‘Is she then, my lord, a woman of character?’ cried Mrs. Arlbery.
‘Untainted!’ he answered solemnly; ‘as spotless, I believe, as her beauty: and if you have seen her, you will allow that to be no small praise. She comes from a most respectable family in Wales, and has been married but a few months.’
‘Married, my lord? my fair female Quixote assured me she was single.’
‘No, poor thing! she was carried from the nursery to the altar, and, I fear, not very judiciously nor happily.’
‘Dear!’ cried Miss Dennel, ‘i’n’t she happy?’
‘I never presume to judge,’ answered his lordship, smiling; ‘but she has always something melancholy in her air.’
‘Pray how old is she?’ said Miss Dennel.
‘Eighteen.’
‘Dear! and married? — La! I wonder what makes her unhappy!’
‘Not a husband, certainly!’ said Mrs. Arlbery, laughing, ‘that is against all chance and probability.’
‘Well, I’m resolved when I’m married myself, I won’t be unhappy.’
‘And how will you help it?’
‘O, because I’m determined I won’t. I think it’s very hard if I may’nt have my own way when I’m married.’
‘‘Twill at least be very singular!’ answered Mrs. Arlbery.
Camilla now returned to her party, having first conducted her new friend towards a door in the park where her carriage was waiting.
‘At length, my dear,’ said Mrs. Arlbery, ‘your fair mysterious has, I suppose, avowed herself?’
‘I made no inquiry,’ answered she, painfully looking down.
‘I can tell you who she is, then, myself,’ said Miss Dennel; ‘she is Mrs. Berlinton, and she’s come out of Wales, and she’s married, and she’s eighteen.’
‘Married!’ repeated Camilla, blushing from internal surprise at the conversations she had held with her.
‘Yes; your fair Incognita is neither more nor less,’ said Mrs. Arlbery, ‘than the honourable Mrs. Berlinton, wife to Lord Berlinton’s brother, and, next only to Lady Alithea Selmore, the first toast, and the reigning cry of the Wells for this season.’
Camilla, who had seen and considered her in almost every other point of view, heard this with less of pleasure than astonishment. When a further investigation brought forth from Lord O’Lerney that her maiden name was Melmond, Mrs. Arlbery exclaimed: ‘O, then, I cease to play the idiot, and wonder! I know the Melmonds well. They are all half crazy, romantic, love-lorn, studious, and sentimental. One of them was in Hampshire this summer, but so immensely “melancholy and gentleman-like,” that I never took him into my society.’
‘’Twas the brother of this young lady, I doubt not,’ said Lord O’Lerney; ‘he is a young man of very good parts, and of an exemplary character; but strong in his feelings, and wild in pursuit of whatever excites them.’
‘When will you introduce me to your new friend, Miss Tyrold?’ said Mrs. Arlbery; ‘or, rather,’ (turning to Lord Newford,) ‘I hope your lordship will do me that honour; I hear you are very kind to her; and take much care to convince her of the ill effects and danger of the evening air.’
‘O hang it! O curse it!’ cried his lordship; ‘why does a woman walk by moon-light?’
‘Why, rather, should man,’ said Lord O’Lerney, ‘impede so natural a recreation?’
The age of Lord O’Lerney, which more than doubled that of Lord Newford, made this question supported, and even drew forth the condescension of an attempted exculpation. ‘I vow, my lord,’ he cried, ‘I had no intention but to look at a letter; and that I thought, she only read in public to excite curiosity.’
‘O but you knelt to her!’ cried Miss Dennel, ‘you knelt to her! I saw you! and why did you do that, when you knew she was married, and you could not be her lover?’
The party being now disposed to return to the Wells, Mrs. Arlbery called upon the General to attend her to the phaeton. Camilla, impatient to pay Sir Sedley, followed to speak to her; but, not aware of her wish, Mrs. Arlbery hurried laughingly on, saying, ‘Come, General, let us be gone, that the coach may be last, and then Dennel must pay the fees! That will be a good guinea towards my ponies!’
CHAPTER V
Mount Pleasant
The shame and distress natural to every unhackneyed mind, in any necessity of soliciting a pecuniary favour, had now, in that of Camilla, the additional difficulty of coping against the avowed desire of Mrs. Arlbery not to open her purse.
When they arrived at Mount Pleasant, she saw all the horsemen alighted, and in conversation with that lady; and Edgar move towards the carriage, palpably with a design to hand her out: but as the Major advanced, he retreated, and, finding himself unnoticed by Mrs. Arlbery, remounted his horse. Provoked and chagrined, she sprung forwards alone, and when pursued by the Major, with some of his usual compliments, turned from him impatiently and went up stairs.
Intent in thinking only of Edgar, she was not herself aware of this abruptness, till Mrs. Arlbery, following her to her chamber, said, ‘Why were you so suddenly haughty to the Major, my dear Miss Tyrold? Has he offended you?’
Much surprised, she answered, no; but, forced by further questions, to be more explicit, confessed she wished to distance him, as his behaviour had been remarked.
‘Remarked! how? by whom?’
She coloured, and was again hardly pressed before she answered, ‘Mr. Mandlebert — once — named it to me.’
‘O, ho, did he?’ said Mrs. Arlbery, surprised in her turn; ‘why then, my dear, depend upon it, he loves you himself.’
‘Me! — Mr. Mandlebert!—’ exclaimed Camilla, doubting what she heard.
‘Nay, why not?’
‘Why not?’ repeated she in an excess of perturbation; ‘O, he is too good! too excelling! he sees all my faults — points them out himself—’
‘Does he?...’ said Mrs. Arlbery thoughtfully, and pausing: ‘nay, then, — if so — he wishes to marry you!’
‘Me, ma’am!’ cried Camilla, blushing high with mingled delight at the idea, and displeasure at its free expression.
‘Why, else, should he caution you against another?’
‘From goodness, from kindness, from generosity!—’
‘No, no; those are not the characteristics of young men who counsel young women! We all heard he was engaged to your beautiful vacant-looking cousin; but I suppose he grew sick of her. A very young man seldom likes a silly wife. It is generally when he is further advanced in life that he takes that depraved taste. He then flatters himself a fool will be easier to govern.’
She now went away to dress; leaving Camilla a new creature; changed in all her hopes, though overwhelmed with shame at the freedom of this attack, and determined to exert her utmost strength of mind, not to expose to view the secret pleasure with which it filled her.
She was, however, so absent when they met again, that Mrs. Arlbery, shaking her head, said: ‘Ah, my fair friend! what have you been thinking of?’
Excessively ashamed, she endeavoured to brighten up. The General and Sir Sedley had been invited to dinner. The latter was engaged in the evening to Lady Alithea Selmore, who gave tea at her own lodgings. ‘The Rooms, then, will be quite empty,’ said Mrs. Arlbery; ‘so we had better go to the play.’
Mr. Dennel had no objection, and Sir Sedley promised to attend them, as it would be time enough for her ladyship afterwards.
So completely was Camilla absorbed in her new ideas, that she forgot both her borrowed guinea, and the state of her purse, till she arrived at the theatre. The recollection was then too late; and she had no resource against completely emptying it.
She was too happy however, at this instant, to admit any regret. The sagacity of Mrs. Arlbery she thought infallible; and the sight of Edgar in a box just facing her, banished every other consideration.
The theatre was almost without company. The assembly at Lady Alithea Selmore’s had made it unfashionable, and when the play was over, Edgar found
easily a place in the box.
Lord Newford and Sir Theophilus Jarard looked in just after, and affected not to know the piece was begun. Sir Sedley retired to his toilette, and Mr. Dennel to seek his carriage.
Some bills now got into the box, and were read by Sir Theophilus, announcing a superb exhibition of wild beasts for the next day, consisting chiefly of monkies who could perform various feats, and a famous ourang outang, just landed from Africa.
Lord Newford said he would go if he had but two more days to live. Sir Theophilus echoed him. Mr. Dennel expressed some curiosity; Miss Dennel, though she protested she should be frightened out of her wits, said she would not stay at home; Mrs. Arlbery confessed it would be an amusing sight to see so many representations of the dear human race; but Camilla spoke not: and scarce heard even the subject of discourse.
‘You,’ cried the Major, addressing her, ‘will be there?’
‘Where?’ demanded she.
‘To see this curious collection of animals.’
‘It will be curious, undoubtedly,’ said Edgar, pleased that she made no answer; ‘but ’tis a species of curiosity not likely to attract the most elegant spectators; and rather, perhaps, adapted to give pleasure to naturalists, than to young ladies.’
Softened, at this moment, in every feeling of her heart towards Edgar, she turned to him, and said, ‘Do you think it would be wrong to go?’
‘Wrong,’ repeated he, surprised though gratified, ‘is perhaps too hard a word; but, I fear, at an itinerant show, such as this, a young lady would run some chance of finding herself in a neighbourhood that might seem rather strange to her.’
‘Most certainly then,’ cried she, with quickness, ‘I will not go!’
The astonished Edgar looked at her with earnestness, and saw the simplicity of sincerity on her countenance. He looked then at the Major; who, accustomed to frequent failures in his solicitations, exhibited no change of features. Again he looked at Camilla, and her eyes met his with a sweetness of expression that passed straight to his heart.
Mrs. Arlbery now led the way to the coach; the forwardness of the Major, though in her own despight, procured him the hand of Camilla; but she had left upon Edgar an impression renovating to all his esteem. She is still, he thought, the same; candid, open, flexible; still, therefore, let me follow her, with such counsel as I am able to give. She has accused me of unkindness; — She was right! I retreated from her service at the moment when, in honour, I was bound to continue in it. How selfish was such conduct! how like such common love as seeks only its own gratification, not the happiness or welfare of its object! Could she, though but lately so dear to me, that all the felicity of my life seemed to hang upon her, become as nothing, because destined to another? No! Her father has been my father, and so long as she retains his respected name, I will watch by her unceasingly.
In their way home, one of the horses tired, and could not be made to drag the carriage up to Mount Pleasant. They were therefore obliged to alight and walk. Mrs. Arlbery took the arm of Mr. Dennel, which she did not spare, and his daughter, almost crying with sleep and fatigue, made the same use of Camilla’s. She protested she had never been so long upon her feet in her life as that very morning in Knowle Park, and, though she leant upon her companion with as little scruple as upon a walking stick, she frequently stopt short, and declared she should stay upon the road all night, for she could not move another step: and they were still far from the summit, when she insisted upon sitting down, saying fretfully, ‘I am sure I wish I was married! Nobody minds me. I am sure if I was, I would not be served so. I’m resolved I’ll always have two coaches, one to come after me, and one to ride in; for I’m determined I won’t marry a man that has not a great fortune. I’m sure papa could afford it too, if he’d a mind; only he won’t. Every body vexes me. I’m sure I’m ready to cry!’
Mr. Dennel and Mrs. Arlbery, who neither of them, at any time, took the smallest notice of what she said, passed on, and left the whole weight both of her person and her complaints to Camilla. The latter, however, now reached the ears of a fat, tidy, neat looking elderly woman, who, in a large black bonnet, and a blue checked apron, was going their way; she approached them, and in a good-humoured voice, said: ‘What! poor dear! why you seem tired to death? come, get up, my dear; be of good heart, and you shall hold by my arm; for that t’other poor thing’s almost hauled to pieces.’
Miss Dennel accepted both the pity and the proposal; and the substantial arm of her new friend, gave her far superior aid to the slight one of Camilla.
‘Well, and how did you like the play, my dears?’ cried the woman.
‘La!’ said Miss Dennel, ‘how should you know we were at the play?’
‘O, I have a little bird,’ answered she, sagaciously nodding, ‘that tells me everything! you sat in the stage box?’
‘Dear! so we did! How can you tell that? Was you in the gallery?’
‘No, my dear, nor yet in the pit neither. And you had three gentlemen behind you, besides that gentleman that’s going up the Mount?’
‘Dear! So we had! But how do you know? did you peep at us behind the scenes?’
‘No, my dear; I never went behind the scenes. But come, I hope you’ll do now, for you ha’n’t much further to go.’
‘Dear! how do you know that?’
‘Because you live at that pretty house, there, up Mount Pleasant, that’s got the little closet window.’
‘La, yes! who told you so?’
‘And there’s a pretty cat belonging to the house, all streaked brown and black?’
‘O, la!’ exclaimed Miss Dennel, half screaming, and letting go her arm, ‘I dare say you’re a fortune-teller! Pray, don’t speak to me till we get to the light!’
She now hung back, so terrified that neither Camilla could encourage, nor the woman appease her; and she was going to run down the hill, forgetting all her weariness, to seek refuge from the servants, when the woman said, ‘Why what’s here to do? Why see, my dear, if I must let you into the secret — you must know — but don’t tell it to the world! — I’m a gentlewoman!’ She then removed her checked apron, and shewed a white muslin one, embroidered and flounced.
Miss Dennel was now struck with a surprise, of which Camilla bore an equal share. Their new acquaintance appeared herself in some confusion, but having exacted a promise not to be discovered to the world, she told them, she lodged at a house upon Mount Pleasant, just by their’s, whence she often saw them; that, having a ticket given her, by a friend, for the play, she dressed herself and went into a box, with some very genteel company, who kept their coach, and who sat her down afterwards at another friend’s, where she pretended she should be fetched: ‘But I do my own way,’ continued she, ‘and nobody knows a word of the matter: for I keep a large bonnet, and cloak, and a checked apron, and a pair of clogs, or pattens, always at this friend’s; and then when I have put them on, people take me for a mere common person, and I walk on, ever so late, and nobody speaks to me; and so by that means I get my pleasure, and save my money; and yet always appear like a gentlewoman when I’m known.’
She then again charged them to be discreet, saying that if this were spread to the world, she should be quite undone, for many ladies that took her about with them, would notice her no more. At the same time, as she wished to make acquaintance with such pretty young ladies, she proposed that they should all three meet in a walk before the house, the next morning, and talk together as if for the first time.
Camilla, who detested all tricks, declined entering into this engagement; but Miss Dennel, charmed with the ingenuity of her new acquaintance, accepted the appointment.
Camilla had, however, her own new friend for the opening of the next day. ‘Ah! my sweet protectress!’ cried she, throwing her arms about her neck, ‘what am I not destined to owe you? The very sight of that man is horror to me. Amiable, generous creature! what a sight was yours, when turning round, I met your eyes, and beheld him no more!’
�
�Your alarm, at which I cannot wonder,’ said Camilla, ‘prevented your seeing your safety; for Lord Newford was with a large party.’
‘O, he is obnoxious to my view! wherever I may see him, in public or in private, I shall fly him. He would have torn from me the loved characters of my heart’s best correspondent!—’
Camilla now felt a little shocked, and colouring and interrupting her, said: ‘Is it possible, Mrs. Berlinton—’ and stopt not knowing how to go on.
‘Ah! you know me, then! You know my connexions and my situation!’ cried she, hiding her face on Camilla’s bosom: ‘tell me, at least, tell me, you do not therefore contemn and abhor me?’
‘Heaven forbid!’ said Camilla, terrified at such a preparation; ‘what can I hear that can give you so cruel an idea?’
‘Alas! know you not I have prophaned at the altar my plighted vows to the most odious of men? That I have formed an alliance I despise? and that I bear a name I think of with disgust, and hate ever to own?’
Camilla, thunderstruck, answered; ‘No, indeed! I know nothing of all this!’
‘Ah! guard yourself, then, well,’ cried she, bursting into tears, ‘from a similar fate! My friends are kind and good, but the temptation of seeing me rich beguiled them. I was disinterested and contented myself, but young and inexperienced; and I yielded to their pleadings, unaware of their consequences. Alas! I was utterly ignorant both of myself and the world! I knew not how essential to my own peace was an amiable companion; and I knew not, then, — that the world contained one just formed to make me happy!’
She now hung down her head, weeping and desponding. Camilla sought to sooth her, but was so amazed, so fearful, and so perplext, she scarce knew what either to say or to think.
The fair mourner, at length, a little recovering, added: ‘Let me not agitate your gentle bosom with my sorrows. I regard you as an angel sent to console them; but it must be by mitigating, not partaking of them.’
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 199