Complete Works of Frances Burney

by Frances Burney

  ‘Why, then,’ said Miss Margland, ‘should you break up a scheme which he has so much set his heart upon? Why are you always winning over Mr. Mandlebert to yourself, by all that flattery? Why are you always consulting him? always obliging him? always of his opinion? always ready to take his advice?’

  ‘Miss Margland,’ replied Camilla, with the extremest agitation, ‘this is so unexpected — so undeserved an interpretation, — my consultation, or my acquiescence have been merely from respect; no other thought, no other motive — Good God! what is it you imagine? — what guilt would you impute to me?’

  ‘O dear,’ cried Indiana, ‘pray don’t suppose it signifies. If you like to make compliments in that manner to gentlemen, pray do it. I hope I shall always hold myself above it. I think it’s their place to make compliments to me.’

  A resentful answer was rising to the tongue of Camilla, when she perceived her two little sprigs, which in her recent disorder she had dropt, were demolishing under the feet of Indiana, who, with apparent unmeaningness, but internal suspicion of their giver, had trampled upon them both. Hastily stooping she picked them up, and, with evident vexation, was blowing from them the dust and dirt, when Indiana scoffingly said, ‘I wonder where you got that geranium?’

  ‘I don’t wonder at all,’ said Miss Margland, ‘for Sir Hugh has none of that species; so one may easily guess.’

  Camilla felt herself blush, and letting the flowers fall, turned to Indiana, and said, ‘Cousin, if on my account, it is possible you can suffer the smallest uneasiness, tell me but what I shall do — you shall dictate to me — you shall command me.’

  Indiana disclaimed all interest in her behaviour; but Miss Margland cried, ‘What you can do, ma’am, is this, and nothing can be easier, nor fairer: leave off paying all that court to Mr. Mandlebert, of asking his advice, and follow your own way, whether he likes it or not, and go to see Mrs. Arlbery, and Mrs. every body else, when you have a mind, without waiting for his permission, or troubling yourself about what he thinks of it.’

  Camilla now trembled in every joint, and with difficulty restrained from tears, while, timidly, she said— ‘And do you, my dear Indiana, demand of me this conduct? and will it, at least, satisfy you?’

  ‘Me? O dear no! I demand nothing, I assure you. The whole matter is quite indifferent to me, and you may ask his leave for every thing in the world, if you chuse it. There are people enough ready to take my part, I hope, if you set him against me ever so much.’

  ‘Indeed, indeed, Indiana,’ said Camilla, overpowered with conflicting sensations, ‘this is using me very unkindly!’ And, without waiting to hear another word, she hurried into the house, and flew to hide herself in her own room.

  This was the first bitter moment she had ever known. Peace, gay though uniform, had been the constant inmate of her breast, enjoyed without thought, possessed without struggle; not the subdued gift of accommodating philosophy, but the inborn and genial produce of youthful felicity’s best aliment, the energy of its own animal spirits.

  She had, indeed, for some time past, thought Edgar, of too refined and too susceptible a character for the unthinking and undistinguishing Indiana; and for the last day or two, her regret at his fate had strengthened itself into an averseness of his supposed destination, that made the idea of it painful, and the subject repugnant to her; but she had never, till this very morning, distrusted the innoxiousness either of her pity or her regard; and, startled at the first surmise of danger, she had wished to fly even from herself, rather than venture to investigate feelings so unwelcome; yet still and invariably, she had concluded Edgar the future husband of Indiana.

  To hear there were any doubts of the intended marriage, filled her with emotions indefinable; to hear herself named as the cause of those doubts, was alarming both to her integrity and her delicacy. She felt the extremest anger at the unprovoked and unwarrantable harshness of Miss Margland, and a resentment nearly equal at the determined petulance, and unjustifiable aspersions of Indiana.

  Satisfied of the innocence of her intentions, she knew, not what alteration she could make in her behaviour; and, after various plans, concluded, that to make none would best manifest her freedom from self-reproach. At the summons therefore to dinner, she was the first to appear, eager to shew herself unmoved by the injustice of her accusers, and desirous to convince them she was fearless of examination.

  Yet, too much discomposed to talk in her usual manner, she seized upon a book till the party was seated. Answering then to the call of her uncle, with as easy an air as she could assume, she took her accustomed place by his side, and began, for mere employment, filling a plate from the dish that was nearest to her; which she gave to the footman, without any direction whither to carry, or enquiry if any body chose to eat it.

  It was taken round the table, and, though refused by all, she heaped up another plate, with the same diligence and speed as if it had been accepted.

  Edgar, who had been accidentally detained, only now entered, apologizing for being so late.

  Engrossed by the pride of self-defence, and the indignancy of unmerited unkindness, the disturbed mind of Camilla had not yet formed one separate reflexion, nor even admitted a distinct idea of Edgar himself, disengaged from the accusation in which he stood involved. But he had now amply his turn. The moment he appeared, the deepest blushes covered her face; and an emotion so powerful beat in her breast, that the immediate impulse of her impetuous feelings, was to declare herself ill, and run out of the room.

  With this view she rose; but ashamed of her plan, seated herself the next moment, though she had first overturned her plate and a sauce-boat in the vehemence of her haste.

  This accident rather recovered than disconcerted her, by affording an unaffected occupation, in begging pardon of Sir Hugh, who was the chief sufferer, changing the napkins, and restoring the table to order.

  ‘What upon earth can be the matter with Miss Camilla, I can’t guess!’ exclaimed Miss Margland, though with an expression of spite that fully contradicted her difficulty of conjecture.

  ‘I hope,’ said Edgar surprized, ‘Miss Camilla is not ill?’

  ‘I can’t say I think my cousin looks very bad!’ said Indiana.

  Camilla, who was rubbing a part of her gown upon which nothing had fallen, affected to be too busy to hear them: which Sir Hugh, concluding her silent from shame, entreated her not to think of his cloaths, which were worth no great matter, not being his best by two or three suits. Her thoughts had not waited this injunction; yet it was in vain she strove to behave as if nothing had happened. Her spirit instigated, but it would not support her; her voice grew husky, she stammered, forgot, as she went on, what she designed to say when she began speaking, and frequently was forced to stop short, with a faint laugh at herself, and with a colour every moment encreasing. And the very instant the cloth was removed, she rose, unable to constrain herself any longer, and ran up stairs to her own room.

  There all her efforts evaporated in tears. ‘Cruel, cruel, Miss Margland,’ she cried, ‘unjust, unkind Indiana! how have I merited this treatment! What can Edgar think of my disturbance? What can I devise to keep from his knowledge the barbarous accusation which has caused it?’

  In a few minutes she heard the step of Eugenia.

  Ashamed, she hastily wiped her eyes; and before the door could be opened, was at the further end of the room, looking into one of her drawers.

  ‘What is it that has vexed my dearest Camilla?’ cried her kind sister, ‘something I am sure has grieved her.’

  ‘I cannot guess what I have done with — I can no where find—’ stammered Camilla, engaged in some apparent search, but too much confused to name anything of which she might probably be in want.

  Eugenia desired to assist her, but a servant came to the door, to tell them that the company was going to the summer-house, whither Sir Hugh begged they would follow.

  Camilla besought Eugenia to join them, and make her excuses: but, fearing Miss Marglan
d would attribute her absconding to guilt, or cowardice, she bathed her eyes in cold water, and overtook her sister at the stairs of the little building.

  In ascending them, she heard Miss Margland say, ‘I dare believe nothing’s the matter but some whim; for to be sure as to whims, Miss Camilla has the most of any creature I ever saw, and Miss Lynmere the least; for you may imagine, Mr. Mandlebert, I have pretty good opportunity to see all these young people in their real colours.’

  Overset by this malignancy, she was again flying to the refuge of her own room, and the relief of tears, when the conviction of such positive ill-will in Miss Margland, for which she could assign no reason, but her unjust and exclusive partiality to Indiana, checked her precipitancy. She feared she would construe to still another whim her non-appearance, and resuming a little fresh strength from fresh resentment, turned back; but the various keen sensations she experienced as she entered the summer-house, rendered this little action the most severe stretch of fortitude, her short and happy life had yet called upon her to make.

  Sir Hugh addressed her some kind enquiries, which she hastily answered, while she pretended to be busy in preparing to wind some sewing silk upon cards.

  She could have chosen no employment less adapted to display the cool indifference she wished to manifest to Miss Margland and Indiana. She pulled the silk the wrong way, twisted, twirled, and entangled it continually; and while she talked volubly of what she was about, as if it were the sole subject of her thoughts, her shaking hands shewed her whole frame disordered, and her high colour betrayed her strong internal emotion.

  Edgar looked at her with surprize and concern. What had dropt from Miss Margland of her whims, he had heard with disdain; for, without suspecting her of malice to Camilla, he concluded her warped by her prejudice in favour of Indiana. Dr. Marchmont, however, had bid him judge by proof, not appearance; and he resolved therefore to investigate the cause of this disquiet, before he acted upon his belief in its blamelessness.

  Having completely spoilt one skein, she threw it aside, and saying ‘the weather’s so fine, I cannot bear to stay within,’ — left her silk, her winders, and her work-bag, on the first chair, and skipt down the stairs.

  Sir Hugh declined walking, but would let nobody remain with him. Edgar, as if studying the clouds, glided down first. Camilla, perceiving him, bent her head, and began gathering some flowers. He stood by her a moment in silence, and then said: ‘To-morrow morning, without fail, I will wait upon Mrs. Needham.’

  ‘Pray take your own time. I am not in any haste.’

  ‘You are very good, and I am more obliged to you than I can express, for suffering my officious interference with such patience.’

  A rustling of silk made Camilla now look up, and she perceived Miss Margland leaning half out of the window of the summer-house, from earnestness to catch what she said.

  Angry thus to be watched, and persuaded that both innocence and dignity called upon her to make no change in her open consideration for Edgar, she answered, in a voice that strove to be more audible, but that irresistibly trembled, ‘I beg you will impartially consult your own judgment, and decide as you think right.’

  Edgar, now, became as little composed as herself: the power with which she invested him, possessed a charm to dissolve every hesitating doubt; and when, upon her raising her head, he perceived the redness of her eyes, and found that the perturbation which had perplexed him was mingled with some affliction, the most tender anxiety filled his mind, and though somewhat checked by the vicinity of Miss Margland, his voice expressed the warmest solicitude, as he said, ‘I know not how to thank you for this sweetness; but I fear something disturbs you? — I fear you are not well, or are not happy?’

  Camilla again bent over the flowers; but it was not to scent their fragrance; she sought only a hiding place for her eyes, which were gushing with tears; and though she wished to fly a thousand miles off, she had not courage to take a single step, nor force to trust her voice with the shortest reply.

  ‘You will not speak? yet you do not deny that you have some uneasiness? — Could I give it but the smallest relief, how fortunate I should think myself! — And is it quite impossible? — Do you forbid me to ask what it is? — forbid me the indulgence even to suggest — —’

  ‘Ask nothing! suggest nothing! and think of it no more!’ interrupted Camilla, ‘if you would not make me quite — —’

  She stopt suddenly, not to utter the word unhappy, of which she felt the improper strength at the moment it was quivering on her lips, and leaving her sentence unfinished, abruptly walked away.

  Edgar could not presume to follow, yet felt her conquest irresistible. Her self-denial with regard to Mrs. Arlbery won his highest approbation; her compliance with his wishes convinced him of her esteem; and her distress, so new and so unaccountable, centered every wish of his heart in a desire to solace, and to revive her.

  To obtain this privilege hastened at once and determined his measures; he excused himself, therefore, from walking, and went instantly to his chamber, to reclaim, by a hasty letter to Dr. Marchmont, his procrastinating promise.

  CHAPTER II

  A Pro and a Con

  With a pen flowing quick from feelings of the most generous warmth, Edgar wrote the following letter:

  To Dr. Marchmont.

  Accuse me not of precipitance, my dear Doctor, nor believe me capable of forgetting the wisdom of your suggestions, nor of lightly weighing those evils with which your zeal has encompassed me, though I write at this instant to confess a total contrariety of sentiment, to call back every promise of delay, and to make an unqualified avowal, that the period of caution is past! Camilla is not happy — something, I know not what, has disturbed the gay serenity of her bosom: she has forbid me to enquire the cause; — one way only remains to give me a claim to her confidence. — O Doctor! wonder not if cold, tardy, suspicious — I had nearly said unfeeling, caution, shrinks at such a moment, from the rising influence of warmer sympathy, which bids me sooth her in distress, shield her from danger, strengthen all her virtues, and participate in their emanations!

  You will not do me the injustice to think me either impelled or blinded by external enchantments; you know me to have withstood their yet fuller blaze in her cousin: O no! were she despoiled of all personal attraction by the same ravaging distemper that has been so fierce with her poor sister; were a similar cruel accident to rob her form of all symmetry, she would yet be more fascinating to my soul, by one single look, one single word, one sweet beaming smile, diffusing all the gaiety it displays, than all of beauty, all of elegance, all of rank, all of wealth, the whole kingdom, in some wonderful aggregate, could oppose to her.

  Her face, her form, however penetrating in loveliness, aid, but do not constitute, her charms; no, ’tis the quick intelligence of soul that mounts to her eyes, ’tis the spirit checked by sweetness, the sweetness animated by spirit, the nature so nobly above all artifice, all study — O Doctor! restore to me immediately every vestige, every trait of any promise, any acquiescence, any idea the most distant, that can be construed into a compliance with one moment’s requisition of delay!

  Edgar Mandlebert.

  Cleves Park, Friday Evening.

  Camilla, meanwhile, shut up in her room, wept almost without cessation, from a sense of general unhappiness, though fixed to no point, and from a disturbance of mind, a confusion of ideas and of feelings, that rendered her incapable of reflection. She was again followed by Eugenia, and could no longer refuse, to her tender anxiety, a short detail of the attack which occasioned her disorder; happy, at least, in reciting it, that by unfolding the cause, there no longer remained any necessity to repress the effects of her affliction.

  To her great surprise, however, Eugenia only said: ‘And is this all, my dear Camilla?’

  ‘All!’ exclaimed Camilla.

  ‘Yes, is it all? — I was afraid some great misfortune had happened.’

  ‘And what could happen more painful, mor
e shocking, more cruel?’

  ‘A thousand things! for this is nothing but a mere mistake; and you should not make yourself unhappy about it, because you are not to blame.’

  ‘Is it then nothing to be accused of designs and intentions so criminal?’

  ‘If the accusation were just, it might indeed make you wretched: but it is Miss Margland only who has any reason to be afflicted; for it is she alone who has been in the wrong.’

  Struck with this plain but uncontrovertible truth, Camilla wiped her eyes, and strove to recover some composure; but finding her tears still force their way, ‘It is not,’ she cried, with some hesitation, ‘it is not the aspersions of Miss Margland alone that give me so much vexation — the unkindness of Indiana—’

  ‘Indeed she is highly reprehensible; and so I will tell her; — but still, if she has any fears, however ill-founded, of losing Edgar, you cannot but pardon — you must even pity her.’

  Struck again, and still more forcibly, by this second truth, Camilla, ashamed of her grief, made a stronger and more serious effort to repress it; and receiving soon afterwards a summons from her uncle, her spirit rose once more to the relief of her dejection, upon seeing him seated between Miss Margland and Indiana, and discerning that they had been making some successful complaint, by the air of triumph with which they waited her approach.

  ‘My dear Camilla,’ he cried, with a look of much disturbance, ‘here’s a sad ado, I find; though I don’t mean to blame you, nor young Mr. Mandlebert neither, taste being a fault one can’t avoid; not but what a person’s changing their mind is what I can’t commend in any one, which I shall certainly let him know, not doubting to bring him round by means of his own sense: only, my dear, in the meanwhile, I must beg you not to stand in your cousin’s way.’

  ‘Indeed, my dear uncle, I do not merit this imputation; I am not capable of such treachery!’ indignantly answered Camilla.