My beloved Sidney,I find age and infirmities are advancing a-pace upon me. My last illness shook me severely, and has left a memorandum of what I may expect in the next visit it makes me. Your family cares are now so much enlarged, that I cannot expect, nor do I desire that you should undertake a journey to Sidney-castle to pay me a short visit; yet, my dear, as you are the comfort of my age, I cannot, in the present precarious state of my health, bear to be at such a distance from you; while God permits me strength I will lay hold of his bounty, and endeavour to get to London. You have told me that you are not convenientlycircumstanced at South-park as to room; I will not therefore incommode you, but shall content myself with waiting your arrival in town, at your house in St. James’s-street; but do not hasten your departure from the country on this account. I am in no immediate danger, my dear, only willing to lay hold of an interval of health, to get nearer to you. If God prolongs my life, what joy will it be to me to spend next winter with my darling, and her dear good Arnold, and to feast my eyes with my lovely grandchildren!If I am called from you, I shall have the comfort of my child’s affectionate hands to close my eyes; and shall leave the world withoutregret, as I have lived to see my Sidney happy in the arms of a good man, who will supply the loss of parents, and unite inhimselfthose tender ties which nature must soon dissolve.My prayers for yours, and my dear son’s prosperity, I never fail to offer up to Heaven. Your brother George is with me, and desires to be remembered to you; he purposes staying here the greatest part of the winter.As I hope to reach London by the latter end of the week, direct your next to me at your own house in town.I am,My dear love,Your most sincerely,affectionate mother,Dorothy Bidulph.
My beloved Sidney,
I find age and infirmities are advancing a-pace upon me. My last illness shook me severely, and has left a memorandum of what I may expect in the next visit it makes me. Your family cares are now so much enlarged, that I cannot expect, nor do I desire that you should undertake a journey to Sidney-castle to pay me a short visit; yet, my dear, as you are the comfort of my age, I cannot, in the present precarious state of my health, bear to be at such a distance from you; while God permits me strength I will lay hold of his bounty, and endeavour to get to London. You have told me that you are not convenientlycircumstanced at South-park as to room; I will not therefore incommode you, but shall content myself with waiting your arrival in town, at your house in St. James’s-street; but do not hasten your departure from the country on this account. I am in no immediate danger, my dear, only willing to lay hold of an interval of health, to get nearer to you. If God prolongs my life, what joy will it be to me to spend next winter with my darling, and her dear good Arnold, and to feast my eyes with my lovely grandchildren!
If I am called from you, I shall have the comfort of my child’s affectionate hands to close my eyes; and shall leave the world withoutregret, as I have lived to see my Sidney happy in the arms of a good man, who will supply the loss of parents, and unite inhimselfthose tender ties which nature must soon dissolve.
My prayers for yours, and my dear son’s prosperity, I never fail to offer up to Heaven. Your brother George is with me, and desires to be remembered to you; he purposes staying here the greatest part of the winter.
As I hope to reach London by the latter end of the week, direct your next to me at your own house in town.
I am,My dear love,Your most sincerely,affectionate mother,
Dorothy Bidulph.
My heart is bursting—O Cecilia! What will become of my fond, my dear, venerable parent, when she finds this daughter, this comfort of her age, this beloved of her soul, a poor abandoned outcast; lost to her husband’s love, turned out of his doors, despised, disgraced! My children too—I must leave them behind—My God, for what calamities hast thou ordained thy creature! Tears, tears, you may well flow!
So! I am relieved, and will endeavour to fortify my soul against the two events, that appear to me horrid as an approaching execution to a guilty wretch, the parting with my children, and the meeting with my mother. As the letter I wrote will miss of her at Sidney-castle, I shall write to London, to prepare her to receive the wretch whom her imagination has figured to her so happy.
Lady V—! I hear her coming up stairs—I cannot conceal myaffliction, nor my disgrace.
Lady V—— has left me: left me in astonishment and new horror. Mrs Gerrarde! Who do you think Mrs Gerrarde is? She is the aunt of Miss Burchell, that aunt who betrayed her to destruction. Sure this woman was sent into the world for a scourge!
I cannot collect myself to tell you with any method, the conversation that passed between lady V—— and me. She found me with the marks of tears on my face; they streamed again at the sight of her; I could not conceal the cause, and I put Mr Arnold’s letter into her hands, for I was not able to tell her the purport of it.
This is Mrs Gerrarde’s doing, said she, the detestable creature! How could she work on your infatuated husband, to drive him such horrid lengths? I know not, said I, but I hope my lady V—— believes me innocent. Innocent, she exclaimed! My dear creature, your sufferings almost make me mad. Do you know that Mrs Gerrarde has an intrigue with your husband? I fear so, madam, I replied, but I hoped it was not publick. Poor child, said lady V——, his attachment to her has been no secret, ever since he came down to this country, though probably you were the last to suspect it. I have often dreaded the consequences of it, but never imagined it would have come to this; I always had a bad opinion of the woman, and only kept up a face of civility to her in her husband’s time, on account of her niece, a charming girl that then lived with her; but since Miss Burchell has left her, I have almost dropt my acquaintance with her; though my lord, who had an old friendship for captain Gerrarde, persuades me to be civil to her.
The name of Miss Burchell had struck me speechless. The clue was now unravelled. With what an unremitting zeal has this base woman gone on in her career of iniquity? Lady V——, who was intirely taken up with the thoughts of my unhappiness, took no notice of my silence or confusion. What do you mean to do, my dear Mrs Arnold, said she? Do you think it is not possible, by the interposition of friends, to disabuse your unfortunate husband? For unfortunate he is, in a higher degree than yourself, as you have conscious innocence to support you. Oh madam, said I, it is in vain to think of it! Mrs Gerrarde has struck the blow effectually. Were Mr Arnold left to the workings of his own heart, he might, perhaps, relent; but that woman, like my evil genius and his, will take care to keep his suspicions alive. She possesses his whole heart, and my removal is become necessary, to the quiet of them both. I have taken this resolution, I willimmediately quit this house, and leave it to a righteous God to vindicate me in his own time. You should go no where but to my house, said lady V——, with tears in her eyes, but that I think it an improper situation for you, while Mr Faulkland is my guest. He will be distracted when he hears of this. I conjured lady V—— not to tell him: my being parted from my husband cannot long be a secret, said I, but the cause may. Lady V—— told me that Mr Faulkland was that very morning set out for Sidney-castle, to see my brother; having received a letter from him the day before, in which he told him that my mother was going in a day or two to London, and begged he would come and spend a week with him. She added, that Mr Faulkland purposed doing so, and then to return to V—— hall, as my lord had obtained a promise from him to stay some time longer with them; at least till the old lady’s affairs were settled, who had left her fortune to Mr Faulkland, and to whom my lord V—— was executor.
I told lady V—— I depended on her friendship, to keep this affair a secret from Mr Faulkland, lest the heat of his temper should make him take such notice of it, as might render my separation from Mr Arnold doubly injurious to my character. Lady V—— saw the necessity of this caution, and promised to observe it. She expressed great surprize at Mr Faulkland’s visiting Mrs Gerrarde, whom she said, she did not imagine he had been acquainted with. He is no stranger, said she, to your husband’s amour with her, as it has often been a topic of discourse between my lord and me; and I can hardly think he would be so indelicate as to carry on a love-affair with such an abandoned creature; especially as I have often heard him express the utmost detestation of her, on account of her robbing you of your husband’s affection; which I had observed for a good while. But there is no knowing mankind, added she: if that should be the case, you may depend upon it that vile Gerrarde has laid her plan deeper than we are aware of, and would out-swear us all, that Faulkland came to her house for no other purpose, than to have an opportunity of seeing you; who to be sure, she said, had given him a private hint to meet you there. Now the worst of it is, it is impossible to have this matter cleared up to your husband, without Mr Faulkland’s concurrence, and that you will not consent to. By no means, I replied, I would not for the world have Mr Faulkland interfere in my justification. If the affair should really be as you have suggested, a little time may, perhaps, discover this wicked woman to Mr Arnold, and it will not then be so difficult to clear my innocence. At present, her influenceover him is too powerful for me to combat with; and I know he wishes for nothing more than to free himself from the restraint that my presence lays him under.
Lady V—— acquiesced in my opinion, and said, she hoped a little time would chace away the dark cloud that now hung over me. She staid with me the whole day; it was a day of tears: the dear woman was quite subdued at parting with me. I see you no more, dear lady V——, said I; I shall go to London in two days—Preserve your fortitude, dearest Mrs Arnold, she replied; the time will come when your husband will repent of the bitter distress he has occasioned to you; my lord and I will use our utmost endeavours to convince him of his error.—We shall meet in London, my dear, I shall go thither early in the winter on purpose—Have courage—Your innocencemustbe cleared. I answered her not, my heart was too full. We embraced, and lady V—— parted from me in silence.
I have written to my mother, and directed my letter to St James’s-Street. I would have her prepared for the shock before she sees me; a shock, which I fear she will not be able to sustain.
Mrs Gerrarde has never called or sent to me since I was at her house. She has effected her purpose, and is contented without a triumph.
I am prepared for my departure. To-morrow I turn my back upon my husband’s house, and upon my children. I have been weeping over them this hour as they lie asleep in their nurse’s arms. But I will look at them no more.—Poor Patty is almost dead with grief; she would fain go with me, but I have persuaded her to stay: I can rely on her fidelity and her tenderness towards my children; she says, shewillbe as precious of them as the apple of her eyes, and will give me an account of their welfare from time to time. Sure Mr Arnold will not turnherout too; she is an excellent manager, and he cannot do without a housekeeper.
I have been debating with myself whether I should write to Mr Arnold or not, and have at length determined to depart in silence. It is an easy matter for the guilty to make as bold asseverations as the innocent, and nothing which I could now assert would make an impression on him. Had I only his suspicions to combat, there might be hopes: but hisheartis alienated from me; and while it continues attached to another, I despair of his listening to the voice of reason orof justice. If ever his eyes are opened, his error will prove sufficient punishment to him—Perhaps my mother or my brother may put me in a way—My conduct, in time, I hope, may justify me—Mean while I will not condescend to the weak justification of words.
I have bid adieu to South-park, and arrived this morning in London in a hired carriage, for I would not take one of Mr Arnold’s. I found my mother at the house in St James’s-street, where I now am: she got here late last night, and my letter had thrown her into agonies, from which she had not yet recovered. What have you wrote to me, said she, as she held me in her arms? your dreadful letter has almost killed me—Sure, sure, my dear child, it cannot be true that you have left your husband! What is the cause? What haveyoudone? or, What hashedone? I begged my mother to compose herself a little, and then related to her every circumstance, in the same manner you have had them as they occurred. Her lamentations pierced my heart; she wrung her hands in bitterness of anguish; Why did not the grave hide me, said she, before I saw shame and sorrow heaped upon my child. I came to die in peace with you—You might have lengthened my days for a while—But you cut them off—My eyes will close in affliction—A wounded spirit who can bear! Had you died in your cradle, we had both been happy. My child would now have been a cherub, an angel you would have been in my eyes, and I am punished for it; but that wasmycrime, not your’s. But you are a martyr to the crimes of others.
My mother wept not all this time; I wished she had; her passionate looks and tones affected me more than tears could. My eyes began to run over, her’s soon accompanied me, and it a little relieved the vehemence of her grief.
She then began to reproach herself for having listened to lady Grimston’s suggestions in favour of Mr Arnold, and for her own solliciting this fatal marriage. But I stopped her, on a subject which I knew would so much torment her thoughts. I conjured her not to reflect on it in that manner; I told her I knew she had acted for the best, and that nothing but an extraordinary fatality, which could neither be foreseen nor avoided, had made me unhappy. I said I was sure Mr Arnold had been seduced by the wiles of a wicked woman, for that he was by nature a good man, and that he had more of my pity than of my resentment.
I found it necessary to reconcile my mother to herself on this head; she seemed willing to lay hold on the hint, and turned all her indignation against Mrs Gerrarde. Apractisedsinner, she called her, for whom nothing could be said in extenuation of her crime.
We now turned our thoughts towards fixing on some other abode. You may be sure Mr Arnold’s house is no place for us; and my mother declared she would not stay another night in it: accordingly we have dispatched her maid to take us lodgings immediately.
We have quickly shifted the scene, my dear Cecilia, and are settled, at least for the present, in very handsome lodgings in St Alban’s-street. We came to them last night, and my mother seems a little less disturbed than she was. I pray God spare her life, but I fear I shall not long enjoy that blessing. She is sadly altered since I last saw her; a dropsical complaint is stealing on her fast, her legs are swelled, and she has intirely lost her appetite; yet if her mind were a little more at ease, I should hope, that by the assistance she can have here, she might be enabled to hold out against this disorder for a good while. I endeavour to suppress my own grief, that I may not increase her’s.
I was surprized to-day by a visitor to my mother. Miss Burchell came to pay her respects to her: I have told you they corresponded. My mother, it seems, had given her notice of the time she intended being in town: the young lady had been to wait on her in St James’s Street, and was from thence directed by the servant, who kept the house, to our new lodgings.
She is really a very lovely young woman; and there is something so insinuating in her manner, that there is no seeing her without being prejudiced in her favour. She changed colour when my mother presented me to her by my name; but, at the same time, surveyed me with a scrutinous eye. My mother asked her, had she seen Mr Faulkland since his return to England. She answered, No, with a sigh; but that she believed he had been to Putney. To see his son, said my mother? without reflecting, that Miss Burchell had avoided mentioning that circumstance, and stopped upon naming the place where the child was at nurse. Yes, she replied, in a timorous accent, and stealing a look at me. The woman told me, that a young gentleman had been there about six weeks ago, who said he came from the child’s father abroad, and made her a handsome present. As I did not then know Mr Faulkland was returned to England, I should not have suspected it was he himself who had called, if his housekeeper (that gentlewoman in whose care he left me) had not come to me from him. She is settled now in a lodging-house; and Mr Faulkland, on his coming to London, went to her, to enquire where the child was. She told me he inquired civilly after me, and gave her a letter for me, which the good-natured woman joyfully brought me; but it contained nothing but a bill of a hundred pounds, with two orthree lines, polite indeed, but not kind, to inform me it was for the child’s use; and I have heard nothing of him since.
My mother told her, that as Mr Faulkland was returned again, probably to continue in England, she did not despair of his being brought to do her justice; especially as she must suppose the sight of the child had made an impression on him. She then, without ceremony, entered into a detail of my unhappy story: she was full of it; and being, as you know, of a very communicative temper, made no scruple to inform Miss Burchell of every particular. She seemed very much affected with the story, and grew red and pale by turns; especially at finding her aunt so deeply concerned in it. She exclaimed against her barbarity, reproached Mr Arnold for his injurious suspicions, and condoled obligingly with me on the wrongs I had received; and yet, my Cecilia, would you believe it, I thought I could discover, through all this, that Miss Burchell was not entirely free from doubt in regard to my innocence. This observation I gathered only from certain looks that she cast at me, as my mother related the passages. There are little minute touches on the countenance sometimes, which are so transient they can hardly be overtaken by the eye, and which, from the passions being strongly guarded that give rise to these emotions, are so slight, that a common observer cannot discover them at all. I am sure my mother did not; but my sensibility was particularly rouzed at her relating a story that I did not then wish to have divulged; and I was too much interested in the narrative, not to attend precisely to its effects on the hearer. I am neither angry with, nor surprized at, Miss Burchell, for her scepticism on this occasion. She loves Mr Faulkland, and had not herself the power to resist him: she knows he once loved me, and may fancy he does so still; nay, thinks perhaps I am not indifferent towards him: she is a stranger tomyheart; but is convinced, that her aunt is base enough, first to ensnare to vice, and then to betray. Upon the whole, there is nothing unnatural in her suspicions; but I think they could not proceed from a virtuous mind.
Upon Miss Burchell’s taking leave, my mother gave her a general invitation to come to her as often as she had leisure; telling her, she must not take it amiss if she did not return her visits, as her health would not permit her to go much abroad.
Miss Burchell, it seems, has a house (not lodgings) in a retired street in Westminster, where she has been ever since she quitted her aunt, to whom she never discovered where she lived. Her fortuneenables her to appear very genteelly in the private manner she chuses to live. She goes but seldom into publick, and has but a narrow circle of acquaintance. Those are all of her own sex, and of the best character; and she has had the good fortune to preserve her reputation unsuspected; so that, I hope, she may yet retrieve her error by an advantageous match, should Mr Faulkland still continue averse to her.
I have had a letter from Patty: she tells me, her master is returned home; and adds, ‘To be sure, that vile wicked wretch let him know you were gone.’ She says, he called for the two dear babes, and kissed them both. Patty carried the youngest to him in her arms, the other in her hand, and she says, he looked troubled. How came you not to follow your lady, Mrs Martha, said he? She replied, My Lady was willing, Sir, that I should stay to look after the children—And to be a spy upon my actions, I suppose: Is that not to be part of your employment too? Ah! Patty, Patty; Mrs Arnold had better have looked to her own conduct. Patty made no answer, but retired in tears. Every one in the house, she writes, is broken-hearted; but that Mr Arnold is never at home, spending his whole time with Mrs Gerrarde, whom the girl, in the overflowings of her zeal for me, heartily execrates. She informed him, that I was gone to London, and purposed living with my mother, who was now there.
I have just received a letter from Lady V——. She tells me she sent twice to Mr Arnold to dine with them, in order, if possible, to lead him into a conversation, by which they hoped, in some measure, to have cleared my innocence, as my lord could take upon him to justify Mr Faulkland; but he declined coming, not knowing, perhaps, that Mr Faulkland was absent from V—— hall. She said, her lord had gone to South-Park; but either Mr Arnold was not at home, or denied himself. My Lady adds, ‘It is a delicate affair to interpose in; yet would I have ventured to have wrote to your husband, if I had been sure that you had no objection to my telling him, that you had made me privy to the cause of your parting: ‘tis plain, by his avoiding us, it is a subject he does not care to come to an explanation upon. Let me have your sentiments, and I will act accordingly.’
I shall answer Lady V——’s letter directly, and beg of her to leavethe matter as it is. Mrs Gerrarde’s testimony will have more weight than all my good lord or lady could urge in my favour: besides, they are not furnished with sufficient weapons to combat against such an enemy: they know nothing of Miss Burchell’s story; my regard tohercharacter prevented me from giving my lady this specimen of her aunt’s baseness. I suppose the same reason may have closed Mr Faulkland’s lips on that subject: so that they have nothing to allege against Mrs Gerrarde, which would help to invalidate her testimony with regard to Mr Faulkland and me. Mr Arnold, indeed, knows that she has forfeited her pretensions to modesty; but the delusion of self-love blinds a man in those cases; and he can believe, thattruth,sincerity, andjustice, inhabit the bosom of her, whose passion forhimalone has caused a deviation from chastity.
I cannot think of exposing the poor Miss Burchell by giving up her secret. Though it might contribute to clear me, by turning Mr Arnold’s suspicions on Mrs Gerrarde, yet would she have great reason to resent it; more especially as she is now, by a blameless life, endeavouring to blot out the memory of her fault. Though my Lady V—— is very prudent, her zeal for me, and my lord’s good-natured earnestness in my cause, might render them unguarded on the occasion; and should they attempt to make use of this secret, in order to eliminate Mrs Gerrarde, it might, at the same time, bring malicious censures both on Miss Burchell and Mr Faulkland.
I think, upon the whole, my mother is the properest person to mediate on this occasion. When Mr Arnold comes to town, she can, with due tenderness to the young lady, disclose the whole affair to him. The knowlege of this black part of Mrs Gerrarde’s character, joined to her arguments, may perhaps have some weight; though, to tell you the secret bodings of my heart, I expect not much from this. I have lost my husband’s love; Mrs Gerrarde possesses it all; and who knows whether he even wishes to lose his pretence for abandoning an unhappy wife. I wish, however, Mr Faulkland were returned to V—— hall: should Mr Arnold know of his absence at this juncture, he might imagine possibly he was gone in quest of me.
How the scene is changed, my sister! What a melancholy reverse is here, to my late prospect of domestic happiness! I pass my nights in tears, and bitter reflections on my dismal situation. My days are spent in a painful constraint, to conceal the anguish of my own heart, that Imay not aggravate that of my poor mother. My endeavours to be chearful, I perceive, have a good effect on her; she is much more composed, and seems resigned to our fate, patiently waiting for a change. I think too she is rather better in her health; she has had the advice of a physician of eminent skill; the medicines prescribed, he gives us hopes, will keep her disorder at least from gaining ground; and that she may hold out for some years.
I have prevailed on her not to give Sir George an account of my unhappy story, till I hear that Mr Faulkland has left him; because I know my brother would conceal nothing from him; and, if possible, I would have Mr Arnold’s suspicions ofHimconcealed. I have many reasons for this; my own delicacy would receive a wound by it; for who knows what judgment Mr Faulkland might form on this knowlege? But my most material objection is, should he attempt to vindicate his own honour, what might be the consequence! I shudder to think of it. I know Mr Faulkland is rash, when provoked. Rather let my sufferings and my disgrace lie wrapped in oblivion, than bring any disaster on the father of my children.
Another letter from Lady V——. She tells me, that Mr Faulkland is returned from his visit to my brother. He was soon informed of my parting with Mr Arnold; ’tis the talk of the neighbourhood; every body lays it on Mrs Gerrarde. Mr Faulkland was very inquisitive to learn particulars from my lady, which, he said, he was sure I had told her; but she took care not to give him the least hint which could lead him to suppose thatHehad any share in my fate. She says, he raves like a madman; and that she finds it absolutely necessary to keep him in ignorance of the truth. She was obliged to tell him, that my having discovered Mr Arnold’s amour with Mrs Gerrarde, she believed, was the sole cause of our separation. He asked her, Was shesurethere was no other? adding, That he thought my temper had been too gentle, to fly, on a sudden, to such extremes. My lady took occasion to ask him, Whether he did not visit Mrs Gerrarde? He replied, He did sometimes, having formerly known her at Bath. She concludes with telling me, That Mr Arnold is become quite invisible to every friend he has, Mrs Gerrarde engrossing him wholly.
I hope Mr Faulkland may not suspect how muchHeis concerned in my misfortune: my absenting myself, for some time before I left home, from V—— hall, and my departure from my husband,immediately after my interview with Mr Faulkland at Mrs Gerrarde’s, may raise some distrust in his mind; but, while it continues merely surmise, he can have no pretence for requiring an explanation from Mr Arnold; so that, if my husband keeps his own council, which he seems inclined to do, and my lord and lady V—— preserve the secret, I shall rest satisfied.
My mother has written to Sir George, and given him a full account of my situation, with a request, which I prevailed on her to make, that he would not take any notice of the affair till he saw us. My brother, perhaps, may think of a way, with tenderness and safety, to remove Mr Arnold’s doubts, without farther exposing my reputation, or laying my husband open to mischief. A prudent, cool, and at the same time zealous friend, might devise some means to effect this; but I fear my brother’s disregard to Mr Arnold, his diminished love for me, and his resentment to my mother, will prevent him from engaging with that alacrity or precaution that the nicety of circumstances may require. I will, therefore, wait with patience, till God, in his own time, shall raise me from the state of humiliation into which I am fallen.
With what a tortoise pace does time advance to the wretched! how dismal are those hours which are spent in reflecting on lost happiness. O Faulkland! how light was thy transgression, if we consider the consequences, compared to that which has driven me from my home, and from my children! steeled my husband’s heart against me, heaped infamy onmyhead, and loaded my mother’s agewithsorrow and remorse! All this is the fatal consequence of Mr Arnold’s breach of his marriage-vow: all this, and much more, I fear, that is to come.
We keep ourselves entirely concealed from the knowlege of all our acquaintance: not a mortal visits us, but, now and then, Miss Burchell; and I have never stirred out of doors but to church.
Sir George has answered my mother’s letter, just as I feared he would: he speaks of Mr Arnold with more contempt and aversion, than he does of me with pity or brotherly kindness. He says, ‘It is wellfor him, that Mr Faulkland knows not of his injurious suspicions of him, or he would vindicate himself in a manner he little thinks of.’ He tells us, He does not know (at this distance) how to advise; but that, as I am of sopatientandforbearinga spirit, he thinks my wrongs may sleep till he comes to town, which cannot yet be these three or four weeks, having leases to renew with his tenants, and abundance of other business to do in the country.—So much for George’s tenderness.
My comforts are circumscribed within a very narrow compass; for I cannot reckon one, but what I receive from poor Patty’s letters, who never fails to send me weekly an account of my dear little children. They are well, thank God, and not yet abandoned by their father; but even the knowlege of this is imbittered by repeated hints of Mr Arnold’s lost condition. Lost, I may call it; for his whole soul is absorbed in the mad pursuit of his own ruin. The poor girl, in the bitterness of her indignation, tells me, he has made Mrs Gerrarde a present of a favourite little pad of mine: she says, she had a mind to tear her off, when she saw her mounted upon it.
I wish not to be told of any of Mr Arnold’s motions, and should forbid Patty to write to me any thing upon the subject, but that I fear my letter might fall into Mr Arnold’s hands: his curiosity might lead him to open it (for the conscious mind will descend to meannesses); and, if he should see my prohibition, he would be satisfied that his servant was too free in her censures. I am sure he is quite unconcerned atmyknowing his conduct; but I would not, nevertheless, for my children’s sake, bring this tender, faithful, poor creature into disgrace with him, by convincing him of the liberty she takes, though he may very naturally suspect it.
A lady of our acquaintance, who happened to see me at church, came to pay me a visit to-day. It seems, she is intimate with the widow Arnold, who told her, very lately, that she was impatient for the commencement of term, as she then expected the cause depending between her and us would be brought to a final issue, and determined intirely in her child’s favour. This account alarmed my poor mother so much, that she could not be easy till she sent for our lawyer, who was so obliging as to come upon the first summons. Sheacquainted him with the cause of her apprehensions; and asked him, whether there was any likelihood of the widow’s succeeding. He laughed at my mother’s fears, and at our antagonist’s flourishes, as he called them; and said, he would not give a bent six-pence to ensure Mr Arnold’s estate to him, which the ensuing term, he says, will put out of the reach of doubt. This assurance has quieted our anxiety on that head. The loss of our suit would indeed be a dreadful blow, as we should have nothing then remaining but my small jointure, for the support of Mr Arnold, myself, and our two children; not to mention Mrs Gerrarde, who, I have reason to believe, has been no inconsiderable sharer in Mr Arnold’s fortune.
Six melancholy weeks are gone since I have been here, I may say, both a prisoner, and a fugitive. I count the days as they pass, as if I expected some revolution in my fate; yet, whence is it to come? No prospect as yet opens to me. Mr Arnold’s law-affairs will soon call him to town: something may then happen—But does not Mrs Gerrarde come too? He cannot live without her; and I shall reap no benefit from this, but the chance of seeing my children sometimes perhaps; though he may not bring them with him, or, if he does, he may be cruel enough to refuse me the sight of them. Sir George is cold and dilatory: were he on the spot, something might be done; he might expostulate: my mother too could join arguments to intreaties: Mr Arnold perhaps might be recovered from his delusion; it is but a perhaps.
My brother is arrived in town sooner than we expected, and came this evening to pay us a visit. My altered and dejected looks, I believe, shocked him; but George wants tenderness, or at least a capacity of shewing it. After a recapitulation of my story, he asked me, ‘Could I be so mean-spirited a creature as ever to think of living with Arnold again, even though he should be inclined to desire it?’ I told him, he considered the matter in a wrong light; and that he ought to reflect on my reputation, and the future welfare of my two poor little girls, who would be material sufferers, from the want of my care and attention, as they grew up; not to mention the disadvantages they would enter life with, by my continuing under an aspersion which might in time become very public, as I made no doubt but that MrsGerrarde would take pains to propagate it wherever she went. My mother added, Mr Arnold too might be saved from perdition, if he could be so far convinced of his wife’s innocence, as to be reconciled to her, and live with her again. And pray, said Sir George, how is this to be done, if that damned woman has put it into his head, that Faulkland and you are fond of one another? Do you imagine that he will believe whatyousay? what your brother, or your mother, or even Faulkland himself, could say to the contrary? I own to you very fairly, that I so much despise the man, that, unless you will give me leave to talk to him my own way, I will have nothing to say to him at all. Would you have mesueto him for a reconciliation, and try to persuade him out of the belief of an imaginary injury, which probably he was glad to make a handle of to get rid of you? No, Sidney; you may be as tame as you please yourself, but it does not become your brother to be so. When I go to him, I must insist upon not having rules prescribed to me: your delicacy, in regard to Faulkland’s asserting your innocence, I have nothing to say against; but there can be no objection to your brother’s vindicating the honour of his family. I saw Sir George’s resentment was rouzed to the highest pitch; his eyes sparkled with indignation, and his whole frame seemed agitated.
Dear brother, said I, I conjure you, (and I fell upon my knees and clasped both my arms around his) do not add to my affliction, by involving yourself and my husband in a fatal quarrel. What difference would it make to me, if Mr Arnold should fall, whether it is by your hand or Mr Faulkland’s? The loss would be the same; the misfortune, the publication of my disgrace, the same. Your husband, said he, breaking from me, though a little softened, would have as good a chance as I, if it came to the hazard; or perhaps he might condescend to take you again (if you will have it so), without coming to these extremities, if I am suffered to argue properly with him.—I will not consent to your seeing him at all, said I, eagerly. The cause is now my own, he answered, coolly; but I will do nothing to aggravate your distress. I did not like the manner in which he spoke. My mother, who till now had been silent, caught the alarm. Let me intreat you, son, said she, to drop the thoughts of any violent methods with Mr Arnold. If you value your sister’s peace, or have any regard to the obedience you owe me, I insist on it, that you neither see him nor write to him, without our knowlege and consent; and if you do not promise me this, I renounce all ties of kindred or affection to you: your mother has as just a sense of the honour of her family as youcan have; but it is not on so hot a head, and so weak an arm, that she depends to see it justified to the world. Sir George, who was nettled at my mother’s spirited rebuke, made her a low bow. No doubt of it, madam, said he, there will be a miracle wrought in my sister’s favour. I would have you let her try the experiment of the ordeal: I dare say she would come off victorious, and then Mr Arnold would do you the favour to take her home again. I wish, said my mother, gravely, that there was a possibility of bringing my dear child’s innocence to such a proof; I would not hesitate a minute to put it to the trial: but since there is no such a thingnow-a-days, I will wait till God, in his own righteousness, shall judge her cause, and clear her to the world. Therefore, son, I insist upon your promise before you leave me.
I give you my word, madam, answered Sir George, I will not attempt to hold any conference with Mr Arnold without your knowlege. Will that satisfy you? It does, answered my mother; for I think I can rely upon your word. Sir George left us not very well satisfied with each other; his pride and resentment piqued to the highest. I cannot censure him for it here: he has cause; but the case is a nice and difficult one. The gratification of a private spleen ought not to enter into the measures he should pursue. Glad I am that my mother’s properly-exerted resolution has tamed him a little. Though George sometimes fails in the respect which he owes her, yet I never knew him wilfully to disobey her commands, or oppose her inclinations. ’Tis well there is any hold on a disposition so ungentle and self-willed as his.
My brother has taken a very handsome house in Pall-mall, and told my mother, between jest and earnest, he is going to give her a daughter-in-law, to make up for the loss of her son-in-law. He is, in reality, making his addresses to Lady Sarah P the daughter of a new-created peer. She has a great fortune, he tells me; but I know nothing more of her. I wish him better success in his nuptials (if they take place) than I have had.
Mr Arnold is arrived in town: he came late last night, and his man called this morning to enquire how I did. The poor fellow stole out before his master was up; and was afraid of staying a minute, lest he should be wanted at home. I called him up to the dining-room: I sawan honest shame and sorrow in his countenance. How does your master do, Frank, said I? Has he brought the children to town? No, madam, said he; but they are pure and hearty. I believe my master thought it a pity to bring them out of the fresh air, as long as Mrs Patty is there to look after them. They are better where they are. I asked him, was Mr Arnold come to town to make any stay? I believe for good and all, said he. This ugly law-suit, to be sure, will detain him; but he is comealone, said he, with an intelligent nod: I don’t suppose though he will continue long so. Well, Frank, said I, I am glad to hear your master and the children are well. Ah, madam! shaking his head as he opened the door to go out, it was a woeful day for us when you left South Park. God give every one their reward!
I have not seen my brother these two days: he does not know, I believe, that Mr Arnold is come to town; though, if he did, I am sure he will not break his word; so that I am easy on that particular. My mother says she will go to Mr Arnold herself, toreasonwith him a little. I shall not oppose it, though I have no hopes of her being able to effect any thing in my favour: she is now laid up with a cold, and is not able to come out of her room; but she pleases herself with the thought of this visit, as soon as she is able to make it. She has planned what she intends to say to him; and is resolved to let him into the whole history of Miss Burchell, that he may know, she says, the full extent of Mrs Gerrarde’s wickedness; as what is there of which that woman is not capable, who could set to sale the honour of an innocent, unsuspecting creature, left to her guardianship?
Amazing, my dear Cecilia! I thought I should wonder no more at any thing, yet is my wonder now raised to astonishment—I have just received a letter from Lady V——. I have read it over and over again, and can yet scarce believe my senses. Here it is in her own words.
‘I suppose you know, my dear Mrs Arnold, that your husband is in town; and that he left Mrs Gerrarde behind him for no other reason, I imagine, but that he did not chuse to be quite so scandalous as to let her travel with him; for we heard that she purposed following him in a few days. Patty, I conclude, may have informed you of thus much; but the extraordinary part ofthe intelligence, I believe, is reserved for me to acquaint you with. Know then that Mrs Gerrarde is eloped, no-body knows whither.Good, you say; good, shouldIsay too; but for the conclusion of my story. It is with MrFaulklandshe is eloped: ’tis positively true; she went off with him in triumph last night in her own chariot, and neither of them have been heard of since. I own I am so much confounded at this, I scarce know what I write.‘I am very glad, for your sake, that bad creature has quitted your husband; but that she should have drawn my cousin Faulkland in, is a matter of serious concern to me. It is evident the plan was previously concerted between them; for I am informed to-day, that Mrs Gerrarde’s maid decamped at the same time, and took with her every thing valuable belonging to her mistress, several of her drawers being found open and empty. Mr Faulkland’s servants have also disappeared; so that we cannot conjecture which way they are gone.‘Mr Faulkland, who was about leaving us, asked my permission to give a ball to the neighbouring ladies in our new room, which is just finished. As I concluded he would ask nobody but our own acquaintances, I readily consented; and my lord, you know, is fond of those frolics. I own I was surprized to see Mrs Gerrarde amongst the company, as undaunted as themodestestface there. I would not however confront Mr Faulkland so much, as to shew any disrespect to one, who was, at that time,hisguest; but I was out of all patience to find thatshe, along with several others, was asked to supper; my too-good-natured lord joining in the invitation. Mr Faulkland made a pretence to wait on her home, and the audacious creature took that opportunity to march off with him.‘Now, as Faulklandreally purposed leaving V—— hall the next day, I think it would have been but decent in him to have forbore this piece of barefaced libertinism, till he was fairly from underourroof. He might have made his assignation in any other place; but, I suppose, the lady had a mind to shew the world she is above restraint, and chose to make her infamy a sort of triumph.‘I am quite angry with my lord, for only laughing at this, and calling it a piece of spirited gallantry in them both. He says, he is delighted to think how your good man will shake his ears, whenhe hears his mistress has left him in the lurch, and gone off with another lover. I should smile too; but that it makes me sad to think, that Mr Faulkland, of whom I had so good an opinion, should so impose upon my judgment, and forfeit his own character, for so vile a creature.‘Pardon me, my dear madam; I am so full of my own reflections, on the interestItake in this affair, that I have been forgetful of how much more moment it may be toyou. Heaven grant that your husband may think of making himself amends, in returning to a faithful and amiable wife, for the loss of a deceitful, jilting mistress. Surely this event must open his eyes, or he deserves to lose them. I hope to embrace you in London in a very little time; till then, believe me,‘My dear Mrs Arnold,‘Your most assured friend and servant,V—— hall, Nov. 12‘A.V.’
‘I suppose you know, my dear Mrs Arnold, that your husband is in town; and that he left Mrs Gerrarde behind him for no other reason, I imagine, but that he did not chuse to be quite so scandalous as to let her travel with him; for we heard that she purposed following him in a few days. Patty, I conclude, may have informed you of thus much; but the extraordinary part ofthe intelligence, I believe, is reserved for me to acquaint you with. Know then that Mrs Gerrarde is eloped, no-body knows whither.Good, you say; good, shouldIsay too; but for the conclusion of my story. It is with MrFaulklandshe is eloped: ’tis positively true; she went off with him in triumph last night in her own chariot, and neither of them have been heard of since. I own I am so much confounded at this, I scarce know what I write.
‘I am very glad, for your sake, that bad creature has quitted your husband; but that she should have drawn my cousin Faulkland in, is a matter of serious concern to me. It is evident the plan was previously concerted between them; for I am informed to-day, that Mrs Gerrarde’s maid decamped at the same time, and took with her every thing valuable belonging to her mistress, several of her drawers being found open and empty. Mr Faulkland’s servants have also disappeared; so that we cannot conjecture which way they are gone.
‘Mr Faulkland, who was about leaving us, asked my permission to give a ball to the neighbouring ladies in our new room, which is just finished. As I concluded he would ask nobody but our own acquaintances, I readily consented; and my lord, you know, is fond of those frolics. I own I was surprized to see Mrs Gerrarde amongst the company, as undaunted as themodestestface there. I would not however confront Mr Faulkland so much, as to shew any disrespect to one, who was, at that time,hisguest; but I was out of all patience to find thatshe, along with several others, was asked to supper; my too-good-natured lord joining in the invitation. Mr Faulkland made a pretence to wait on her home, and the audacious creature took that opportunity to march off with him.
‘Now, as Faulklandreally purposed leaving V—— hall the next day, I think it would have been but decent in him to have forbore this piece of barefaced libertinism, till he was fairly from underourroof. He might have made his assignation in any other place; but, I suppose, the lady had a mind to shew the world she is above restraint, and chose to make her infamy a sort of triumph.
‘I am quite angry with my lord, for only laughing at this, and calling it a piece of spirited gallantry in them both. He says, he is delighted to think how your good man will shake his ears, whenhe hears his mistress has left him in the lurch, and gone off with another lover. I should smile too; but that it makes me sad to think, that Mr Faulkland, of whom I had so good an opinion, should so impose upon my judgment, and forfeit his own character, for so vile a creature.
‘Pardon me, my dear madam; I am so full of my own reflections, on the interestItake in this affair, that I have been forgetful of how much more moment it may be toyou. Heaven grant that your husband may think of making himself amends, in returning to a faithful and amiable wife, for the loss of a deceitful, jilting mistress. Surely this event must open his eyes, or he deserves to lose them. I hope to embrace you in London in a very little time; till then, believe me,
Well, my Cecilia, what say you to this? Are you not as much surprized as I am? Mr Faulkland to emerge at last the favoured gallant of Mrs Gerrarde! Prodigious! I confess, my dear, I am so selfish as not to participate with Lady V—— in her uneasiness on this occasion. That Mrs Gerrarde flies from my husband, I am glad; and that MrFaulklandis the very man she chose to fly with, I am still gladder: he, of all men living, I would have wished (though least expected) to be the person. This explains every thing that is passed. Surely, as Lady V—— says, thismustopen Mr Arnold’s eyes. I can now discover a double reason for my poor deluded man’s having his imagination poisoned with jealousy. Mrs Gerrarde did not aim singly at separating my husband and me: this, perhaps, was but a secondary consideration; or who knows whether it was at all intended? But she most certainly designed to secure herself against all suspicions, by making me the object of them; and effectually to blind Mr Arnold, persuaded him, that Mr Faulkland’s visits, made to her, were only in the hope of seeing me.
Let her views have been what they would, this event was beyond my hopes. Some glimmerings of comfort begin to break in upon me. Methinks my heart feels much lighter than it did. How Sir George will stare at this account! My mother will lift up her eyes; but she has no opinion of Mr Faulkland’s morals, and therefore will be the less surprized. I pity Miss Burchell; this is an irremediable bar to herhopes; faint and unsupported as they were before, they must now entirely vanish.
I gave you a copy of Lady V——’s letter, while the subject was warm at my heart, and before I shewed it to any one; but my mother and my brother have now both seen it. My mother (just as I expected), without any great emotions of surprize, only exclaimed against their wickedness; but said, she could not help rejoicing in it, asI, she hoped, would derive happiness from their accumulated crimes. Sir George read the letter twice over before he uttered a word; and then said, It wasstrange; upon his soul, most unaccountable; and that either Faulkland was run mad, or that woman had bewitched him. When he was with me, said he, at Sidney Castle, he did not so much as mention her. I asked him, whether he was acquainted with Mr Arnold (for I had written him word of your marriage, when he was abroad)? He told me, he had seen both you and him, two or three times, at Lord V——’s; but that as he did not wish to renew his acquaintance with you, he had never visited your husband. I presume he was not then a stranger to his connection with Mrs Gerrarde; at least to the conjectures of the neighbourhood upon it: but as it was then but a matter of opinion, and he knew not of the difference between you and your husband, ’tis probable he did not chuse to disgust me more against my brother-in-law, by hinting at this circumstance. He expressed great acknowlegements to my mother, when I told him of the notice she had taken of Miss Burchell; though, he said, he found (from my account of your marriage) that she had deferred her conference with that young lady, till it was too late for her testimony to be of any service to him. As I knew nothing of what had passed between my mother and Miss Burchell, I could give him no satisfaction on that subject; and the recollection of past transactions being equally disagreeable to us both, I avoided ever mentioning them after our first conversation; nor do I remember that Mrs Gerrarde’s name occurred once.
My mother now began to exult over Sir George, and took advantage of the surprize and consternation that Lady V——’s letter had thrown him into. This is your boasted friend, said she; the man whosehonourandgenerositywere not to be questioned, and whoseutmostcrime was a youthful folly that he was surprized into with a silly girl. I am pleased, however, thatthishas proved I was not sogrossly mistaken in believing him a loose man. Mrs Gerrarde is the fittest mate for him, and I am glad they are gone together.
Sir George was too much mortified at the flagrant misconduct of his friend to attempt excusing him: he contented himself with repeating, It was the strangest thing he ever knew in his life.
My mother then told him Mr Arnold was come to town; and that, as things had taken such a turn, she hoped herself to be able to bring him to the use of his judgment; and therefore thought it would not be at all necessary for my brother to interfere. Sir George said, With all his heart; if her ladyship should be able to patch up a reconciliation that would save his sister’s credit, and she could be soextremelypliant as to think of living with such a husband again, he should not give himself any farther trouble about the matter; but, inhisopinion, the affair wore a much odder aspect than it did before. I find Mr Faulkland’s behaviour sticks with him, and has a little cooled his zeal towards him.
I have had a letter from Patty, who confirms my Lady V——’s account of the lovers flight; and she tells me one of Mrs Gerrarde’s servants is gone off express to town; I suppose, to bring Mr Arnold the news: for they are all in confusion at her house, and know not what is become of their mistress; but they are certain she is gone with Mr Faulkland. Patty adds, The servants believe this scheme had long been concerted, Mr Faulkland having been a private visitor to their mistress for a good while.
I must confess I am astonished at it: it has sunk the man extremely in my opinion.
Miss Burchell has just been here. Poor creature, she is quite stunned with the news: she could scarce believe it at first, till my mother desired I would shew her Lady V——’s letter, and Patty’s, which corroborated all she said. She then gave way to tears and lamentations; saying, That cruel woman was born to be the destruction of every-body she had any connection with.Ihave found it so;you, madam (to me), have done so too; Mr Arnold, I believe, has been a great sufferer; Mr Faulkland isnowher victim. Inconsiderate and barbarous as he is, I grieve for him.
I have heard nothing of Mr Arnold. Indeed it is hardly possible that I should: we are shut up here from all commerce with the world. My mother’s illness has confined her to her bed-chamber; we admit no visitors, and I never leave her. I long to know how he takes the ingratitude of his mistress; but I see nobody who converses with him. My brother and Miss Burchell are the only people we see. The latter is pretty often with us; as for Sir George, he only looks in upon us now and then, and we all seem in an aukward situation. I wish my mother were well enough to call on Mr Arnold: I am very anxious to know what his sentiments are; at least in regard to Mrs Gerrarde.
I have been almost asleep, my dear Cecilia, for this week past; but I have been rouzed this morning in a most extraordinary manner. Sir George called on us; he ran up stairs in a violent hurry; and had a countenance, when he entered the room, that spoke wonders before he opened his mouth. He hardly gave himself time to ask me how I did (though he had not seen me for three days), before he took a bundle of papers out of his pocket, which he gave me. ’Tis from Faulkland, said he, and may be worth your knowlege. Upon opening the cover, I found it contained, at least, four sheets of paper, written on every side. Bless me, brother, said I, do you expect I should take the trouble to read all this? He answered, You may read it at your leisure: you will find it will pay you for the mighty trouble of a perusal. Sir George left me presently; and having read this extraordinary letter to myself, for I happened to be in my own room when my brother came to me, I sate me down to give you a copy of it. My mother, who coughed almost the whole night, is now endeavouring to get a little sleep; so that I will scribble on as fast as I can, while I have no interruption.