Affrighted by this suggestion, Ellis, who then perceived Lord Melbury from the window, ran herself, after the housekeeper, to the door, and eagerly exclaimed, as he dismounted, ‘O, My Lord, I hope no accident—’
‘None!’ cried he, flying to her and taking and kissing both her hands, and drawing, rather than leading, her back to the parlour, ‘none! — or if any there were, — what could be the accident that concern so bewitching would not recompense?’
Ellis felt amazed. Lord Melbury had never addressed her before in any tone of gallantry; had never kissed, never touched her hand; yet now, he would scarcely suffer her to withdraw it from his ardent grasp.
‘But, My Lord,’ said Mrs Greaves, who followed them in, ‘pray let me ask Your Lordship about my Lady, and My Lady Aurora, and how—’
‘They are perfectly well,’ cried he, hastily, ‘and gone on. I am ridden back myself merely for something which I forgot.’
‘I was fearful,’ said Ellis, anxious to clear up her eager reception, ‘that something might have happened to Lady Aurora; I am extremely happy to hear that all is safe.’
‘And you will have the charity, I hope, to make me a little breakfast? for I have tasted nothing yet this morning.’
Again he took both her hands, and led her to the seat which she had just quitted at the table.
She was extremely embarrassed. She felt reluctant to refuse a request so natural; yet she was sure that Mrs Howel would conclude that they met by appointment; and she saw in the face of the housekeeper the utmost provocation at the young Lord’s behaviour: yet neither of these circumstances gave her equal disturbance, with observing a change, indefinable yet striking, in himself. After an instant’s reflection, she deemed it most advisable not to stay with him; and, saying that she was in haste to return to Lewes, she begged that Mrs Greaves would order the chaise that Mrs Howel had mentioned.
‘Ay, do, good Greaves!’ cried he, hurrying her out, and, in his eagerness to get her away, shutting the door after her himself.
Ellis said that she would see whether her trunk were ready.
‘No, no, no! don’t think of the trunk,’ cried he: ‘We have but a few minutes to talk together, and to settle how we shall meet again.’
Still more freely than before, he now rather seized than took her hand; and calling her his dear charming Ellis, pressed it to his lips, and to his breast, with rapturous fondness.
Ellis, struck, now, with terrour, had not sufficient force to withdraw her hand; but when she said, with great emotion, ‘Pray, pray My Lord!—’ he let it go.
It was only for a moment: snatching, it then, again, as she was rising to depart, he suddenly slipt upon one of her fingers a superb diamond ring, which he took off from one of his own.
‘It is very beautiful, My Lord;’ said she, deeply blushing; yet looking at it as if she supposed he meant merely to call for her admiration, and returning it to him immediately.
‘What’s this?’ cried he: ‘Won’t you wear such a bauble for my sake? Give me but a lock of your lovely hair, and I will make myself one to replace it.’
He tried to put the ring again on her finger; but, forcibly breaking from him, she would have left the room: he intercepted her passage to the door. She turned round to ring the bell: he placed himself again in her way, with a flushed air of sportiveness, yet of determined opposition.
Confounded, speechless, she went to one of the windows, and standing with her back to it, looked at him with an undisguised amazement, that she hoped would lead him to some explanation of his behaviour, that might spare her any serious remonstrance upon its unwelcome singularity.
‘Why, what’s this?’ cried he gaily, yet with a gaiety not perfectly easy; ‘do you want to run away from me?’
‘No, my lord,’ answered she, gravely, yet forcing a smile, which she hoped would prove, at once, a hint, and an inducement to him to end the scene as an idle and ill-judged frolic; ‘No; I have only been afraid that your lordship was running away from yourself!’
‘And why so?’ cried he, with quickness, ‘Is Harleigh the only man who is ever to be honoured with your company tête-à-tête?’
‘What can your lordship mean?’
‘What can the lovely Ellis blush for? And what can Harleigh have to offer, that should obtain for him thus exclusively all favour? If it be adoration of your charms, who shall adore them more than I will? If it be in proofs of a more solid nature, who shall vie with me? All I possess shall be cast at your feet. I defy him to out-do me, in fortune or in love.’
Ellis now turned pale and cold: horrour thrilled through her veins, and almost made her heart cease to beat. Lord Melbury saw the change, and, hastily drawing towards her a chair, besought her to be seated. She was unable to refuse, for she had not strength to stand; but, when again he would have taken her hand, she turned from him, with an air so severe of soul-felt repugnance, that, starting with surprise and alarm, he forbore the attempt.
He stood before her utterly silent, and with a complexion frequently varying, till she recovered; when, again raising her eyes, with an expression of mingled affliction and reproach, ‘And is it, then,’ she cried, ‘from a brother of the pure, the exemplary Lady Aurora Granville, that I am destined to receive the most heart-rending insult of my life?’
Lord Melbury seemed thunderstruck, and could not articulate what he tried to say; but, upon again half pronouncing the name of Harleigh, Ellis, standing up, with an air of dignity the most impressive, cried, ‘My lord, Mr Harleigh rescued me from the most horrible of dangers, in assisting me to leave the Continent; and his good offices have befriended me upon every occasion since my arrival in England. This includes the whole of our intercourse! No calumny, I hope, will make him ashamed of his benevolence; and I have reaped from it such benefit, that the most cruel insinuations must not make me repent receiving it; for to whom else, except to Lady Aurora, do I owe gratitude without pain? He knows me to be indigent, my lord, yet does not conclude me open to corruption! He sees me friendless and unprotected, — yet offers me no indignity!’
Lord Melbury now, in his turn, looked pale. ‘Is it possible—’ he cried, ‘Is it possible, that—’ He stammered, and was in the utmost confusion.
She passed him, and was quitting the room.
‘Good Heaven!’ cried he, ‘you will not go? — you will not leave me in this manner? — not knowing what to think, — what to judge, — what to do?’
She made no answer but by hastening her footsteps, and wearing an aspect of the greatest severity; but, when her hand touched the lock, ‘I swear to you,’ he cried, ‘Miss Ellis, if you will not stay — I will follow you!’
Her eyes now shot forth a glance the most indignant, and she resolutely opened the door.
He spread out his arms to impede her passage.
Offended by his violence, and alarmed by this detention, she resentfully said, ‘If you compel me, my lord, to summon the servants—’ when, upon looking at him again, she saw that his whole face was convulsed by the excess of his emotion.
She stopt.
‘You must permit me,’ he cried, ‘to shut the door; and you must grant me two minutes audience.’
She neither consented nor offered any opposition.
He closed the door, but she kept her place.
‘Tell — speak to me, I beseech you!’ he cried, ‘Oh clear the cruel doubts—’
‘No more, my lord, no more!’ interrupted Ellis, scorn taking possession of every feature; ‘I will neither give to myself the disgrace, nor to your lordship the shame, of permitting another word to be said!’
‘What is it you mean?’ cried he, planting himself against the door; ‘you would not — surely you would not brand me for a villain?’
She determined to have recourse to the bell, and, with the averted eyes of disdain, resolutely moved towards the chimney.
He saw her design, and cast himself upon his knees, calling out, in extreme agitation, ‘Miss Ellis! Miss Ellis! you will not assem
ble the servants to see me groveling upon the earth?’
Greatly shocked, she desisted from her purpose. His look was aghast, his frame was in a universal tremour, and his eyes were wild and starting. Her wrath subsided at this sight, but the most conflicting emotions rent her heart.
‘I see,’ he cried, in a tremulous voice, and almost gnashing his teeth, ‘I see that you have been defamed, and that I have incurred your abhorrence! — I have my own, too, completely! You cannot hate me more than I now hate — than I shrink from myself! And yet — believe me, Miss Ellis! I have no deliberate hardness of heart! — I have been led on by rash precipitance, and — and want of thought! — Believe me, Miss Ellis! — believe me, good Miss Ellis! — for I see, now, how good you are! — believe me—’
He could find no words for what he wished to say. He rose, but attempted not to approach her. Ellis leant against the wainscoat, still close to the bell, but without seeking to ring it. Both were silent. His extreme youth, his visible inexperience, and her suspicious situation; joined to his quick repentance, and simple, but emphatic declaration, that he had no hardness of heart, began not only to offer some palliation for his conduct, but to soften her resentment into pity.
He no sooner perceived the touching melancholy which insensibly took place, in her countenance, of disgust and indignation, than, forcibly affected, he struck his forehead, exclaiming, ‘Oh, my poor Aurora! — when you know how ill I have acted, it will almost break your gentle heart!’
This was an apostrophe to come home quick to the bosom of Ellis: she burst into tears; and would instantly have held out to him her hand, as an offering of peace and forgiveness, had not her fear of the impetuosity of his feelings checked the impulse. She only, therefore, said, ‘Ah, my lord, how is it that with a sister so pure, so perfect, and whose virtues you so warmly appreciate, you should find it so difficult to believe that other females may be exempt, at least, from depravity? Alas! I had presumed, my lord, to think of you as indeed the brother of Lady Aurora; and, as such, I had even dared to consider you as a succour to me in distress, and a protector in danger!’
‘Ah! consider me so again!’ cried he, with sudden rapture; ‘good — excellent Miss Ellis! consider me so again, and you shall not repent your generous pardon!’
Ellis irresistibly wept, but, by a motion of her hand, forbad his approach.
‘Fear, fear me not!’ cried he, ‘I am a reclaimed man for the rest of my life! I have hitherto, Miss Ellis, been but a boy, and therefore so easily led wrong. But I will think and act, now, for myself. I promise it you sincerely! Never, never more will I be the wretched tool of dishonourable impertinence! Not that I am so unmanly, as to seek any extenuation to my guilt, from its being excited by others; — no; it rather adds to its heinousness, that my own passions, violent as they sometimes are, did not give it birth. But your so visible purity, Miss Ellis, had kept them from any disrespect, believe me! And, struck as I have been with your attractions, and charmed with your conversation, it has always been without a single idea that I could not tell to Aurora herself; for as I thought of you always as of Aurora’s favourite, Aurora’s companion, Aurora’s friend, I thought of you always together.’
‘Oh Lord Melbury!’ interrupted Ellis, fresh tears, but of pleasure, not sorrow, gushing into her eyes; ‘what words are these! how penetrating to my very soul! Ah, my lord, let this unhappy morning be blotted from both our memories! and let me go back to the morning of yesterday! to a partiality that made, — and that makes me so happy! to a goodness, a kindness, that revive me with heart-consoling gratitude!’
‘Oh, incomparable — Oh, best Miss Ellis!’ cried Lord Melbury, in a transport of joy, and passionately advancing; but retreating nearly at the same instant, as if fearful of alarming her; and almost fastening himself against the opposite wainscoat; ‘how excessive is your goodness!’
A sigh from Ellis checked his rapture; and she entreated him to explain what he meant by his allusion to ‘others.’
His complexion reddened, and he would have evaded any reply; but Ellis was too urgent to be resisted. Yet it was not without the utmost difficulty that she could prevail upon him to be explicit. Finally, however, she gathered, that Ireton, after the scene produced by the letter for L.S., had given vent to the most sneering calumnies, chiefly pointed at Harleigh, to excite the experiment of which he had himself so shamefully, yet foolishly, been the instrument. He vowed, however, that Ireton should publicly acknowledge his slanders, and beg her pardon.
Ellis earnestly besought his lordship to let the matter rest. ‘All public appeals,’ cried she, ‘are injurious to female fame. Generously inform Mr Ireton, that you are convinced he has wronged me, and then leave the clearing of his own opinion to time and to truth. When they are trusted with innocence, Time and Truth never fail to do it justice.’
Lord Melbury struggled to escape making any promise. His self-discontent could suggest no alleviation so satisfactory, as that of calling Mr Ireton to account for defamation; an action which he thought would afford the most brilliant amends that could be offered to Miss Ellis, and the best proof that could blazon his own manliness. But when she solemnly assured him, that his compliance with her solicitation was the only peace-offering she could accept, for sinking into oblivion the whole morning’s transaction, he forbore any further contestation.
Mrs Greaves now brought information, that a chaise was at the door, and that a groom was in readiness. Lord Melbury timidly offered Ellis his hand, which she gracefully accepted; but neither of them spoke as he led her to the carriage.
CHAPTER XVI
From all the various sufferings of Ellis, through the scenes of this morning, the predominant remaining emotion, was that of pity for her penitent young offender; whom she saw so sorely wounded by a sense of his own misconduct, that he appeared to be almost impenetrable to comfort.
But all her attention was soon called to the letter of Lady Aurora.
‘To Miss Ellis.
‘I cannot express the grief with which I have learnt the difficulties that involve my dear Miss Ellis. Will she kindly mitigate it, by allowing me, from time to time, the consolation of offering her my sympathy? May I flatter myself that she has sufficient regard for me, to let the enclosed trifle lead the way to some little arrangement during her embarrassment? Oh! were I in similar distress, I would not hesitate to place in her a similar trust! Generously, then, sweet Miss Ellis, confide in my tender regard.
‘Aurora Granville.’
‘At Lord Denmeath’s,
Portman Square.’
The ‘enclosed trifle’ was a bank-note of twenty pounds.
Most welcome to the distress of Ellis was this kindness and this succour; and greatly she felt revived, that, severe as had been her late conflicts, they thus terminated in casting her, for all pecuniary perplexities, upon the delicate and amiable Lady Aurora.
Uncertain what might prove her reception, she desired, upon approaching Lewes, that the groom would ride on, and enquire whether she could have the honour of seeing Mrs Maple. The man then said, that he had a note for that lady, from Mrs Howel.
After being detained at the gate a considerable time, a servant came to acquaint Miss Ellis, that the ladies were particularly engaged, but begged that she would walk up stairs to her room.
There, again established, she had soon a visit from Selina, who impatiently demanded, how she had parted from Lady Aurora; and, when satisfied that it had been with the extremest kindness, she warmly embraced her, before she related, that Aunt Maple had, at first, declared, that she would never, again, let so unknown a pauper into her house; but, when she had read the note of Mrs Howel, she changed her tone. That lady had written word, that she was hastening to consign Lord Melbury and Lady Aurora to their uncle; in order to be acquitted of all responsibility, as to any continuance of this amazing acquaintance, now that, at last, she was apprized of its unfitness. She conceived that she had some claim, however, to desire, that Mrs Maple would, for the pre
sent, receive the person as usual; since if any dismissal, or disgrace, were immediately to follow her return from Howel House, it might publish to the world what an improper character had been admitted there; a mortification from which she thought that she had some right to be exempted.
Mrs Maple was by no means the less offended, by the pride and selfishness of this note, because those qualities were familiar to her own practice. It is the wise and good alone that make allowance for defects in others. Her resentment, however, endowed her with rancour, but not with courage; she complied, therefore, with the demand which she did not dare dispute; but her spleen against its helpless object was redoubled; and she sent her a message, by Selina, to order that she would complain of a sore throat, as an excuse for not quitting her room, nor expecting any of the ladies to visit her: yet charged her to be careful, at the same time, to say, that it was very slight, lest the people in the neighbourhood, or the servants themselves, should wonder at not seeing a physician.
Ellis could by no means repine at a separation, that saved her from the pride and malevolence of Mrs Maple and of Ireton, and from the distressing incongruities of Elinor.
Her spirits being thus freed from immediate alarm, she was able to ruminate upon her situation, and upon what efforts she might make for its amelioration. Her letter from abroad enjoined her still to live in concealment, with respect to her name, circumstances, and story: all hope, therefore, of any speedy change was blown over; and many fears remained, that this helpless obscurity might be of long duration. It was necessary that she should form some plan, to accommodate her mode of life to her immediate condition; and to liberate, if possible, her feelings, from the continual caprices to which she was now subject.
To live upon charity, was hostile to all her notions, though the benefaction of Lady Aurora had soothed, not mortified, her proudest sensations. But Lady Aurora was not of an age to be supposed already free from controul, in the use of her income; and still less was she of a character, to resist the counsel, or even wishes of her friends. Ellis was determined not to induce her to do either: nor could she endure to give a mercenary character to a grateful affection, which languished to shew that its increase, as well as its origin, sprang from disinterested motives. All her thoughts, therefore, turned upon making the present offering suffice.
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 274