'When glory like a plume of feathers stoodPerched 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 thathewas 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; butthis 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 £2000 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,Iknow '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 hisownmoney; 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."
"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, andembonpoint, 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. Altogetherc'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 à ma Fanchon:"1and 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 attitudefait à peindrebeside him.
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 possessedla grace plus belle encore que la beauté.2But who and what was she? A French woman, and well-born, though poor.
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 afemmedetalens, but afemmeàtalens, 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 staytodinner, 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 afermier général: 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 littleà-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 Eugénie, 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
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 asif Iaddressed 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 mérité cette dureté de sa part?"4She accompanied these words with a few touching tears.
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,Ishould. 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!"5and I was firm in my refusal.
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:—