Complete Works of Frances Burney

by Frances Burney

  The countenance of Juliet, though she neither deigned to speak nor to turn to him, marked such strong disapprobation, that he thought proper to add, ‘Don’t be affronted for little Selina Joddrel: I really meant to marry her at the time; and I should really have gone on, and “buckled to,” if the thing had been any way possible: but she turns out such a confounded little fool, that I can’t think of her any longer.’

  ‘And was it necessary,—’ Juliet could not refrain from saying, ‘to engage her first, and examine whether she could make you happy afterwards?’

  ‘Why that seems a little awkward, I confess; but it’s a way I have adopted. Though I took the decision, I own, rather in a hurry, with regard to little Selina; for it was merely to free myself from the reproaches of Sir Jaspar, who, because he is seventy-five, and does not know what to do with himself, is always regretting that he did not take a wife when he was a stripling; and always at work to get me into the yoke. But, the truth is, I promised, when I went abroad, to bring him home a niece from France, or Italy; unless I went further east; and then I would look him out a fair Circassian. Now as he has a great taste for any thing out of the common way, and retains a constant hankering after Beauty, he was delighted with the scheme. But I saw nothing that would do! Nothing I could take to! The pretty ones were all too buckish; and the steady ones, a set of the yellowest frights I ever beheld.’

  ‘Alas for the poor ladies!’

  ‘O, you are a mocker, are you? — So to lighten the disappointment to Sir Jaspar, I hit upon the expedient of taking up with little Selina, who was the first young thing that fell in my way. And I was too tired to be difficult. Besides, what made her the more convenient, was her extreme youth, which gave me a year to look about me, and see if I could do any better. But she’s a poor creature; a sad poor creature indeed! quite too bad. So I must make an end of the business as fast as possible. Besides, another thing that puts me in a hurry is, — the very devil would have it so! — but I have fallen in love with her sister!—’

  Juliet, at a loss how to understand him, now raised her eyes; and, not without astonishment, perceived that he was speaking with a grave face.

  ‘O that noble stroke! That inimitable girl! Happy, happy, Harleigh! That fellow fascinates the girls the more the less notice he takes of them! I take but little notice of them, neither; but, some how or other, they never do that sort of thing for me! If I could meet with one who would take such a measure for my sake, and before such an assembly, — I really think I should worship her!’

  Then, lowering his voice, ‘You may be amazingly useful to me, my angel,’ he cried, ‘in this new affair. I know you are very well with Harleigh, though I don’t know exactly how; but if, — nay, hear me before you look so proud! if you’ll help me, a little, how to go to work with the divine Elinor, I’ll bind myself down to make over to you, — in case of success, — mark that! — as round a sum as you may be pleased to name!’

  The disdain of Juliet at this proposition was so powerful, that, though she heard it as the deepest of insults, indignation was but a secondary feeling; and a look of utter scorn, with a determined silence to whatever else he might say, was the only notice it received.

  He continued, nevertheless, to address her, demanding her advice how to manage Harleigh, and her assistance how to conquer Elinor, with an air of as much intimacy and confidence, as if he received the most cordial replies. He purposed, he said, unless she could counsel him to something better, making an immediate overture to Elinor; by which means, whether he should obtain, or not, the only girl in the world who knew how to love, and what love meant, he should, at least, in a very summary way, get rid of the little Selina.

  Juliet knew too well the slightness of the texture of the regard of Selina for Ireton, to be really hurt at this defection; yet she was not less offended at being selected for the confidant of so dishonourable a proceeding; nor less disgusted at the unfeeling insolence by which it was dictated.

  An attempt at opening the door at length silenced him, while the voice of Mrs Ireton’s woman called out, ‘Goodness! Miss Ellis, what do you lock yourself in for? My lady has sent me to you.’

  Juliet cast up her eyes, foreseeing the many disagreeable attacks and surmises to which she was made liable by this incident; yet immediately said aloud, ‘Since you have thought proper, Mr Ireton, to lock the door, for your own pleasure, you will, at least, I imagine, think proper to open it for that of Mrs Ireton.’

  ‘Deuce take me if I do!’ cried he, in a low voice: ‘manage the matter as you will! I have naturally no taste for a prude; so I always leave her to work her way out of a scrape as well as she can. But I’ll see you again when they are all off.’ Then, throwing the key upon her lap, he softly and laughingly escaped out of the window.

  Provoked and vexed, yet helpless, and without any means of redress, Juliet opened the door.

  ‘Goodness! Miss Ellis,’ cried the Abigail, peeping curiously around, ‘how droll for you to shut yourself in! My lady sent me to ask whether you have seen any thing of Mr Ireton in the garden, or about; for she has been ready to go ever so long, and he said he was setting off first on horseback; but his groom is come, and is waiting for orders, and none of us can tell where he is.’

  ‘Mr Ireton,’ Juliet quietly answered, ‘was here just now; and I doubt not but you will find him in the garden.’

  ‘Yes,’ cried the boy, ‘he slid out of the window.’

  ‘Goodness! was he in here, then, Master Loddard? Well! my lady’ll be in a fine passion, if she should hear of it!’

  This was enough to give the tidings a messenger: the boy darted forward, and reached the house in a moment.

  The Abigail ran after him; Juliet, too, followed, dreading the impending storm yet still more averse to remaining within the reach and power of Ireton. And the knowledge, that he would now, for the rest of the morning, be sole master of the house, filled her with such horrour, of the wanton calumny to which his unprincipled egotism might expose her, that, rather than continue under the same roof with a character so unfeelingly audacious, she preferred risking all the mortifications to which she might be liable in the excursion to Arundel Castle.

  Advanced already into the hall, dragged thither by her turbulent little nephew, and the hope of detecting the hiding-place of Ireton, stood the patroness whom she now felt compelled to soothe into accepting her attendance. Not aware of this purposed concession, and nearly as much frightened as enraged, to find with whom her son had been shut up, Mrs Ireton, in a tone equally querulous and piqued, cried, ‘I beg you a thousand pardons, Ma’am, for the indiscretion of which I have been guilty, in asking for the honour of your company to Arundel Castle this morning! I ought to make a million of apologies for supposing that a young lady, — for you are a lady, no doubt! every body is a lady, now! — of your extraordinary turn and talents the insupportable insipidity of a tête à tête with a female; or the dull care of a bantling; when a splendid, flashy, rich, young travelled gentleman, chusing, also, to remain behind, may be tired, and want some amusement! ’Twas grossly stupid of me, I own, to expect such a sacrifice. You, who, besides these prodigious talents, that make us all appear like a set of vulgar, uneducated beings by your side; you, who revel also, in the luxury of wealth; who wanton in the stores of Plutus; who are accustomed to the magnificence of unaccounted hoards! — How must the whole detail of our existence appear penurious, pitiful to you! — I am surprised how you can forbear falling into fits at the very sight of us! But I presume you reserve the brilliancy of an action of that eclat, for objects better worth your while to dazzle by a stroke of that grand description? I must have lost my senses, certainly, to so ill appreciate my own insignificance! I hope you’ll pity me! that’s all! I hope you will have so much unction as to pity me!’

  If, at the opening of this harangue, the patience of Juliet nearly yielded to resentment, its length gave power to reflection, — which usually wants but time for checking impulse, — to point out the many
and nameless mischiefs, to which quitting the house under similar suspicions might give rise. She quietly, therefore, answered, that though to herself it must precisely be the same thing, whether Mr Ireton were at home or abroad, if that circumstance gave any choice to Mrs Ireton, she would change her own plans, either to go or to stay, according to the directions which she might receive.

  A superiority to accusation or surmize thus cool and decided, no sooner relieved the apprehensions of Mrs Ireton by its evident innocence, than it excited her wrath by its deliberate indifference, if not contempt: and she would now disdainfully have rejected the attendance which, the moment before, she had anxiously desired, had not the little master of the house, who had seized the opportunity of this harangue to make his escape, caught a glimpse of the carriage at the door; and put an end to all contest, by stunning all ears, with an unremitting scream till he forced himself into it; when, overpowering every obstacle, he obliged his aunt and Juliet to follow; while he issued his own orders to the postilion to drive to Arundel Castle.

  Even the terrour of calumny, that most dangerous and baneful foe to unprotected woman! would scarcely have frightened Juliet into this expedition, had she been aware that, as soon as she was seated in the landau, with orders to take the whole charge of Mr Loddard, the little dog, also, would have been given to her management. ‘Bijou will like to take the air,’ cried Mrs Ireton, languidly; ‘and he will serve to entertain Loddard by the way. He can go very well on Miss Ellis’s lap. Pretty little creature! ’Twould be cruel to leave him at home alone!’

  This terrible humanity, which, in a hot day, in the middle of July, cast upon the knees of Juliet a fat, round, well furred, and over-fed little animal, accustomed to snarl, scratch, stretch, and roll himself about at his pleasure, produced fatigue the most pitiless, and inconvenience the most comfortless. The little tyrant of the party, whose will was law to the company, found no diversion so much to his taste, during the short journey, as exciting the churlish humour of his fellow-favourite, by pinching his ears, pulling his nose, filliping his claws, squeezing his throat, and twisting round his tail. And all these feats, far from incurring any reprimand, were laughed at and applauded. For whom did they incommode? No one but Miss Ellis; — and for what else was Miss Ellis there?

  Yet this fatigue and disgust might have been passed over, as local evils, had they ceased with the journey; and had she then been at liberty to look at what remains of the venerable old castle; to visit its ancient chapel; to examine the genealogical records of the long gallery; to climb up to the antique citadel, and to enjoy the spacious view thence presented of the sea: but she immediately received orders to give exercise to Bijou, and to watch that he ran into no danger: though Selina, who assiduously came forward to meet Mrs Ireton, without appearing even to perceive Juliet, officiously took young Loddard in charge, and conducted him, with his aunt, to a large expecting party, long arrived, and now viewing the citadel.

  CHAPTER LVIII

  Relieved, nevertheless, through whatever means effected, by a separation, Juliet, with her speechless, though far from mute companion, went forth to seek some obscure walk. But her purpose was defeated by the junction of a little spaniel, to which Bijou attached himself, with a fondness so tenacious, that her utmost efforts either to disengage them, or to excite both to follow her, were fruitless; Bijou would not quit the spaniel; nor the spaniel his post near the mansion.

  Not daring to go on without her troublesome little charge, the approach of a carriage made her hasten to a garden-seat, upon which, though she could not be hidden, she might be less conspicuous.

  The carriage, familiar to her from having frequently seen it at Miss Matson’s, was that of Sir Jaspar Herrington. Not satisfied, though she had no right to be angry, at the so measured politeness which he had shewn her the preceding day, when further notice would have softened her mortifying embarrassment, she was glad that he had not remarked her in passing.

  She heard him enquire for Mrs Ireton’s party, which he had promised to join; but, affrighted at the sound of the citadel, he said that he would alight, and wait upon some warm seat in the grounds.

  In descending from his chaise, one of his crutches fell, and a bonbonniere, of which the contents were dispersed upon the ground, slipt from the hand of his valet. It was then, and not without chagrin, that Juliet began further to comprehend the defects of a character which she had thought an entire composition of philanthropy and courtesy. He reviled rather than scolded the servant to whom the accident had happened; and treated the circumstances as an event of the first importance. He cast an equal share of blame, and with added sharpness, upon the postilion, for not having advanced an inch nearer to the stone-steps; and uttered invectives even virulent against the groom, that he had not come forward to help. Angry, because vexed, with all around, he used as little moderation in his wrath, as reason in his reproaches.

  How superficially, thought Juliet, can we judge of dispositions, where nothing is seen but what is meant to be shewn! where nothing is pronounced but what is prepared for being heard! Had I fixed my opinion of this gentleman only upon what he intended that I should witness, I should have concluded that he had as much urbanity of humour as of manners. I could never have imagined, that the most trifling of accidents could, in a moment, destroy the whole harmony of his temper!

  In the midst of the choleric harangue of the Baronet, against which no one ventured to remonstrate, the little dogs came sporting before him; and, recollecting Bijou, he hastily turned his head towards the person upon the garden-seat, whom he had passed without any attention, and discerned Juliet.

  He hobbled towards her without delay, warmly expressing his delight at so auspicious a meeting: but the air and look, reserved and grave, with which, involuntarily, she heard him, brought to his consciousness, what the pleasure of her sight had driven from it, his enraged attack upon his servants; which she must unavoidably have witnessed, and of which her countenance shewed her opinion.

  He stood some moments silent, leaning upon his crutches, and palpably disconcerted. Then, shrugging his shoulders, with a half smile, but a piteous look, ‘Many,’ he cried, ‘are the tricks which my quaint little imps have played me! many, the quirks and villainous wiles I owe them! — but never yet, with all the ingenuity of their malice, have they put me to shame and confusion such as this!’

  Rising to be gone, yet sorry for him, and softened, the disapprobation of Juliet was mingled with a concern, from her disposition to like him, that made its expression, in the eyes of her old admirer, seem something nearly divine. He looked at her with reverence and with regret, but made no attempt to prevent her departure. To separate, however, the dogs, or induce the spaniel to go further, she still found impossible; and, not daring to abandon Bijou, was fain quietly to seat herself again, upon a garden-chair, nearer to the house.

  Sir Jaspar, for some minutes, remained, pensively, upon the spot where she had left him; then, again shrugging his shoulders, as if bemoaning his ill luck, and again hobbling after her, ‘There is nothing,’ he cried, ‘that makes a man look so small, as a sudden self-conviction that he merits ridicule or disgrace! what intemperance would be averted, could we believe ourselves always, — not only from above, but by one another, overhead! Don’t take an aversion to me, however! nor suppose me worse than I am; nor worse than the herd of mankind. You have but seen an old bachelor in his true colours! Not with the gay tints, not with the spruce smiles, not with the gallant bows, the courteous homage, the flowery flourishes, with which he makes himself up for shew; but with the grim colouring of factious age, and suspicious egotism!’

  The countenance of Juliet shewing her now to be shocked that she had given rise to these apologies, that of Sir Jaspar brightened; and, dragging a chair to her side, ‘I came hither,’ he cried, ‘in the fair hope to seize one of those happy moments, that the fates, now and then, accord to favoured mortals, for holding interesting and dulcet discourse, with the most fascinating enchantress that a
long life, filled up with fastidious, perhaps fantastic researches after female excellence, has cast in my way. Would not one have thought twas some indulgent sylph that directed me? that inspired me with the idea, and then seconded the inspiration, by contriving that my arrival should take place at the critical instant, when that syren was to be found alone? Who could have suspected ’twas but the envious stratagem of some imp of darkness and spite, devised purely to expose a poor antiquated soul, with all his infirmities, physical and moral, to your contempt and antipathy?’

  Peering now under her hat, his penetrating eyes discerned so entire a change in his favour, that he completely recovered his pleasantry, his quaint archness, and his gallantry.

  ‘If betrayed,’ he continued, ‘by these perfidious elves, where may a poor forlorn solitary wight, such as I am, find a counsellor? He has no bosom friend, like the happy mortal, whose kindly star has guided him to seek, in lively, all-attractive youth, an equal partner for melancholy, all revolting age! He has no rising progeny, that, inheritors of his interests, naturally share his difficulties. He has nothing at hand but mercenary dependents. Nothing at heart but jealous suspicion of others, or secret repining for himself! Such, fair censurer! such is the natural state of that unnatural character, an old bachelor! How, then, when not upon his guard, or, in other words, when not urged by some outward object, some passing pleasure, or some fairy hope, — how, — tell me, in the candour of your gentle conscience! how can you expect from so decrepit and unwilling a hermit, the spontaneous benevolence of youth?’

  ‘But what is it I have said, Sir,’ cried Juliet smiling, ‘that makes you denounce me as a censurer?’

  ‘What is it you have said? ask, rather, what is it you have not said, with those eyes that speak with an eloquence that a thousand tongues might emulate in vain? They administered to me a lesson so severe, because just, that, had not a little pity, which just now beamed from them, revived me, the malignant goblins, who delight in drawing me into these scrapes, might have paid for their sport by losing their prey! But what invidious little devils ensnare me even now, into this superannuated folly, of prating about so worn out an old subject, when I meant only to name a being bright, blooming, and juvenile—’