsomdever 'tis gone, and there's an end on't. So as we are all
turned a drift in the world, some of my ship mates advised me to try a
little matter of smuggling with them, and come over here. I have lived
among these Frenchmen now these two months, and can, to be sure, just
live; but rot 'em, if I could get any thing to do at home, I wouldn't
stay another hour, for I hates 'em all, as your honour very well knows.
A lucky voyage or two will put some money mayhap in my way, with this
smuggling trade; and then I reckons to cross over home once for all, and
so go down to Liverpool to my friends, if any on um be alive yet."
'I reproved my acquaintance severely for his proceeding, and told him,
that to enable him to go to his friends, I would supply him with money
to buy him cloaths, which I found he principally wanted; being ashamed
to appear among his relations so ill equipped, after having received a
considerable sum in prize money.
'The poor fellow appeared to be very grateful, and assured me that to
prove his sincerity he would embark in the same pacquet boat. "But Lord,
Captain," added he, "I be'nt the only Englishman who stays in this
rascally country agin their will--your honour remembers Lieutenant
Stornaway, on board your honour's ship?"
'Aye, to be sure I do.'
'"Well; he, poor lad, is got into prison here for debt, and there I
reckon he'll die; for nobody that ever gets into one of their confounded
jails in this country, ever gets out again."
'As I perfectly remembered Stornaway, a gallant and spirited young
Scotsman, I was much hurt at this account, and asked if I could be
admitted to see him. I found it attended with infinite difficulty, and
that I must apply to so many different persons before I could be allowed
to see my unfortunate countryman, that the pacquet boat of the next day
must sail without me. Cleveland therefore departed; and I, with long
attendance on the Commandant and other officers, was at length
introduced into the prison. I will not shock you with a description of
it, nor with the condition in which I found the poor young man; who
seemed to me likely to escape, by death, from the damp and miserable
dungeon where he lay, without necessary food, without air, and without
hope of relief. He related to me his sorrowful and simple tale. He was
brought up to the sea; had no friends able to assist him; and on being
discharged, after the peace, had gone, with what money he received, and
on half pay, to France, in hopes of being able to live at less expence
than in England, and to learn, at the same time, a language so necessary
in his profession.
'"And for some time," said he, "I did pretty well; till going with one
of my countrymen to see a relation of his, who was (tho' born of Scots
parents) brought up as a pensioner in a convent, and a Catholic, I was
no longer my own master, and tho' I knew that it was almost impossible
for me to support a wife, I yet rashly married, and have made one of the
loveliest young creatures in the world a beggar.
'"She was totally destitute of fortune; and was afraid her friends, who
were but distant relations, and people of rank in Scotland, would insist
on her taking the veil, as the most certain and easiest means of
providing for her. She had a decided aversion to a monastic life; and
poor as I was, (for I did not attempt to deceive her,) hesitated not to
quit her convent with me, which it was easy enough to do by the
management of her relation, with whom she was allowed to go out. We set
out, therefore, together for England. I had about twenty Louis in my
pocket, which would have carried us thither comfortably: but calamity
overtook us by the way. We travelled in stages and diligences, as we
found cheapest; in one of which I imagine my poor girl caught the
infection of the small pox, with which she fell ill at Amiens. I
attended her with all the agonizing fear of a wretch who sees his only
earthly good on the point of being torn from him for ever; and very,
very ill she was for many days and nights. Yet her lovely face was
spared; and in a month I saw her quite out of danger, but still too weak
to travel. As I spared nothing that could contribute to her ease or her
recovery, my money was dreadfully diminished, and I had barely enough
left to carry me alone to England. But as our credit was yet good, I
purposed our living on it till her strength was somewhat re-established,
and that I would then go to England, get a supply of money, and return
to pay my debts and fetch my wife.
'"This was the only expedient," said poor Stornaway, "that I could think
of, and perhaps was the very worst I could have adopted; since by this
means we insensibly got into debt, and to creditors the most inexorable.
'"At the end of three weeks, my wife was tolerably well. I divided with
her the money I had left, and went off in the night to Calais,
flattering myself I should return to her within a fortnight. But so
vigilant were those to whom I owed money, and so active the
_maréchaussés_, that I was pursued, and thrown, without hesitation and
without appeal, into this prison; where my little remaining money, being
all exhausted in fees, to save me from even worse treatment, I have now
lain near six weeks in the situation in which you see me. As to myself,"
continued the poor young man, "my life has been a life of hardship, and
I have learned to hold it as nothing; but when I reflect on what must
have been the condition of my Isabel, I own to you, dear Sir, that my
fortitude forsakes me, and the blackest despair takes possession of my
soul."
'I had but little occasion to deliberate,' said Godolphin, continuing
his narrative--'I had but little occasion to deliberate. I enquired into
the debt. It was a trifle. I blushed to think, that while Englishmen
were daily passing thro' the place in pursuit of pleasure, a gentleman,
an officer of their nation, languished for such a sum in the horrors of
a confinement so dreadful. The debt was easily discharged; and I took
the unhappy Stornaway to my lodgings, from whence he was eagerly flying
to Amiens, when I was called aside by one of the _maréchaussé_, who
desired to speak to me.
'"Sir," said the man, "you have been generous to me, and I will hazard
telling you a secret. Orders are coming to stop your friend, whom you
have released from prison, for stealing a pensioner out of a convent.
Get him off to England immediately, or he will be taken, and perhaps
confined for life."
'I hastened Stornaway instantly into a boat, and sent him after a
pacquet which had just sailed, and which I saw him overtake. He conjured
me, in an agony of despair, to enquire for his wife, without whom he
said he could not live, and that rather than attempt it, he would return
and perish in prison. I promised all he desired; and as soon as I was
sure he was safe, I set out post for Amiens, where I found the poor
young woman in a situation to which no words can do justice. She had
parted with almost every thing for her support; and was overwhelmed by
the weight of misfortunes, which, young and inexperienced as she was,
she had neither the means to soften or the fortitude to bear. I brought
her away to Calais, and embarked with her yesterday, having only staid
long enough to furnish her with cloaths, and to recruit her enfeebled
frame after her journey. But sea sickness, added to her former ill state
of health, has reduced her to a condition of deplorable weakness. She
speaks so little English that she is unable to travel alone; and I was
in hopes that by her chaise keeping up with the coach, I might have
assisted her on the road; but she is now so extremely ill that I am
afraid she must remain here.'
During the first part of this short account, Emmeline, charmed more than
ever with Godolphin, and ashamed of having for a moment entertained a
suspicion to the disadvantage of such a man, sat silent; but at the
conclusion of it, her eyes overflowed with tears; she felt something
that told her she ought to apologize to him for the error she had been
guilty of--tho' of that error he knew nothing; and impelled by an
involuntary impulse, she held out her hand to him.--Dear, generous,
noble-minded Godolphin! was uttered by her heart, but her lips only
echoed, the last word.
'Godolphin!' said she, 'let us go to this poor young creature--let us
see her ourselves.'
'Certainly we will,' cried Mrs. Stafford; 'and indeed, Sir, you ought to
have told us before, that we might sooner have offered all the
assistance in our power.'
'I was afraid,' answered he. 'I knew not whether I might not be deceived
in the character of Mrs. Stornaway; and dared not intrude upon you, lest
it should be found that the object merited not your good offices.'
'But she is in distress!' said Emmeline--'she is a stranger!--and shall
we hesitate?--'
Godolphin, who found in the tenderness of her address to him, and in the
approbation her eyes expressed, a reward as sweet as that which the
consciousness of doing good afforded from his own heart; kissed the hand
she had given him, in silence, and then went to enquire if the poor
young woman could see the ladies. She expressed her joy at being so
favoured, and Mrs. Stafford and Emmeline were introduced.
The compassion they expressed, and the assurances they gave her that she
would meet her husband in London, and that she should stay with them
'till she did, calmed and composed her; and as her illness was merely
owing to fatigue and anxiety, they believed a few hours rest, now her
mind was easier, would restore her. Tho' they were impatient to get on
to London, they yet hesitated not to remain at Canterbury all night, on
the account of this poor stranger. Godolphin, on hearing their
determination, warmly thanked them: the heart of Emmeline was at once
eased of its inquietude, and impressed with a deeper sense than ever of
Godolphin's worth: she gave way, almost for the first time, to her
tenderness and esteem, without attempting to check or conceal her
sentiments; while Mrs. Stafford, who ardently wished to see her in
possession of her estate and married to Godolphin, rejoiced in observing
her to be less reserved; and Godolphin himself, hardly believing the
happiness he possessed real, forgot all his fears of her attachment to
Lord Delamere, and dared again entertain the hopes he had discarded at
Besançon--as he thought, for ever.
The next day Mrs. Stornaway was so much recovered that they proceeded in
their journey, taking her into the coach with them and directing Madelon
to travel in the chaise, accompanied by her father. They arrived early
in town; and Godolphin, leaving them at an hotel, went in search of
lodgings. He soon found apartments to accommodate them in Bond street;
and thither they immediately went; Mrs. Stafford taking upon herself the
protection of the poor forlorn stranger 'till Godolphin could find her
husband, on whose behalf he immediately intended to apply for a berth on
board some ship in commission. He had given him a direction to his
banker, and bid him there leave an address where he might be found in
London. The next day he brought the transported Stornaway to his wife;
and the gratitude these poor young people expressed to their benefactor,
convinced the fair friends that they had deserved his kindness, and that
there was no deception in the story the Lieutenant had told them about
his wife. Godolphin took a lodging for them in Oxford street; and gave
them money for their support till he could get the young man employed,
which his interest and indefatigable friendship soon accomplished.
In the mean time he saw Emmeline every day, and every day he rose in her
esteem. Yet still she hesitated to discover to him all she thought of
him; and at times was so reserved and so guarded, that Godolphin knew
not what to believe. He knew she was above the paltry artifice of
coquetry; yet she fearfully avoided being alone with him, and never
allowed him an opportunity of asking whether he had any thing to hope
from time and assiduity.
'Is he not one of the best creatures in the world?' said Mrs. Stafford,
after he left the room, on the second day of their arrival, to go out in
the service of the Stornaways.
'Yes.'
'Yes! and is that all the praise you allow to such a man? Is he not a
perfect character?'
'As perfect, I suppose, as any of them are.'
'Ah! Emmeline, you are a little hypocrite. It is impossible you can be
insensible of the merit of Godolphin; and I wonder you are not in more
haste to convince him that you think of him as he deserves.'
'What would you have me do?'
'Marry him.'
'Before I am sure he desires it?' smilingly asked Emmeline.
'You cannot doubt that, tho' you so anxiously repress every attempt he
makes to explain himself. Shall I tell you what he has said to me? Shall
I tell you what motive carried him to St. Alpin?'
'No--I had rather not hear any thing about it.'
'And why not?'
'Because it is better, for some time, if not for ever, that Godolphin
should be ignorant of those favourable thoughts I may have had of
him--better that I should cease to entertain them.'
'Why so, pray?'
'Because I dread the mortified pride and furious jealousy of Lord
Delamere on one hand; and on the other the authority of my uncle, who,
'till I am of age, will probably neither restore my fortune nor consent
to my carrying it out of his family.'
'For those very reasons you should immediately marry Godolphin. When you
are actually married, Delamere will reconcile himself to the loss of
you. To an inevitable evil, even his haughty and self-willed spirit must
submit. And should Lord Montreville give you any trouble about your
fortune, who can so easily, so properly oblige him to do you justice, as
a man of spirit, of honour, of understanding, who will have a right to
insist upon it.'
It was impossible to deny so evident a truth. Yet still Emmeline
apprehended the consequence of Delamere's rage and disappointment; and
thought that there would be an indelicacy and an impropriety in
withdrawing herself from the protection of her own family almost as soon
as she could claim it, and that her uncle might make such a step a
pretence for new contention and longer wrath. The result, therefore, of
all her deliberations ended in a determination neither to engage herself
or to marry 'till she was of age; and, 'till then, not even to encourage
any lover whatever. By that time, she hoped that Lord Delamere, wearied
by an hopeless passion, and convinced of her fixed indifference, would
engage in some more successful pursuit. She knew that by that time all
affairs between her and Lord Montreville must be adjusted. If the
affection of Godolphin was, as she hoped, fixed, and founded on his
esteem for her character, he would not love her less at the end of that
period, when she should have the power of giving him her estate
unincumbered with difficulties and unembarrassed by law suits; and
should, she hoped, escape the misery of seeing Delamere's anguish and
despair, on which she could not bear to reflect.
She ingenuously explained to Mrs. Stafford her reasons for refusing to
receive Godolphin's proposals; in which her friend, tho' she allowed
them to be plausible, by no means acquiesced; still insisting upon it,
that the kindest thing she could do towards Lord Delamere, as well as
the properest in regard to the settlement of her estate, was immediately
to accept Godolphin. But Emmeline was not to be convinced; and all she
could obtain from Mrs. Stafford was an extorted promise, reluctantly
given, that she would not give any advice or encouragement to Godolphin
immediately to press his suit. Emmeline, tho' convinced she was right,
yet doubted whether she had fortitude enough to persist in the conduct
she wished to adopt; if exposed at once to the solicitations of a woman
of whose understanding she had an high opinion, and to the ardent
supplications of the man she loved.
The day after her arrival in London, she had sent to Berkley-square,
and was informed that Lord Montreville and his family were in Norfolk.
Thither therefore she wrote, and enclosed the letter she had brought
from Lord Westhaven. Her own was couched in the most modest and dutiful
terms, and that of Lord Westhaven was equally mild and reasonable. But
they gave only disquiet and concern to the ambitious and avaricious
bosom of Lord Montreville. Tho' already tortured by Delamere's absence
and illness, and uncertain whether the object of his long solicitude
would live to reap the advantage of his accumulated fortunes, he could
not think but with pain and reluctance of giving up so large a portion
of his annual income: still more unwilling did he feel to refund the
produce of the estates for so long a period; and in the immediate
emotion of his vexation at receiving Lord Westhaven's first letter, he
had sent for Sir Richard Crofts, who, having at the time of Mr.
Mowbray's death been entrusted with all the papers and deeds which
belonged to him, was the most likely to know whether any were among them
that bore testimony to the marriage of Mr. Mowbray and Miss Stavordale.
The fact was, that a very little time before he died, his steward,
Williamson, had received the memorandum of which Emmeline had found a
copy; and, on the death of his master, had carried it to Sir Richard
Crofts; Lord Montreville being then in the North of England. Sir Richard
eagerly enquired whether there were any other papers to the like
purport. Williamson replied, he believed not; and very thoughtlessly
left it in his hands. When, a few days afterwards, he called to know in
whose name the business of the Mowbray estate was to be carried on, Sir
Richard (then acting as an attorney, and only entering into life) told
him that every thing was to be considered as the property of Lord
Montreville; because there were many doubts about the marriage of Mr.
Mowbray, and great reason to think that the paper in question was
written merely with a view to pique and perplex his brother, with whom
he was then at variance; but that Lord Montreville would enquire into
the business, and certainly do justice to any claims the infant might
have on the estate.
Soon after, Williamson applied again to have the paper restored; but
Crofts answered, that he should keep it, by order of Lord Montreville,
tho' it was of no use; his Lordship having obtained undoubted
information that his brother was never married.
Sir Richard had reflected on the great advantage that would accrue to
his patron from the possession of this estate; to which, besides it's
annual income, several boroughs belonged. He thought it was very
probable that the little girl, then only a few weeks old, and without a
mother or any other than mercenary attendants, might die in her infancy:
if she did not, that Lord Montreville might easily provide for her, and
that it would be doing his friend a great service, and be highly
advantageous to himself, should he conceal the legal claim of the child,
even unknown to her uncle, and put him in immediate possession of his
paternal estate.
Having again strictly questioned Williamson; repressed his curiosity by
law jargon; and frightened him by threats of his Lord's displeasure if
he made any effort to prove the legitimacy of Emmeline; he very
tranquilly destroyed the paper, and Lord Montreville never knew that
such a paper had existed.
Williamson, timid and ignorant of every thing beyond his immediate
business, returned in great doubt and uneasiness to Mowbray Castle. When
he received the child and the two caskets, he had questioned the
Frenchman who brought her and heard an absolute confirmation of the
marriage of his master. He then examined the caskets, and found the
certificates. But without money or friends, he knew not how to prosecute
the claim of the orphan against the power and affluence of Lord
Montreville; and after frequent consultations with Mrs. Carey, they
agreed that the safest way would be carefully to secure those papers
till Emmeline was old enough to find friends; for should they attempt
previously to procure justice for her, they might probably lose the
papers which proved her birth, as they had already done that which
Williamson had delivered to Crofts. As long as Williamson lived, he
carefully locked up these caskets. His sudden death prevented him from
taking any steps to establish the claim of his orphan mistress; and that
of Mrs. Carey two years afterwards, involved the whole affair in
obscurity, which made Sir Richard quite easy as to any future discovery.
But as the aggressor never forgives, Sir Richard had conceived against
Emmeline the most unmanly and malignant hatred, and had invariably
opposed every tendency which he had observed in Lord Montreville to
befriend and assist her, for no other reason but that he had already
irreparably injured her.
He hoped, that as he had at length divided her from Lord Delamere, and
driven her abroad, she would there marry a foreigner, and be farther
removed than ever from the family, and from any chance of recovering the
property of which he had deprived her: instead of which, she had, in
consequence of going thither, met the very man in whose power it was to
prove the marriage of her mother; and, in Lord Westhaven, had found a
protector too intelligent and too steady to be discouraged by evasion or
chicanery--too powerful and too affluent to be thrown out of the
pursuit, either by the enmity it might raise or the expence it might
demand.
Nothing could exceed the chagrin of Sir Richard when Lord Montreville
put into his hands the first letter he had on this subject from Lord
Westhaven. Accustomed, however, to command his countenance, he said,
without any apparent emotion, that as no papers in confirmation of the
fact alledged had ever existed among those delivered to him on the death
of Mr. Mowbray, it was probably some forgery that had imposed on Lord
Westhaven.
'I see not how that can be,' answered Lord Montreville. 'It is not
likely that Emmeline Mowbray could forge such papers, or should even
conceive such an idea.'
'True, my Lord. But your Lordship forgets and overlooks and passes by
the long abode and continuance and residence she has made with the
Staffords. Mrs. Stafford is, to my certain knowledge and conviction,
artful and designing and intrigueing; a woman, my Lord, who affects and
pretends and presumes to understand and be competent and equal to
business and affairs and concerns with which women should never
interfere or meddle or interest themselves. It is clearly and evidently
and certainly to the interest and advantage and benefit of this woman,
that Miss Mowbray, over whom she has great influence and power and
authority, should be established and fixed and settled in affluence,
rather than remain and abide and continue where nature and justice and
reason have placed her.'
'I own, Sir Richard, I cannot see the thing in this light. However, to
do nothing rashly, let us consider how to proceed.'
Sir Richard then advised him by no means to answer Lord Westhaven's
letter, but to wait till he saw his Lordship; as in cases so momentous,
it was, he said, always wrong to give any thing in black and white. In a
few days afterwards he heard out of Norfolk, (for he had come up from
thence to consult with Sir Richard Crofts) that Lord Delamere was ill
at Besançon. His precipitate departure had before given him the most
poignant concern; and now his fears for his life completed the distress
of this unfortunate father. On receiving, however, the second letter
from Lord Westhaven, together with that of Emmeline, his apprehensions
for the life of his son were removed, and left his mind at liberty to
recur again to the impending loss of four thousand five hundred a year,
with the unpleasant accompanyment of being obliged to refund above sixty
thousand pounds. Again Sir Richard Crofts was sent for, and again he
tried to quiet the apprehensions of Lord Montreville. But his attempt to
persuade him that the whole might be a deception originating with the
Staffords, obtained not a moment's attention. He knew Stafford himself
was weak, ignorant, and indolent, and would neither have had sagacity to
think of or courage to execute such a design; and that Mrs. Stafford
should imagine and perform it seemed equally improbable. He was
perfectly aware that Lord Westhaven had a thorough acquaintance with
business, and was of all men on earth the most unlikely to enter warmly
into such an affair, (against the interest too of the family into which
he had married) unless he was very sure of having very good grounds for
his interference.
But tho' Sir Richard could not prevail on him to disbelieve the whole of
the story, he saw that his Lordship thought with great reluctance of the
necessity he should be under of relinquishing the whole of the fortune.
He now therefore recommended it to him to remain quiet, at least 'till
Lord Westhaven came to England; to send an answer to Miss Mowbray that
meant nothing; and to gain time for farther enquiries. These enquiries
he himself undertook; and leaving Lord Montreville in a political fit of
the gout, he returned from Audley Hall to London, and bent all his
thoughts to the accomplishment of his design; which was, to get the
original papers out of the hands of Emmeline, and to bribe Le Limosin to
go back to France.
While these things were passing in England, Lord Delamere (whose rage
and indignation at Emmeline's departure the authority of Lord Westhaven
could hardly restrain) had learned from his brother-in-law the real
circumstances of the birth of his cousin, and he heard them with the
greatest satisfaction. He now thought it certain that his father would
press his marriage as eagerly as he had before opposed it; and that so
great an obstacle being removed, and Emmeline wholly in the power of
his family, she would be easily brought to forgive him and to comply
with the united wishes of all her relations.
In this hope, and being assured by Lord Westhaven that Bellozane was
actually returned into Switzerland without any design of following
Emmeline, (who had been induced, he said, to leave Besançon purely to
avoid him) he consented to attempt attaining a greater command over his
temper, on which the re-establishment of his health depended; and after
about ten days, was able to travel. Lord and Lady Westhaven, therefore,
at the end of that time, slowly began with him their journey to England.