"Wash, and comb, and lay us down softly."
"Wash, and comb, and lay us down softly."
No one could exceed Lady Ennismore in thatmost fascinating, most dangerous gift of attraction. Christobelle felt under its spell, bound towards her by the silent and potent effects of soothed vanity. She felt she was of equal consideration with her father in Lady Ennismore's eyes; for her opinions were elicited, and listened to with marked attention. Christobelle was raised above the level of her understanding—she was gratified—she was delighted with Lady Ennismore. The dull drive which had been anticipated, passed pleasantly, even rapidly, to her charmed feelings; and Sir John confessed to her, that he could not feel surprised at her ladyship's powerful influence over the unsuspicious and gentle heart of Julia.
Lady Ennismore was equally fascinating at luncheon. She did not partake of the delicacies which tempted the eye, and impelled appetite; but her lively conversation almost recompensed them for the absence of Julia, whose excuses she tendered. "Lord Ennismore was certainly very unwell; he was suffering much pain in the head. His dear Julia never left her son when he had those wretched attacks. He could not endure her to be a moment from his sight; but she had deputed her to give her bestlove to both dear relations, whom she hoped to meet at dinner, or at least, in the evening."
But Julia did not appear at the promised hour. "Lord Ennismore's symptoms increased. Dr. Anstruther was of opinion his patient was preparing for another of those alarming attacks. She greatly feared Julia would be confined to a sick room many days, but her son was so eagerly bent upon receiving every thing from Julia's hand—so attached to his lady, it was delightful to witness such conjugal affection. Lord Ennismore almost increased the disorder, by regretting his inability to see his agreeable guests: the next visit to Bedinfield, her ladyship trusted, would be free from such a painful interruption of intercourse."
The evening passed away, and Julia did not appear. Itdidseem strange that she could not make her escape to her family for a quarter of an hour. Why was Lord Ennismore so anxious for his lady's society, so very much attached as his mother represented him to be, and yet allow her apartments to remain at such a distance from his own? Why was not his attachment manifested in that love for her society which would make them inseparable, like the Boscawens, like the Pynsents, nay, even like the unhappily assortedKerrisons? Surely, Julia might be replaced by the anxious mother, while she visited at intervals her own father! Christobelle was infinitely astonished at Julia's complete seclusion with Lord Ennismore, for she knew her strong affection to her own family, and the little anxiety she could suffer for a man whom she professed to like "pretty well!" This was not love, to compel that devotion of time and thought to her husband's comforts which Anna Maria would have shown to her honest-hearted and beloved Tom Pynsent. It was a line of conduct Christobelle could not comprehend, and her father did not enlighten her on the subject, when she expressed her sentiments to him at parting for the night. He doubtless felt and understood the whole system pursued by the Dowager Countess to sustain her power at Bedinfield; but Christobelle was too young to be initiated in the wiles of the human heart, and she wept to think her sister could absent herself so long from those who loved her, and who had journeyed so far to enjoy her presence.
The second morning's meal was ungraced by Julia still. Lord Ennismore was even "seriously" indisposed; and her ladyship spoke with feeling, and at great length, of her own parental anxiety.Her mind was torn to pieces with agitation and alarm. She fancied sometimes, the mild air of the South of Italy would be necessary to the recovery of her son's health. Julia would be so confined at Bedinfield, she thought. The bright climate of Rome or Naples would be beneficial to both her children, and, perhaps, brace her own nerves. She had talked to Dr. Anstruther upon the subject, and he quite went with her in her ideas of Rome. "What did her dear Sir John think?"
Sir John could form no opinion. He was not acquainted with the nature of the attacks which afflicted Lord Ennismore, and Julia's health was excellent, if he was to judge by her blooming and healthy complexion.
"True, my dear sir; Julia does indeed give evidence of health, and a tranquil mind. I am most happy in the knowledge, indeed in her own assurance, that her heart is free from care. I have spoken to her this morning, and she seems delighted with the prospect of a continental tour. I am very uneasy about my son."
"Have you had medical advice from town, Lady Ennismore?"
"No: Dr. Anstruther is remarkably clever. My son, as well as myself, pin our faith uponhis advise. I am never easy without Dr. Anstruther. We could not consult a more intelligent medical adviser."
"As I purpose leaving Bedinfield early to-morrow morning, your ladyship may perhaps...."
"My dear friend, you must not quit us in this hurried way! Surely you do not leave Bedinfield so soon!" The Countess spoke in tones of regret, but her eyes betrayed her pleasurable feelings. "I must mourn my son's illness, since it removes you from us. The next visit must be at some moment more favourable to all parties. This has been an unfortunate occurrence. I must lament this very unfortunate occurrence."
"I wish to see my daughter before I quit Bedinfield," said Sir John Wetheral, with seriousness of look and manner. "I must see my daughter before I return to Wetheral: probably she will not be so closely confined to-day."
"I hope not—I will try to hope not," replied the Countess; "but my fears will not allow me to be tranquil. When our breakfast is concluded, I will visit our invalid again, and, if possible, release my dear Julia. She is very watchful and attentive, dear creature. I cannotwonder at Ennismore's anxiety to have her with him. We will see what this hour has produced."
Breakfast was concluded in silence. The Countess lost her lively flow of spirits, and Sir John did not contribute his usual portion of pleasant conversation. The trio gradually became silent and sad, and Lady Ennismore, politely expressing her hopes that they should yet alter their intention of leaving Bedinfield, rose to visit her son. She hoped Julia might return to them, when she was with the dear invalid, to take her place; but, if a short time intervened, she trusted they would find amusement in the stores of the library, or in perambulating the grounds. All and every thing was at their command.
The father and daughter were alone for some hours. Each moment, as it sped rapidly on, was full of hope that Julia was on her way to gladden their sight, and delight their hearts; but, as time were on, they feared some evil accident had befallen the unfortunate Lord Ennismore. The door at last opened, and the same attendant, who appeared at their entrance into Bedinfield, again presented herself.
"The Countess of Ennismore regrets the necessity of her absence, Sir John, but she cannotquit my lord's apartment. I am deputed to bear her compliments, and the regret of the young Lady Ennismore. The Countess commands me to say the carriages are at your disposal, and her ladyship trusts you will excuse her presence till the hour of dinner."
"I fear his lordship is very unwell," observed Sir John, fixing his eyes upon the unwelcome messenger with an expression of strong disbelief in her statement; but she avoided meeting his gaze.
"I am commanded to unfold my message to Sir John Wetheral, but I was not authorised to speak beyond its purport. I must now return to her ladyship."
"Stay one instant," resumed Sir John, "and take back my answer. Tell your lady, I will not occupy the time and services, which appear to be required on Lord Ennismore's part. I will order my carriage immediately; but I wish for one moment to take leave of my daughter, Lady Ennismore, ere I leave her to the mournful task of watching by her patient. My daughter and myself are useless, since our exertions cannot benefit Lord Ennismore. I wish to see my daughter, if you please; and I shall be obliged by your conveying my wishes to one of her people."
The attendant of Lady Ennismore retired, and they were again two hours without receiving any interruption. The carriage had been some moments at the door, and Sir John was walking up and down the room with hasty steps, when a note was presented to him, upon a silver waiter, by Lady Ennismore's footman.
"My dear Sir John,"I cannot wonder at your flight—this is a place of sorrow and sickness, unfit for the healthy and happy. May we meet soon again! Julia and myself dare not quit for a moment our beloved and suffering invalid—he is in great torment."Yours most truly,"E. Ennismore."
"My dear Sir John,
"I cannot wonder at your flight—this is a place of sorrow and sickness, unfit for the healthy and happy. May we meet soon again! Julia and myself dare not quit for a moment our beloved and suffering invalid—he is in great torment.
"Yours most truly,
"E. Ennismore."
Sir John Wetheral rang the bell: a brief pause, and the footman reappeared.
"Is Dr. Anstruther at this moment in the house?"
"I believe the doctor is now with my lord, Sir John."
"I wish to see Dr. Anstruther the instant he quits Lord Ennismore's apartment."
The servant bowed, and disappeared.
"This is hopeless and helpless," observed Sir John; "I can only increase Julia's distress, byremaining at Bedinfield. What use will it be to inquire into the machinations of the Countess, except to reap bitterness, and perceive my inability to rouse the torpid character of her son. My poor Julia's fate depends upon that artful woman's will. It is vain to look on, and witness that which I cannot control."
"But Lord Ennismore is very ill, papa," exclaimed the sorrowing Christobelle. "Lord Ennismore is very ill, and Julia cannot leave him to bid us farewell! Will he die, papa?"
Sir John made no reply to the hurried question. He was struggling with his own emotions. He led his daughter in silence through the file of footmen in the hall to the entrance-door, where his carriage waited, already packed and surmounted by Taylor. Hornby advanced to inform him of Dr. Anstruther's departure from Bedinfield; he had driven away before Sir John's message had been delivered to him. Sir John made no remark; he handed Christobelle into the carriage, and ordered the door to be closed: he did not enter it himself. Christobelle entreated him to join her. "My dear papa, where are you going to ride?"
"In the rumble, my love: the air will do me good. Take Taylor inside."
The exchange was made quickly. Sir John took possession of the rumble, which enabled him to commune with his own thoughts in silence, and they quitted for ever the magnificent home, which Julia's fatal ambition had preferred to the happy days of her singlehood, in the less courtly domain of Wetheral Castle. They left, for ever, the towers of Bedinfield, its wooded hills, its calmly beautiful and luxuriant scenery: they never more beheld its ancient walls, or visited the home of Julia's choice. In ten days after Sir John Wetheral's return into Shropshire, the Bedinfield establishment, including Dr. Anstruther, were on their road to Florence, and it was said Lord Ennismore's health had compelled the sudden and silently arranged movement.
A twelvemonth passed by, unmarked by any event, save the marriage of Miss Wycherly. Mr. and Mrs. Charles Spottiswoode resided at Lidham, and Sir John Spottiswoode had returned to England, to inhabit his almost desolate property in Worcestershire. Lady Spottiswoode and her daughter were invited to remain with him at Alverton, to enliven his home, till he could endow it with a wife; but Sir John's fastidious taste gave little promise to the gay partakers of Lady Spottiswoode's festivities, that she would be restored to her once agreeably filled jointure-house, in the Abbey Foregate.
Worcestershire, also, lay wide and far between the growing loves of Miss Spottiswoode and Mr. John Tyndal; but there was resolution on his side, and encouragement on the part of the lady; and the repeated absences of Mr. John Tyndalfrom Court Herbert, gave rise to much observation and prophecy in their circle. The Tom Pynsents were at Hatton, rejoicing in the prospect of an heir to its prosperity; and Mrs. Pynsent's ecstasy could only be equalled by the anxiety she manifested to keep Anna Maria's mind easy. Her whims, in every respect, were to be met with instant fulfilment. Mrs. Pynsent formed a most amusing contrast to the fearful Miss Tabitha Boscawen.
Christobelle was domesticated at Hatton a fortnight before her sister's expected confinement. Her father rejoiced in her visits, for she was then withdrawn from her mother's increasing petulance—a petulance, which began to vent its puerile vehemence upon every being within her power, and which fell upon Christobelle with peculiar violence.
The extremity of her ladyship's patience had given way under repeated disappointments connected with Bedinfield and Ripley. Those matches, which she had most fondly considered her own scheme, prosecuted to their close, by her own determination and skill, in the very face of her husband's objections, had given her no satisfaction. Bedinfield was now deserted by her daughter for a foreign land; and Sir FosterKerrison had interdicted the meeting of Clara and her mother at Ripley. He considered Lady Wetheral an aider and abettor of his wife's violent spirit; and, having once forbidden the presence of her ladyship within the walls, the gibing and bitter reproaches of Clara strengthened and decided his prohibition. Vexed and irritated by these occurrences, Lady Wetheral could not turn her attention to her happily-established Anna Maria, or the gay-hearted Isabel, with her darling child: she forbade Christobelle ever offending her ears with sounds so repugnant to her taste.
"Hold your tongue, Bell. I do not choose to be lectured by a pert girl of thirteen. What is Tom Pynsent to me? I detest a man who can tamely bear to live shut up with those people at Hatton; and who can bear the avarice of Boscawen, driving a stupid pair of horses, when he can so well afford four? Those were your father's matches, not mine."
"I thought you particularly wished Tom Pynsent to propose to Anna Maria, mamma?"
"Hold your tongue, Bell."
Christobelle was happy to escape from the cares of Wetheral, to the perfect freedom of Hatton. Provided every one spoke their mind, and that mind was free from mean pride, Mrs.Pynsent was content. Her good-humour to those she loved was proverbial, as her detestation of folly was public. Luckily, Christobelle was ranked among her favourites at her first visit.
"You young thing, so you are come to Hatton, are you? Shake hands. I shall likeyou, because you showed a good feeling about your dare-devil sister Kerrison, some time ago. I like warm-hearted people, without nonsense and pride—here's a welcome to you, you great, tall, good-looking thing." Mrs. Pynsent wrung her hand with a good will, which gave severe pain. Christobelle tried to smile.
"What, my welcome is rough, is it? Make a face at once, and don't pretend you are pleased, when you are no such thing. There's your sister—she's a proper little tub—and there's Tom, as handsome as ever—and here's my Bobby, with the gout; but you may go and shake hands with him. The poor soul can't wag from the sofa."
Christobelle was received affectionately by all and each. Mrs. Pynsent was full of kind inquiries. Some fell kindly upon her young friend's heart, and some remarks had better have been left unsaid.
"Well, and how is your father, my youngone? A better creature never walked this earth than Sir John. How is he?"
"Quite well, and desires his compliments."
"Ay, to be sure—and my lady, how is she?"
"I left mamma very unwell."
"Too-too! she can't be ill. Hasn't she married her daughters to two mad scamps, that her heart was set upon? What is she ill about? Can't she getyouoff, just yet, that she is so dull? She had better throw you at Selgrave's head. Well, and how is my pretty Mrs. Boscawen?"
Christobelle gave Mrs. Pynsent a full account of Isabel's health, and her happiness at Brierly.
"Very proper; I am glad to hear it. That was your father's match, missy. He valued a good man. Lord, Tom, what are you doing there, with Anna Maria?"
Tom Pynsent was removing a basket of apricots from his lady's vicinity.
"I won't let my wife eat these unripe things, to make herself ill, and bring on all sorts of queer feelings. Upon my soul, you have eaten six half-ripe apricots; you have eaten sour things enough to kill an old fox, much less a little delicate creature like yourself."
"Just one apricot more, Tom," said Anna Maria, coaxingly.
"By Jove, I'll throw them out to the dogs, Anna! You shall not eat such trash."
"Justonemore, Tom," continued his lady, advancing her hand towards the basket, and looking half-beseechingly, half-saucily, at him.
"Upon my word, you are enough to drive a man distracted! I declare you are more trouble to me than the kennel!" cried Tom Pynsent, unable to resist herminauderie, and again surrendering the basket of apricots to her grasp. "I'm sure I hope this won't happen every time."
"Ha, ha," cried Mrs. Pynsent, "and that's the fear, is it, Master Tommy? Give up the fruit, and let her eat as much as she likes. Do you remember, Bobby, how I gobbled your pines, once upon a time?"
Mr. Pynsent looked up from his newspaper, and shrugged his shoulders. "I remember a good deal, Pen."
"I'll be bound you do, Bobby."
Anna Maria now expressed a wish to walk with her sister into the flower-garden. Tom rather demurred at her descending the long flight of steps. Mrs. Pynsent would allow no opposition.
"Come now, Tommy, let the poor thing hobble about, if she wishes it; and, if she drops down, pick her up again. I hate a poor unfortunate woman to be refused any thing. I am sure it's no sinecure to be such a roundabout."
Tom Pynsent was easily persuaded into measures which he endured pain in refusing to his lady. His affectionate heart was only anxious to do right by a creature, whose very footsteps he worshipped; and his watchfulness proceeded from the fear of losing that which was dearer to him than light or life. Anna Maria revelled in the very wantonness of happiness, and she delighted in drawing forth her husband's attentions, by every little inventive art. She loved also to rouse his alarms; and enjoyed, with rapturous delight, the expression of his honest affection.
One morning, as the ladies sat at work, amused by Tom's account of the progress of his kennel, Anna Maria suddenly sank back upon the sofa, and, by her closed eyes, and the work falling from her hands, Mrs. Pynsent did indeed fear some fatal termination to her son's hopes. Tom Pynsent sat rooted to the spot; his clasped hands and trembling lips exhibiting every appalling alarm. Mrs. Pynsent and Christobelleflew to Anna Maria's assistance; but the apparently dying victim opened her eyes, and laughed heartily, exclaiming—
"My dear Tom, I wanted to see how you would look at my death; come to me, Tom, and don't look so overpowered."
Tom Pynsent flew to her, as the blood rushed violently into his face, by the reaction of hope against the horrors of despair. He threw his arms round her, as she looked half terrified at her own thoughtlessness.
"By all that's horrible, Anna Maria, never give me such a useless fright again; I might have had an apoplectic stroke. How could you play me such a devil's trick?"
She stroked his cheek, as she whispered, "I just wanted to amuse myself, Tom."
"Yes, it might amuseyou, but what sort of amusement was it to me? What would you have done, if I had dropped down dead with the shock?"
"Cried, Tom," answered Anna Maria, putting her finger to her eye, and looking demure. Tom Pynsent looked at her with admiring affection.
"Upon my word, if you play me this trick again, I'll—"
Anna Maria placed her hand upon his lips,and a little playful scene ensued, which ended in the usual way. It gave the happy wife the delight of witnessing her husband's sincere alarm and love, and Tom Pynsent was charmed with the little ruse, which gave a zest to the day's routine. "It was," he said, "one of those sly tricks which his little wife acted so prettily, doubling and harking back, like a knowing vixen fox. He thought a wife and a fox were devilish alike in their politics."
It was a pleasing sight to witness the happy understanding which prevailed among the members composing the family circles at Hatton. If Mrs. Pynsent failed—and fail she assuredly did, in the elegances of polished life—yet her domination was kindly wielded over those who lived under her roof. She respected and loved her husband, though his cognomen of "Bobby" threw a shade of ridicule round her gentlest expostulations. She loved her Tom with that blind enthusiastic fondness which extended itself to every thing connected with him. She loved his wife, because she belonged to Tom—the dogs were Tom's dogs—Bobby was Tom's father. Hatton would, eventually, belong to Tom; therefore, her heart warmed to every one around her. Was not Christobelle also a favourite? Had shenot come to Hatton toseeTom?—Mrs. Pynsent cautioned Anna Maria not to repeat her fainting-fit, or trench upon the sacred ground of her husband's feeling heart too closely; at present she was safe, and Tom was pleased, so it did not signify.
"The deuce take the best of them, my dear; if they are often called upon for sorrow, it hardens them, as the cold air stiffens your sticks of lollypops. Tommy is but a man, after all; and the dog must be amused, not frightened. What an owl he looked, bless his heart!"
Sir John Spottiswoode appeared suddenly at Hatton. He was staying at Lidham, and excursing among his friends in Shropshire. Mrs. Pynsent insisted upon Sir John becoming their guest, and enforced her request in her usual quaintly expressive style.
"Here, hollo, Sir Jacky, you can't think of leaving us at the rate of a sneaking call! Make yourself at home, man; and stay with us till Tom's wife—"
An earnest look of entreaty from Anna Maria checked the rapidity of Mrs. Pynsent's speech. She hesitated.
"Stay with us, Sir Jacky, till—I'll be hanged if I know what I was going to say!—if youhaven't put every thing out of my head, Anna Maria. What did you think I was going to say? I wasn't going to talk like Sally Hancock."
"Stay with us, Spottiswoode," cried Tom Pynsent, "and we'll have a field-day; such a one as you never saw in Italy."
"Oh, those outlandish places, and those snivelling Frenchmen!" exclaimed Mrs. Pynsent: "come to us, and here's a pretty girl, worth all your mamzells."
Mrs. Pynsent pointed Sir John Spottiswoode's attention to Christobelle. The timid girl felt a poignant shame, which caused deep blushes to suffuse her face and neck, and she placed herself behind Anna Maria, till an opportunity offered to escape from the room. When she returned Sir John had departed, but he was to become a guest at Hatton for some days, on the following morning. He was to accompany Mr. Wycherly and the Charles Spottiswoodes to dinner. Mrs. Pynsent rallied Christobelle upon her flight from the sitting-room.
"Why, hollo, my young one, you seem to shrink under a little notice. That won't do for my lady, some time hence. You must expect notice now. Don't be a fool—an affected fool—orany thing of that kind; but you must expect to hear yourself admired. Why, you're a monstrous fine girl, and, if you don't beat Lady Kerrison in a few years, my name is not Pen Pynsent."
Christobelle blushed more deeply and painfully than before.
"Come, Miss Bell, try to bear beauty without reddening so furiously. Don't be argued into selling it to the best bidder, and you need not be ashamed of it."
"My dear Miss Wetheral," said the peaceable Mr. Pynsent, "come and shelter yourself under my wing."
"A pretty wing you have got to shelter her with, Bobby."
Mr. Pynsent, to use a parliamentary expression, "withdrew his motion," and Christobelle was again exposed to his lady's jests.
"Now, I say, Sir Jacky would be a proper sort of beau for you, Miss Bell. A long-legged fellow, as steady as our best hound, with a nice estate, and a good temper."
"I would rather not leave papa," answered poor Christobelle, almost inclined to weep.
Mrs. Pynsent laughed heartily. "A good joke this, for Jacky. I only mention it, mydear, to be beforehand with my Lady Wetheral. When she tells you of Sir Jacky's estate, you can say it came frommefirst. I recommended the spec., mind. It will be droll enough if I get before my lady, in a matrimonial speculation."
"Come, now, mother, don't tease my friend, Bell," cried the kind-hearted Tom. "I won't allow any teasing. I shall bespeak Bell for my second wife; no one else shall have her."
"What is that?" asked Anna Maria, raising her head from examining a painted screen.
"Why, Bell has promised to be my wife, the very next time you die, you little rascal." Anna Maria snapped her fingers at him with a smile; Tom Pynsent snatched a kiss, and proceeded.
"If any one teases sister Bell, I shall feel called upon to take her part, so run and put on your habit, Bell, and we'll have a scamper with all the dogs."
Thus ended Christobelle's trouble and blushes; and Mrs. Pynsent good-humouredly forbore to distress her in future, by recurring to her appearance, or extolling the fortune and long legs of Sir John Spottiswoode.
When every species of joke was withdrawn, which caused feelings of annoyance, Christobelleliked Sir John Spottiswoode's society. He had travelled much; and she loved to listen to his accounts of the places he had frequented, and the objects he had observed with interest. Sir John was sparkling in his descriptions, and he saw that Christobelle lent an attentive ear to all his communications; a flattering circumstance, even though the listener proved a girl of thirteen. They were the best friends in the world. Christobelle loved to question him upon foreign subjects, and his very easy manners made her cast away gradually the alarm and restraint of her first acquaintance with a man so much her senior in age and mental acquirements. Sir John had seen the Ennismores at Florence. They were very gay, and Julia was considered the loveliest Englishwoman in Florence. Her society was greatly courted, and there was a Colonel Neville who was deeply attached to her. Every body pitied Colonel Neville. The Countess encouraged his attentions to her daughter-in-law, which made poor Neville's case more pitiable. The young Lady Ennismore had given no occasion for remark, for her conduct was unimpeachable, but poor Neville was sacrificed. He could not tear himself away, when Sir John quitted Italy. He was lingering near Lady Ennismore.It must be a case of strong temptation, he thought, for the young Countess. Neville was a fine agreeable fellow, and Lord Ennismore looked more fit for the grave. Pen Spottiswoode was extremely uneasy about her old friend.
In such interesting subjects, Christobelle's attention was deeply fixed; and, whether they rode or walked, she generally found herself by the side of Sir John Spottiswoode. Mrs. Pynsent winked her eye, if their glances met upon these occasions, but she refrained from making any remark, except by implication.
"I say, Miss Bell, if you would rather not ride to-day with an elderly man, give me a hint, and I'll get you off."
"Here, hollo, Miss Bell, don't do any thing disagreeable to your mind. Shall Tom give you his arm to-day? I dare say, like the rest of us, you prefer variety."
Mrs. Pynsent would not allow Christobelle to return to Wetheral at the appointed time. "She was a steady tight kind of a lass, and the deuce a step should she make towards her dull home. She need give herself no trouble.Shewould settle the concern with Sir John. Christobelle should stay over Tom's confinement—he wouldsuffer quite as much as his little wife—and Jacky Spottiswoode should stay too. It would make Tom comfortable, when madam was in the straw."
So it was decided to be, and both continued at Hatton, enjoying long walks, and assisting each other in dispelling gloomy apprehensions from the mind of the affectionate and anxious husband. Tom Pynsent's apprehensions increased as Anna Maria's hour drew near, and his mother taxed her memory for calming and comfortable precedents.
"Tom, don't drop your lip, like Sally Hancock. Why, there's Kitty Barnes, with fifteen enormous purple-faced children: she is alive at this moment. And look at Polly Mudge, the whipper-in's wife, who they thought must die; isn't she hanging out the clothes, and handing the baskets along, as brisk as your three year olds?"
"Anna Maria is so delicate; one can't compare her with Polly Mudge," said Tom Pynsent, in doleful tones.
"Well, then, what do you say to Betty Smoker, who always wanted bacon and greens, an hour after her troubles were over. She was a poor sickly-looking thing!"
"I hope my poor girl will do the same, if it's a good thing for her," replied Tom, in more cheerful accents.
"Let her eat and drink just what she likes, Tom. I won't have her contradicted in any thing."
At length, the day arrived which was to decide the fate of Tom Pynsent. The moment Anna Maria complained of feeling ill and restless, her husband fled to the kennel, and insisted upon some one bringing him intelligence every ten minutes of his wife's health. Polly Mudge was deputed to relieve guard with Christobelle; and for nearly thirteen hours they were employed as carrier-pigeons, to announce bulletins from Mrs. Pynsent to the kennel, where Tom pertinaciously resolved to remain. It was the only spot where his mind could receive amusement, or which had power to distract his attention from the idea that his wife would not survive her confinement. He took no nourishment. He continued constantly employed with his men in examining the dogs, and suggesting improvements for their convenience.
At length, as the shades of evening began to fall, Mrs. Pynsent approached the kennel, waving her pocket-handkerchief: it caught her son'seye as he was preparing to give "Rattler" and "Beauty" a dose of salt. He bounded over the wall, and gazed earnestly upon his mother's face. She waved her handkerchief again in triumph, and gave a powerful cheer. Tom caught up the note, and it was re-echoed by the huntsmen, till their voices rose far and wide upon the air. Anna Maria had given birth to a son. Mrs. Pynsent embraced her son in ecstatic delight, and the tears ran down her cheeks.
"If it isn't as fine a boy as ever blessed my sight! Go and change that coat, my blessed Tom, and you shall see them both; but don't go smelling of the kennel, my pretty one!"
Tom Pynsent's heart swelled with a husband's and a father's best emotions, when he contemplated his wife and child. It seemed as though his Anna Maria had passed through death, and was raised again to his eyes and heart. He gazed silently upon them for some time in astonishment—he gazed upon the infant, as it lay byherside, who had suffered so much to give it life. He turned to his mother, who watched the workings of his countenance with delight, and, seizing her hands, he exclaimed,
"If John Spottiswoode and myself don't drink like fiddlers to-night, for this day's work!"
All was joy and congratulation at Hatton. Mr. Pynsent, in spite of gouty pains, insisted upon being carried to the door of his daughter's apartment, that he might enjoy the satisfaction of hearing his grandson cry. Mrs. Pynsent would not hear of it.
"Be quiet, Bobby, and nurse your crutch. To-morrow you shall all see our little, squalling puppy."
Tom Pynsent did not drink like a fiddler with John Spottiswoode. He remained the whole evening in Anna Maria's dressing-room, listening greedily to the movements of her attendants—to the tone of her voice—and to the cry of the newly-arrived object of his affections. There he received refreshment, and he only left his station to retire at a late hour to his own room.
Christobelle was allowed to ride with Sir John Spottiswoode, to convey the intelligence to Wetheral the following morning. It was vain to hope for her brother-in-law's company: he was never absent from his lady's room. Christobelle was now quite unrestrained with her companion, and to be escorted by him alone was delightful: he could then attend to her, and she was free to chat, without fearing a wink or nod from Mrs. Pynsent. Her arrival, so attended, was pleasingto Lady Wetheral, and Christobelle was welcomed, for the first time in her life, with smiles and kindness.
"My dear Bell, you are very kind to bring me such good news; I am such a poor thing in illness—so alarmed about those I love, that my company would have been worse than useless to dear Mrs. Tom Pynsent. Tell her how I rejoice in my grandson. Sir John Spottiswoode, we are very old acquaintance, though you have been so long absent. I hope you have brought back your affection for old friends?"
"Unchanged, Lady Wetheral, unchanged."
"I am glad to hear it. You have been staying some time at Hatton, I think?"
"Nearly three weeks, attending very closely upon Miss Wetheral, who has had no other gallant."
"My daughter has been receiving pleasure, I am sure."
"I won't answer for that: but I can answer for her very polite reception of me, and that I have received great pleasure from her conversation."
"Give a proof of your satisfaction, by staying at Wetheral, Sir John. My husband will be fullof regret, if you quit Shropshire without paying a visit to your old friends."
"I shall have pleasure in doing so, Lady Wetheral, when I leave Hatton."
Her ladyship was greatly pleased by Sir John Spottiswoode's alacrity in accepting her invitation. Her manner wore its usual composure under excitation, but her sentiments transpired in the gentle suavity of her conduct towards Christobelle. She was the "dear companion whom she missed—the only relic of past times—the child left to comfort her age, now all the rest were gone far distant from her." Sir John Spottiswoode felt compassion and interest in her complaining affection. Christobelle knew from experience, that her mother's manner proceeded from some concealed motives, in which she herself was involved. It could not possibly proceed from any views which she might form upon Sir John's liberty, because he counted five and twenty years, and Christobelle was too young to become a speculation; but she was assured there must be some powerful reason to effect such a startling change in her manner of addressing her. Where was the "stupid, tiresome, unloveable Bell" of their last meeting? She was, like Sir John Spottiswoode, unchanged;but she was addressed as the creature who had long been the only object of her mother's cares and affection, since the marriage of Lady Kerrison. This was incomprehensible.
Sir John Wetheral accompanied them in their return to Hatton, and Mrs. Pynsent was eager to exhibit her little charge. He was summoned into the dressing-room, where the happy grandmother was seated with the babe, preparing a little soaked biscuit in a small silver saucepan.
"Come in, come in, good folks: come in, Sir John Wetheral; here's a chap for you! Don't squeeze the young dog! Sit down, Sir John. Where's Tom? I'm just making a little meal for our young dog! Tom says he shall be christened 'Rattler;' but he shan't be named after beasts that perish."
Tom Pynsent came softly forth from Anna Maria's room, and received his father-in-law's warm congratulations. Sir John took the infant tenderly in his arms, and gave it a blessing, as he had done by the child of Isabel. Tom Pynsent, almost purple in the face with happy feelings, watched every movement of its arms and eyes.
"Upon my soul, it's the prettiest thing I ever saw! I do think, upon my soul, it is!"
"It's just what you were at that age, Tommy," replied his mother, as she assisted the nurse to prepare the biscuit; "it's just such a little darling pudsey thing asyouwere."
Sir John was allowed to see Anna Maria for one instant, to smile at her, but not to speak. All were then driven from the dressing-room by the mandate of Mrs. Pynsent.
"Off with you now, all of you. Wait in peace till Tom's allowed to see company, and then we will have rare doings."
Lady Wetheral's visit was paid in great form, a fortnight after the birth of Anna Maria's child, and Christobelle was to return with her to Wetheral when it was concluded. Mrs. Pynsent could not endure the protracted visit of a person equally related to the parties with herself.
"Such coolness," she observed to Sally Hancock, who was sent for to see Tom's child—"such cool ways of going on did not suit her ideas; and be hanged if my Lady Wetheral should see either mother or child!"
When her ladyship arrived at Hatton, Sir John Spottiswoode and Christobelle were in the drawing-room. She entered with graceful composure, and in excellent spirits.
"My dear Bell, I come with increased pleasure,knowing I am to run away with you. Sir John Spottiswoode, how do you do? Drawing, both of you, I see. Sir John's sketches must be your models, my love. I hope to be favoured with a sight of those sketches during your promised visit at Wetheral, my dear sir."
"I was giving Miss Wetheral a few hints on perspective."
"How very kind! My dear Bell, I hope you do credit to your instructor. I hurried here rather earlier than I generally drive out, in the hope of seeing Anna Maria for a few minutes. My Sir John assures me it is a lovely infant. I am happy she is doing so well; no fever, I hear; quite well, and with an appetite."
A polite and playful conversation was kept up between her ladyship and Sir John Spottiswoode, till Mrs. Pynsent appeared. She entered the room with the short, sharp step which always marked her dislike to the visitor.
"So you are come at last, my Lady Wetheral? A fortnight is a long time to keep away from one's flesh and blood!"
Lady Wetheral appeared perfectly collected, and unconscious of Mrs. Pynsent's rebuke. She bowed with polite good-humour.
"I trust I shall find my daughter awake. Ilong to be introduced to my grandson—my first grandson, Mrs. Pynsent, for I have not yet seen Isabel's boy."
"I would not have let a fortnight pass without seeing my grandson at Brierly," replied Mrs. Pynsent.
"My dear daughter can perhaps receive me now," said Lady Wetheral, rising. "I am anxious to see her."
"Your dear daughter is fast asleep, and so is her infant."
Lady Wetheral reseated herself.
"A few minutes may find her awake. I may be fortunate enough to remain till she wakes."
"I don't think you will. Anna Maria has fallen into her first sleep to-day, and I hope it will last. The child is asleep with her, and Tom watches over them."
"Her sleep is quiet and refreshing, I hope?"
"We take great care of our invalids at Hatton. We don't leave them a fortnight to be nursed by other people."
Lady Wetheral affected innocence of all covert meanings. She addressed Sir John Spottiswoode.—
"My daughter tells me you saw the Ennismore party at Florence. Did you see mydaughter, Lady Ennismore, to speak? Did she trouble you with any letters or messages for her friends?"
"I saw Lady Ennismore—your Lady Ennismore—twice; each time she was accompanied by the Countess and Colonel Neville, and our interview was short. Lady Ennismore was looking very lovely."
"You mentioned your intended return to England to her."
"I did; but no letters were consigned to my care by her ladyship."
"It is very strange," returned Lady Wetheral, "that only one letter has reached us from Italy within twelve months!"
"Every body expected it!" said Mrs. Pynsent.
"I do not understand—I cannot quite comprehend your remark," replied her ladyship, bending gently forward, and sinking gracefully into her first attitude.
"Every body knew you had given your daughter to a weak man, governed by his mother; and every body expected the poor girl would be carried from her friends. Who ever heard of the old Lady Ennismore, and did not learn that she was a tartar!"
Lady Wetheral changed the subject.
"You have probably brought some beautiful specimens of the different arts, Sir John? Italy is full of rare antiquities."
"I have brought home a few things—a few pictures, and so forth, as all travellers are expected to do," replied Sir John Spottiswoode. "I hope Miss Wetheral will accept a little drawing of Naples, which I mean to present on one knee."
Lady Wetheral smiled.
"My dear Bell will receive your polite offering, with a determination to persevere in drawing, I am sure, Sir John."
"And our friend, Sir Jacky, is upon sale too," cried Mrs. Pynsent. "Here he stands, framed and glazed, for manœuvring mothers to contemplate!"
"Sir John Spottiswoode is worthy many manœuvres," answered her ladyship. "Every lady will be forgiven for wishing her daughter happily engaged to worth and high principle."
Sir John bowed low, and looked gratified by the compliment. Certainly Lady Wetheral ably sustained her claims to good generalship. She addressed Mrs. Pynsent.
"Perhaps my daughter may be awake; may I be allowed to enter her room?"
"No one enters her room but Tom. She is not awake: I hope she will not think of it these two hours."
Lady Wetheral acted upon her own often-expressed principle of never contending with "vulgar people;" she, therefore, rose to depart, and Christobelle unwillingly rose to accompany her. She begged her kindest love to her son and daughter.
"Yes, my Lady Wetheral, I'll tell my daughter Tom, you have called at last," interrupted Mrs. Pynsent.
"Her kindest love to Mr. and Mrs. TomPynsent, and she hoped to be more fortunate at a future visit."
"I'll tell Mrs. Tom, you will call in another fortnight, my lady." Mrs. Pynsent advanced, and took both Christobelle's hands. "You are a good, clever, handsome, gawky girl, and I am very sorry to lose you. Come whenever you like, and stay as long as you like; you will be very welcome at Hatton. You don't understand manœuvring yet, and I hope you never will. Never lose your blushes, and never sell yourself to the Evil One. Good bye, my dear, honest Miss Bell."
Mrs. Pynsent shook Christobelle's hands aswarmly at taking leave, as she had done at her entrance to Hatton; and her young friend departed in lowness of spirits. Mrs. Pynsent had shown her great kindness; and whenever her warm heart interested itself, it was impossible to resist her roughly expressed, but continual demonstrations of good will. Sir John Spottiswoode observed Christobelle's distress, as he led her to the carriage, after having deposited her mother.
"You are loth to depart, Miss Wetheral," he said, with feeling.
Christobelle did not answer. The tears which fell uncontrolled witnessed that shedidfeel unwilling to quit the happy party. She entered the carriage in a deplorable state of weeping. Mrs. Pynsent looked from the window, which Tom had long named the "screaming window."
"I say, Miss Bell, don't cry, and come again soon. Don't be down-hearted; your sister shall always seeyou."
Christobelle heard no more, for the carriage moved on, and she caught only one glance of Anna Maria's window, as they drove round the wooded knoll, which shut out the last glimpse of Hatton.
Lady Wetheral's reception of Sir John Spottiswoode was most flatteringly kind. His arrival had certainly taken great effect upon her spirits, for she rose, at a bound, from listless, irritable apathy, into the lively and amusing hostess. Her mind appeared again full of employment, and capable of every exertion. Sir John Spottiswoode was at once inducted into all the mysteries of Wetheral; and his peculiar tact in quietly amalgamating with the different elements of which they were composed, was admirably exhibited in his visit. Sir John became Christobelle's tutor in many accomplishments; he argued literary points with her father; and he was the depository of her mother's sentiments and complaints. Such a visitor was worshipped at Wetheral.
It was a new existence to Christobelle to enjoyperfect liberty—to be allowed to enter freely into conversation in the boudoir—to be even consulted—and to roam through the grounds with Sir John Spottiswoode, without fearing harsh and unkind remarks. On the contrary, her intimate and improving acquaintance with Sir John was encouraged, and even urged forward, by Lady Wetheral. She approved the hours devoted to drawing, to music, and to botany; she smiled at their application, and thanked, in grateful terms, "the polite consideration of such a man as Sir John Spottiswoode, devoting his hours to the education of a perfect schoolgirl."
Christobelle certainly had never known happiness unconnected with her father's library till now. Never, till Sir John Spottiswoode arrived at Wetheral, had she entered the precincts of the boudoir without fear; and never, till his arrival, had she felt the enthusiastic pleasure of associating with a companion who could accompany her in her wanderings, and lead her taste, as an equal and a friend. She did truly love and venerate the kind, considerate Sir John Spottiswoode—the guide of her talents, and the companion of her walks and rides. She no longer lingered in the library, and listened for herfather's step. She had now to fulfil the allotted tasks of her new instructor, and his praise was the goal of happiness to her young mind. She only dreaded his departure from Wetheral; but Sir John still lingered, and he did not talk of Worcestershire.
The concerns of Ripley were now becoming the engrossing topic of the neighbourhood. Clara's haughty temper would not endure her husband's domination, and the scenes which now constantly occurred at Ripley, began to threaten some direful termination. Since Sir Foster Kerrison's interdiction of her mother's society, Clara's spirit had increased in audacity, and a separation was hinted at, among the reports of the hour. Sir John Wetheral heard the general rumour, and he sought an interview with Sir Foster, some time after the arrival of Sir John Spottiswoode at Wetheral. Sir Foster received him with great politeness. Sir John at once opened the subject to his son-in-law, and spoke most feelingly and sorrowfully upon the nature of the reports which had caused his visit to Ripley. Sir Foster winked his eye during the gentle remonstrance, and he tapped his boot with quickness, when the propriety of a separation was alluded to.
"Let her go—glad to get rid of a she-devil," was Sir Foster's laconic observation, as Sir John concluded his remarks.
"I think, Sir Foster, a separation would be advisable, since you cannot live together in peace."
"Take her back with you, Sir John—devilish glad!"
"There was no settlement, Sir Foster; but you will make your lady an allowance out of your ample fortune?"
"Not a penny," chuckled Sir Foster; "not a halfpenny, by G—!"
"You will not allow your wife to be a burthen to her friends, Sir Foster, since you received ten thousand pounds as her portion?"
"Let her stay at home, then, and behave."
"My daughter is wrong, Sir Foster; I cannot excuse Lady Kerrison, but I am willing to receive her at Wetheral, to prevent the unpleasant recurrence of domestic quarrels. You will make your lady a stated allowance?"
"Take her clothes—nothing more, Sir John."
"This is a most painful and disagreeable task," observed Sir John; "but I must insist upon an allowance for Lady Kerrison, before I withdraw her from Ripley."
Sir Foster chuckled and winked, as he repeated, "not a halfpenny—not a penny; let her take her clothes, and set off."
"I cannot take Lady Kerrison from your house, without a proper understanding that an allowance shall be paid to her regularly, Sir Foster."
"Then let her stay at home, and behave."
Since the resolutions of Sir Foster could not be shaken, her father resolved to seek an interview with Clara, and represent to her reason the turpitude of her conduct as a wife, and the punishment which must accrue to her in the lost affections of her husband, and the disesteem of her friends. Lady Kerrison was accordingly summoned to meet him in her husband's presence.
Clara entered the room with an air of haughty defiance, which vanished at the sight of her father. She rushed to him with open arms. "My dear father, take me away from this ruffian—I beseech you to take me away!"
Sir Foster winked and tapped his boot at the sight of his lady, but he offered no opinion during the dialogue which ensued between the father and daughter. It seemed as if Sir Foster Kerrison had no power to understand, or feeling to be interested in any thing which had not adirect reference to himself. Sir John Wetheral led Clara to a chair, and spoke in tones of deep sorrow upon the subject which concerned so nearly her respectability and happiness.
"I did not think, Lady Kerrison, I should be doomed, by a child's forgetfulness to her duty, to become a party against her. Report has loudly declared what I have unfortunately witnessed more than once at Ripley—that it has become the scene of a wife's altercation with her husband."
"It is the scene of a brute's treatment of an unfortunate creature in his power," retorted Clara—"it is the scene of violence, blasphemy, and disgust. I desire to be taken from this hateful place, and I will never see it more!"
"What has made you so forgetful of the duty you decided so rashly upon assuming, Clara, when you fled from your father's house?..."
"I know I did—I know I did!" shrieked Clara—"God help me! I did leave my father's house, but my mother helped my flight, and beset me with her persuasions to marry that monster. She caused the mischief, and she must bear the blame. Who else had power to lead me into this horrible snare, or direct my thoughts to wretchedness?"
Sir John Wetheral was greatly distressed.
"Clara, it matters little now who guided you into this luckless marriage. You have vowed, at the altar, to obey the man you married, and your submission to Sir Foster is your duty and your vow."
"I vow to detest him all the days of my life!" answered Clara, with scornful energy.
"Then," said her father, rising, "farewell, Clara. I have no feelings to throw away upon a disobedient wife—I can be of no use."
"Stay—stay," exclaimed Clara, rushing forward, and detaining him—"stay, my dear father, and hear me!Younever taught me to marry for this world's wealth—younever taught me to barter happiness for a miserable title—for a low-minded, disgusting creature like that"—she pointed to Sir Foster with a shudder.—"Youwere always good and gentle, so stay and hear me."
"I beseech you, Clara, to command yourself, and do not use this intemperate language," replied her father, "or I cannot return: be calm, and be rational."
"I will be so, papa; I should be very calm, if I did not see that man before me."
"I will not listen to such improper, such wicked language, Clara: hear me!"
"I do, papa."
"I have learned the fearful news of your wretched and open quarrels, from common report; and public opinion is against you, Clara, as it ever will be against the daring and insolent wife."
Clara's neck and face became suffused with crimson, but she was silent.
"The world, Clara, saw your determination, when you eloped with Sir Foster; let it see your determination to remain constant and obedient, now that he is your husband."
Clara burst into tears, and her head sank upon her clasped hands, as she stood before her father. She seemed struggling for composure. Sir John seated her, and spoke strongly and feelingly upon her situation. "Loved by none, and respected by none, how was an imperious wife to pass her remainder of existence, condemned to opprobrium and contempt? How could a woman presume to hope for happiness, when she was breaking down the proprieties of life, and offending her God by broken vows and unholy thoughts?" Clara cast her weeping eyes upon Sir Foster, as he sat buried in his easy chair,winking his eye, and appearing perfectly unconcerned at her distress. Her spirit rose again like the whirlwind at his sight—she started up. "Let the world talk on—let it upbraid me with every crime under heaven, I care not; but I will not live withhim—I will not look uponhim—my brain will not bear the constant misery of living in this place—this wretched place—the home of him who disgusts me so horribly! Oh, take me away for ever!"
"Would you return to Wetheral, Clara?"
"No, no, no, not to Wetheral; my mother is there. She only loves the wealthy and the high; and she drove me to all this! As I hope to meet with mercy, she drove me into this!"
"Be still, Clara, and listen to me once more," said her father.
"Nay, hearme," cried Clara, "and hear what months of misery have passed away under the influence of wine and laudanum. I have drank wine, and I have drank laudanum, but it only stills for the time! It is worse and worse to my brain! Oh, take me home, or take me somewhere—but here I cannot, will not stay!"
Sir John was anxious to remove Clara for a few days from her home of wretchedness, and he appealed again to the heart of Sir Foster Kerrison.He begged to take Lady Kerrison, for change of air, to Wetheral. A few days only, he would ask for his daughter's society: a few days might be a short but beneficial visit to her own family. Sir Foster chuckled.
"Take her home—never come back, I can tell her."
"Iwillreturn!" exclaimed Clara, with impetuosity; "I will never be turned out of your home: it was too great an honour ever to have entered it, but I will enter it now, whenever I please."
"Go along, you she-devil!"
Clara's violent spirit was not to be controlled. She struck Sir Foster upon the face, with the whole force of her delicate hand. The blow was trifling in itself, but it raised the equally strong passions of the person on whom it was directed. Sir Foster rose furious with passion, and kicked his lady with brutal and senseless anger. This scene determined her father no longer to endure his daughter's situation at Ripley. He ordered his carriage round, without a moment's delay, to withdraw Clara from the presence of her husband. It was a scene of horror to his excellent and indulgent mind.
Both parties had acted wickedly and weakly.Clara deserved punishment for her insolent and unfeminine action, in striking her husband; but it was unbecoming and dreadful in Sir Foster, to wreak his fury upon a defenceless woman. Ripley was not the proper home for Clara: since Sir Foster and herself could not preserve even the decencies of appearance, it was better to part at once. Sir John would place Lady Kerrison in his own house—under his own protection; and if Sir Foster persevered in declining to allow her a proper maintenance, the law should decide the question. The carriage drew up, but Clara was not in a condition to be moved. The violence of her anger, combined with her screams of terror, had ruptured a blood-vessel, and she sunk at her father's feet, deluged with the blood which streamed from her mouth. Clara was carried to her bed by her father and Sir Foster, who had rushed from his seat, and now winked his eye with astonishment and regret; he bore his suffering lady in silence to her room; and, though in spite of the chastening hand which had dealt the calamity, Clara twice endeavoured to push him from her, Sir Foster remained by her bed-side in nervous distress.
Sir John ordered the carriage to proceed instantly for his lady, who was desired to set outwithout any delay, and an express was sent to summon Dr. Darwin. All was confusion at Ripley. Sir Foster, except when his eye caught the blood-stained dress of Clara, who lay almost insensible, could scarcely remember the events of the hour: he did not utter a word, or join in the orders which were issued by Sir John Wetheral; but his usual habit of winking and making low short coughs, indicated his satisfaction that some one did act for himself and the unfortunate Clara.
Dr. Darwin arrived first, and his prompt mind applied the proper remedies which the sufferer's case required. He remained that day and night at Ripley. Lady Wetheral had most unexpectedly encountered the Hatton carriage as she drove out of the Wetheral lodges; and, deeply as she deprecated Mrs. Pynsent's boisterous and offensive conduct towards herself, she now gladly availed herself of her useful and more powerful mind, under the emergency of the moment. The kind-hearted Mrs. Pynsent listened to her ladyship's statement, and took instant measures to render herself of use to the shocked and distressed mind of her companion.
She entered Lady Wetheral's carriage, and, sending her own back to Hatton, with a message to her son, she prepared to assist in the melancholycharge of Clara. She was well aware of her ladyship's perfect helplessness in situations which required promptness of thought and action; she was equally well assured that the dreadful circumstance must have originated in Clara's alarming explosions of temper. Mrs. Pynsent was therefore prepared to act the Christian part of adviser and nurse to the ill-fated Clara, and to the woman she despised. In the hour of need, Mrs. Pynsent developed all the real excellence of the female character.
Clara lay silent and exhausted, when Mrs. Pynsent and her mother entered her room. Her eyes rested with an expression of satisfaction upon the former, as she preceded her weeping companion to the bed-side; but they flashed with emotion when she perceived the figure of the author of her misery. She waved her hand, and would have risen in her bed, but Mrs. Pynsent prevented the movement. She placed Clara's hands with gentleness beneath the bedclothes, and signed to her, by placing her finger on her lips, that silence was absolutely necessary on her part. Clara again raised her hands, to wave her mother away, and exclaimed, in low and thick accents, "Don't let her come here. Is shecoming to lecture me about my misery?—it was her own doing."
"Hush, hush," whispered Mrs. Pynsent, "no one is come to lecture you—only to nurse you."
"I saw my mother, just now; I know she is come to upbraid and jeer me. She made me marry a ruffian—and it roused my nature. I might have been better; but she would have me do it."
"Hush, hush!" repeated Mrs. Pynsent, signing to Lady Wetheral to withdraw; "there is no one here but Dr. Darwin and myself."
"Is there not?" said Clara, faintly.
"Lady Wetheral isnothere, Lady Kerrison. Be calm, and be silent, I entreat you."
"I will," replied Clara, "but don't leave me. Stay with me, Mrs. Pynsent."
Mrs. Pynsent remained by the side of Lady Kerrison, till she slept; and her place was taken silently, and at a late hour, by the doctor, who enjoined the strictest quiet to be preserved. At eight o'clock the following morning, Clara woke from a slumber produced by narcotics. Dr. Darwin named to his patient, Lady Wetheral's wish to watch by her bed-side, in the gentlest manner, and he approached her name with great caution; but Clara shuddered and became feverish.
"Let no one speak of my mother," she said, "unless they want to kill me."
It was useless to contend with Clara's wishes. The very allusion to her mother's name raised a discordant spirit, and threw her into almost convulsive alarms. Mrs. Pynsent, therefore, fixed herself at the bed-side of Lady Kerrison. Clara slumbered through the day, and appeared so calm, that the doctor quitted Ripley for a few hours. Mrs. Pynsent was all-sufficient to meet any little change which might take place before his return, but he did not anticipate any thing to give alarm, provided she was kept in profound quiet. A change, however, did occur. Clara woke suddenly, with very feverish and alarming symptoms. "She had dreamt of her father, and she wished to see his kind face. She could not rest again, unless she beheld him." Mrs. Pynsent renewed the dose of laudanum, and Clara again slumbered.
Sir Foster Kerrison suffered as much agitation as his nature was capable of enduring. He sat close to Lady Wetheral, in the sitting-room, and did not offer to resume his daily round of occupation. He did not visit the stable, or enter the kitchen; and his attention was riveted upon Lucy, as she glided to and fro, between thedressing-room and sitting-room, to give from time to time the last accounts of the progress in the sick chamber.
Sir John Wetheral waited, in calm acquiescence, the issue of that day's events. He believed Clara to be beyond all hope of a permanent recovery, but he prayed in silence to the Giver of all good, that her life might yet be spared, to become a penitent, and gain self-command by her trials. Lady Wetheral wept severely, but she could not believe her own hands had prepared her child's sorrow. "It was harsh and ill-judged of Clara to decline her own parent, and accept the attentions of a comparative stranger, especially after the efforts she had made to procure her present eligible position. She deserved more gratitude at the hands of her children—but she had done her duty, and the world would do her justice." Nevertheless, her ladyship wept, and suffered sincere distress at her banishment from her daughter's couch.
Mrs. Pynsent was Clara's watchful and most kind attendant; from her hands she received her medicines without a murmur, and forbore to agitate herself with asking questions, according to her expressed wish. Towards evening, however, fever again rose high, and Mrs. Pynsentfelt that all hope was over, and that her patient must sink under its raging influence. Clara again demanded to see her father; and, from her excited state, Mrs. Pynsent deemed it prudent to acquiesce. Her exertions were the feverish and uncertain effects of a roused, though dying spirit, which would terminate fearfully and suddenly, when its strength should exhaust. When her father entered the chamber, Clara rose up in her bed, and extended her arms towards him. "Dear, good papa, you are come to see me"—her thoughts took another and more distressing direction; and her eyes, flashing with scorn, became gradually heavy and half-closed, as she spoke.
"Look at poor Clara, wedded to riches, and see her statenow! Where is she? Where is Lady Kerrison, of Ripley? Where is the mother who sacrificed her child, and why does she not come to look upon me? Let her look—I am here, struck down—dying!" A copious hemorrhage succeeded the last words, and Clara never more spoke. Before Dr. Darwin returned to Ripley, Lady Kerrison was gone to her rest.
And this was the fate of Clara Wetheral! the young and beautiful Clara! Scarcely passed the bounds of childhood, her days were sacrificed tothe false light of ambitious hope, which, like the delusive Will-o'-the-wisp, led her only into the darkest and most impassable paths. Like the Will-o'-the-wisp, it lured her on, and deserted her in her hour of need. Few and evil were the married days of Clara. Her maid disclosed, at the death of her mistress, the secrets of the dead. Clara had habituated herself to the fatal influence of laudanum, upon every dissention with her husband; and she had endeavoured to drown the remembrance of her error, in potent and destroying libations. Her father remembered that she had alluded to the baneful practice, on the morning of his last visit.
Sir Foster Kerrison winked with more nervous rapidity than was his usual custom, when Mrs. Pynsent announced to him the death of his wife; but his mind appeared relieved by the knowledge that she would no more appear before him, to reproach and annoy. Mrs. Pynsent's remarks to Sir Foster, immediately after her announcement of the event, was either unheard or unheeded.