CHAP. VIII.
It is with no small satisfaction, my dearest Lucy, that I find my “enthusiasm of mind and ardency of temper,” (to avail myself of your gentle terms for a spirit too often governed by the impulse of a heart, which, in its promptitude is apt to take the lead of judgment) have met with your approbation and concurrence, in regard, at least, to the conduct I mean to pursue with Lady Maclairn: to say the truth, Lucy, I could practise no other; for she hourly rises in myestimation, andesteemwith me is the basis of affection. The relief which she finds in communicating her thoughts to me, has given to her very language a frankness which appears to be her natural character; and in her account of the various occurrences of her life, since she married Sir Murdoch, she omits not even her conjectures, as these arose from the circumstances in which she has been placed. “I long since had proofs,” said she this morning, when speaking of the suffering Miss Flint, “that Lucretia was not devoid of feeling. My brother, for reasons of his own, had so contrived it, that she firmly held an opinion which he, it is probable, onlyaffectedto have. Illegitimate birth he considered as an indelible disgrace on the innocent; and Miss Flint adopted this notion, firmly believing that neither fortune, talents, nor even virtue could screen an unfortunate being, who stood in this predicament, from the reproach and insults of the malicious.Her affection for her child was unbounded; and I saw with comfort, that I had at least gained her gratitude, by my apostacy from truth. The conduct she maintained with my brother, in the mean time, puzzled me. It was obvious, he was no longerthe favoured lover; and one day, observing Philip much disturbed from an interview he had with her in the garden at Kensington, I ventured to say to Lucretia, that I was sorry to see Philip unhappy.” “I understand you,” replied she, “and I will be explicit with you. I shall never be his wife; nor will I be to him what I unfortunately have been. I am amother, Harriet, and I will prove myself one, by remaining what I am, and what I can contrive to be, the guardian of my son. I have no passions to gratify, no desires to control, since I beheld the face of my child; to love and cherish him, and to bless you for your goodness, shall fill up the measure of mymiserabledays.”She burst into tears and left me abruptly. Her sincerity wanted no evidence stronger than her conduct, continued Lady Maclairn. For some time all went well. I was made happy through her mediation, and amongst the delusive hopes, which led me to Farefield Hall as Maclairn’s wife, was the flattering one, that, by the influence I had acquired over Lucretia, I might in time reconcile her to Mrs. Howard. Mr. Flamall frustrated these designs. His affections, as a parent, were so artfully, so effectually brought forward, and his conduct was so specious, that Lucretia insensibly gave him a confidence, which as gradually subjected her to his will and pleasure as myself; and she observed, that nature had yet preserved one strong hold in Flamall’s bosom; for that he loved his child; and that would prove to her a source of future comfort; for that no man was more capable of the office of preceptor. Even I assented to this opinion, MissCowley, as it related to his talents; and I was still the dupe of that affection, which nature had interwoven with my frame for mybrother. He became more serious and reserved from the hour of Philip’s birth, and in the regularity of his conduct, and the instances I had of his growing parsimony, I scrupled not to think that he was a changed man in many respects, although still unsubdued in his love of power. As Philip became of an age to receive his lessons, his visits at the hall might be called a residence; but you know already how little these visits were productive of comfort to me, and, I may likewise add, of comfort to Miss Flint; for my brother was a rigid disciplinarian; and had not the child’s temper been one of the most docile and sweet, he would have been miserable; for my brother, guided by his acquaintance with vice, understood not that the path to virtue is pleasant, and to unperverted feet, and a pure heart, hasallurements far superior to any that his lectures and vigilance could furnish.
You may judge of the difficulties I had to encounter in this period of my life; and the condition to which I was reduced bya brother’sreminding me, from time to time, that it was best for me to be “prudent.” There was little need of a conscience like mine to draw the inference; his tone and manner were sufficient, and he repeatedly roused Lucretia to stand forth as my champion, on a ground which had made me a coward, and the slave of the wretch who had led me into the crooked path. “Her conduct was, at least, uniformly generous on this point,” continued Lady Maclairn; “she never, directly nor indirectly, mentioned Duncan, nor did I, till very lately, know to what extent her knowledge went of this unhappy affair. I breathed like one freed from death, when I found that Mr. Flamall had determined to leave England with Philip. From thetime I had the unfortunate Mr. Duncan’s narrative before me, my soul abhorred the sight of my brother; and I so entirely secluded myself in my husband’s apartment, that we did not meet twice in a week, and his reserve and coldness when we did, went not beyond mine. Again, my dear Miss Cowley, truth obliges me to give a good report of Miss Flint. In proportion as my spirits flagged she redoubled her attention to my wants, and her purse was ever open to me. I believe, that my brother’s reason for going to Jamaica, originally sprung from a serious quarrel with Lucretia. The death of his wicked wife left him free to marry, and he was very pressing on that subject with Miss Flint. Lucretia had her secrets as well as myself; but accident led me within reach of hearing her say, “Never; urge me no further; for by all that is sacred, if you do, Percival shall know all.” I retreated, fearing to be discovered; and, from that time, his voyagewas mentioned as a decided matter. After my brother’s departure, Lucretia fatigued me with her importunities, to draw me from my husband’s room.” “I should have a servant to watch him; and one I could rely on, although it cost her an hundred poundsper annum.” I was firm, and she submitted. Left to herself, she thought of her niece, and I was consulted on the expediency of her inviting this poor girl to live with her; I was distressed for a reply; knowing the bitter resentment which she had nourished even to the name of Howard; and her hatred to those who had sheltered this unfortunate and excellent couple. I evaded the question as well as I could, contenting myself with observing, that I had always thought it an act of duty on her part to take care of her niece. “I am willing to do so;” answered she colouring; “but I must first know what she is good for; and whether the people with whom she lives have not taught her tobelieve I am a monster.” I saw the rising storm, and timidly shrunk from it, saying, that I could not give her my advice, without incurring the censure of being swayed by a sordid consideration for my reputed son. “But you know,” added I, “that you can provide for both these young people; and you must determine their respective claims.” Poor Mary soon after exchanged her abode of peace, forthis, and the event has confirmed my fears. The gentle and timid Mary neither gained spirits here, nor strove to amuse her aunt’s. She had but one path, it was to submit in silence to her aunt’s temper, and to anticipate her commands by her diligence. She soon perceived the fatal habit which Lucretia indulged; and this produced terror and disgust in her innocent mind, which, as you will believe, did not tend to conciliate her to her aunt’s hardships. I did all that I could do, to soften the one and encourage the other; but my interference wasresented, and I was reproached, as being allied to her enemies, and blinded by Malcolm to favour the Heartleys.
I was tempted, Lucy, to hazard some questions, with a direct reference to Sir Murdoch’s suspicion of having been poisoned; but a moment’s reflection checked my curiosity; and I diverted her attention from perceiving my embarrassment, by asking her, whether she knew what was become of the gentleman’s portrait, and the papers, which so obviously appeared to have belonged to Mr. Duncan’s story? She unaffectedly answered, that, “Sir Murdoch had, when in London to meet me, consigned them into the hands of the Spanish minister, then resident there; and in the interview,” added she, “he learned that this nobleman was not totally a stranger to the fate of Duncan’s parents; they were dead; and a distant branch of the family was in possession of the title and immense estate; but there was a sister of the Dukestill living, who was abbess of a convent; and to her he engaged to deliver these melancholy memorials of her still adored brother. Can you wonder, Miss Cowley,” continued she with emotion, “that I wish for death! think of my meditations, when darkness and repose conceal me from all eyes but those of a merciful Being, who witnesses my agonies. Such has been the ruin effected by a wretch I dare not curse! He is the child of my parents; the ties of blood still flow around my heart; and I implore Heaven’s sparing mercy for him, whilst my soul sickens at the thought of the injuries his hands have wrought, and which no time nor repentance can remedy. Think of his dreadful account with outraged humanity, violated truth, and every law of justice! I endeavour to hope that Charles has found his peaceful grave. I dream of him; and this frame of mind lays me open to superstition: my imagination presents him, as exultingly hoveringover me on angel’s wings, smiling with ineffable complacency, and beckoning me to follow him. I try to obey him, and awake trembling. Such are the visions of my sleeping hours! You need not be told the meditations of my waking ones. One single principle of action has counteracted the fatal effects of these perturbations. I love my husband, my dear Miss Cowley, with an affection exclusively his; and I wish to live, whilst that life is useful to him. I am prepared for the event of being hateful to his eyes. God will have compassion on me!”
My tears composed her; and my arguments were listened to. She promised me to be all I wished; and I broke up the conversation by proposing a walk in the avenue. Her husband joined us there, and I told him I had been chiding my mother. He smiled tenderly, and placed himself between us, observing, that he would keep the peace. “You will not succeed,”replied I with assumed gaiety; “nor will I accept of you for an ally; you are too much like your wife; but I have blustered her already into obedience to my will; and she had promised to be good, and to walk with me every day the sun shines, instead of sitting in Miss Flint’s room to hear of pains which she cannot alleviate. He thanked her, and blessed your
Rachel Cowley.
Rachel Cowley.
Rachel Cowley.
Rachel Cowley.
I am glad you agree with me in thinking it proper that our dear Mary should know the doctor’s opinion of her aunt’s precarious life. She has consented withgreat reluctance to see Doctor Tufton; he confirms our fears, and has made no change in her medicines. She told Douglass that she hoped he was satisfied by her compliance with his wishes, and added, “Do not think I am to be deceived; I have done with medicines and doctors.” “I told her that in that case I should think myself dismissed from her presence as well as favour,” said the doctor. “She answered that the visits of a friend would still be useful and acceptable;” but added she dejectedly, “your prescriptions may not be more infallible for a sick mind, than a diseased body.” “I took her burning hand,” continued the good doctor, “and with sincerity of heart I told her, that in both my characters, as her physician, and as her friend, I still hoped to be salutary to her, on condition she did not desert herself. You are too low now, added I, pouring out an untasted cordial at my hand; you ought to have taken this twohours since. She put the cup aside, and, shaking her head, said, you know it will do me no good; these are not the cordials I need. I know there are others within your reach, replied I with seriousness, that would contribute to give efficacy to this, and which you refuse from a despondency of mind which you ought to check. Wherefore is it, that with a brother nigh you, and whose conversation would cheer you, you refuse to see him? His heart is melting with compassion at the intelligence of your dejection and sufferings.” “Why then does he not come and tell me so? asked she with agitation. But I know what keeps him at a distance! he cannot say, Lucretia, I forgive you! he cannot say, be comforted!”
“The offence which produced your intemperance, and his too warm resentment, has been fully expiated by the pain which both have experienced from it,” observed the doctor; “both were in fault, andboth have regretted the fault. Percival thinks only of a sick and afflictedsister. I will pledge my life on the sincerity of his affection for you; and I know his soul seeks to meet you in peace and love.” She was oppressed, and gasped for utterance. “Oh! why does he delay?” said she, “I long to see him before I die!” “You shall see him to day,” replied I, “on condition that you will be composed. I am confident that you will find comfort and amusement from his society. She named the hour, and requested that I would come with him, not knowing how the sight of him might affect her. I thought it better to avoid the suspense of procrastinating the interview,” continued the doctor, “and Mr. Flint has been with her. Poor Percival was extremely shocked when he saw the alteration that sickness had made in her person. She gave him her hand, and told him, with more composure than I expected, that she took his visit kindly.He spoke with emotion, and said something of his hopes, and the ensuing summer. I shall not live to see it, answered she, looking stedfastly on him; but it will comfort you, Percival, to know that the prospect of the grave no longer terrifies me; I am not without hope. He interrupted her. Cherish it, said he, eagerly, and, kissing her cheek, cherish it, my dear Lucretia! and may its salutary influence restore your health as well as your peace! Is this your wish? replied she, bursting into tears. Do you, can you forgive me? You had not seen me here, Lucretia, answered the captain with solemnity, had any resentment lurked in my bosom: as I hope for pardon for my own errors and mistakes, so certain is it, that affection and compassion brought me hither. Forget, as I have done, the past; live to be my comfort; and may this hour cancel from your mind every thought that retards your recovery! He again kissed her, andshe hung on his neck, groaning with her agitations. Percival, overcome by this scene, permitted me to lead him from the chamber, and he was not able to see the family; I parted with him in the avenue. My patient, fatigued by these exertions, is fallen into a dose. She is sinking gradually; and will probably be lethargic.”
Mary will be anxious to hear the result of this first interview; her aunt requested that the captain would visit her daily.
I have only time to sign the name of your
Rachel Cowley.
Rachel Cowley.
Rachel Cowley.
Rachel Cowley.
P. S. Has Alice informed you that Mr. Snughead is dead? either his son-in-law’s return, or his grief for his wife was too much for him: he died at Bath of the gout in his stomach.
LETTER LX.From the same to the same.
Our good father has no doubt communicated to Mary the news of her uncle Oliver Flint’s death. Peace to his manes! He has left behind him a good report, and we are much pleased with the last proof of his being an honest and friendly man. His heir, Mr. Philip Flint, has written a very handsome letter to the captain, to inform him of his legacy of five thousand pounds, and Mary’s of three, adding, that, believing it was the intention of the donor, that there should be no delay in the payment of these bequests, he had transmitted to him the first six months interest of the sum, in order to answer the present unavoidable retardment of the principal sum whilst waiting for his preciseorders. Mr. Flamall still remains obdurate; a circumstance which Mr. Philip Flint in his letter to his mother regrets, as a draw-back on his comforts, and peculiarly oppressive to his mind at a time when he might have been useful as a consoler.
There were letters for Miss Flint from Mr. Flamall and her brother; some precautions were judged requisite in regard to the delivery of these. Doctor Douglass undertook the business, as well as to prepare her for the sable dress of the captain. He asked her how long her brother Oliver had left England; she took this hint, and replied with calmness, that he had been dead to her more than thirty years; but, added she sighing, when we are re-united, this period will appear nothing! Encouraged by her composure he proceeded to mention his honourable acquittal of his promise to Mr. Philip Flint, and the regrets of his friends for his loss; and giving her the letters destined for her was on thepoint of retiring, after recommending to her to be careful of fatiguing her spirits. “Remain a moment,” replied she, taking the two letters. “You shall see that I mean to preserve my tranquillity. This comes from a hand that never administered to me, aught but comfort.”—She placed Mr. Flint’s letter under her pillow. “Thisfrom a man who, miserable in himself, is the common disturber of the peace of others. I will not read his letter: put it into the fire.” “I hesitated, in obeying her,” continued the doctor; “she perceived it, and tore it into fragments.” Now burn them, and judge, said she, that I can be firm. Mr. Flamall has nothing to do with this hour! I will not be disturbed by his resentments. She paused, and saw the mutilated letter consumed. “I shall not have the comfort my brother Oliver had,” observed she, “but I do not murmur. Percival is very kind to me, tell him that I am calm and composed; butthat I shall be busy to day, and cannot see him; and send Lady Maclairn hither.”
It appears that her ladyship’s commission was to send off an express to Durham for an attorney whom Miss Flint named. Mary will have a letter from the captain to-morrow. I am going to pass the day at the Abbey; Sir Murdoch droops a little, he dreads the consequence of his wife’s perpetual fatigue; she has a cough not very pleasant to my ears.
Mrs. Allen is of great use to the invalid. She regulates the sick room with her usual address, and has convinced Miss Flint of the utility of quitting her bed for the sopha during some part of the day. She thinks it refreshes her spirits; and some interval of ease at present enables her to make the exertion.
I remain Lucy’s affectionate,Rachel Cowley.
I remain Lucy’s affectionate,Rachel Cowley.
I remain Lucy’s affectionate,Rachel Cowley.
I remain Lucy’s affectionate,
Rachel Cowley.