Charlotte Smith- Collected Poetical Works

by Charlotte Smith

  A man’s voice asked who it was?

  ‘It is I, my Lord,’ cried Emmeline, hardly able to make herself heard.— ‘Mr. Delamere pursues me.’

  Somebody opened the door. — But there was no light; and Emmeline retiring a step from it, the person again asked who it was?

  ‘It is Emmeline,’ replied she; who now first recollected that the voice was not that of Lord Montreville. — She flew therefore towards the next door, with exclamations of encreased terror; but Lord Montreville, who was now awakened, appeared at it with a lamp in his hand; and Emmeline, in answer to his question of what is the matter? endeavoured to say that she was pursued by Mr. Delamere; but fear had so entirely overcome her, that she could only sigh out his name; and gasping like a dying person, sat down on a bench which was near the door.

  Fitz-Edward, who was the person she had first spoken to, had by this time dressed himself, and came to her with a glass of water out of his room; while Lord Montreville, hearing his son’s name so inarticulately pronounced, and seeing the speechless affright in which Emmeline sat before him, conceived the most alarming apprehensions, and believed that his son was either dead or dying.

  With great difficulty he summoned up courage enough, again to beg for heaven’s sake she would tell him what had occasioned her to leave her room at such an hour?

  She again exclaimed, ‘it is Mr. Delamere, my Lord!’

  ‘What of Mr. Delamere? — what of my son?’ cried he, with infinite agitation.

  ‘Save me from him my Lord!’ answered Emmeline, a little recovered by the water she had drank.

  ‘Where is he then?’ said his Lordship.

  ‘I know not,’ replied Emmeline; ‘but he came to my room with his servant, and I flew hither to implore your protection.’

  Fitz-Edward intreated Lord Montreville to be more calm, and to give Miss Mowbray time to recollect herself. He offered to go in search of Delamere; but his Lordship was in too much anxiety to be satisfied with any enquiries but his own.

  He therefore said he would go down himself; but Emmeline catching his hand, entreated him not to leave her.

  At this moment the voices of Delamere and his man were heard echoing through the whole side of the castle; for wearied with their fruitless attempts to escape, they both called for lights in no very gentle tone.

  Lord Montreville easily distinguished from whence the noise came; and followed by Emmeline, whom Fitz-Edward supported, he descended into the brick hall from whence Emmeline had effected her escape, where he found Delamere trembling with passion, and Millefleur with fear.

  Lord Montreville could not conceal his anger and resentment. —

  ‘How comes it, Sir,’ cried he, addressing himself to his son, ‘that you dare thus to insult a person who is under my protection? What excess of madness and folly has tempted you to violate the retirement of Miss Mowbray?’

  ‘I mean not, my Lord,’ answered Delamere, ‘to attempt a concealment of my sentiments. I love Miss Mowbray; passionately love her; and scorn to dissimulate. I know you had a design to send her from hence; clandestinely to send her; and I determined that she should not go ‘till I had declared my attachment to her, which I found you endeavoured assiduously to prevent. You may certainly remove her from hence; but I protest to you, that wherever she is, there I will endeavour to see her, in spite of the universe.’

  Lord Montreville now felt all the force of the error he had committed in that boundless indulgence to which he had accustomed his son. In the first instance of any consequence in which their wishes differed, he saw him ready to throw off the restraint of paternal authority, and daring to avow his resolution to act as he pleased.

  This mortifying reflection arose in his mind, while, with a look of mingled anger and amazement, he beheld Delamere, who having ordered Millefleur to light his candle, snatched it from him, and hastily retired.

  Emmeline, who had stood trembling the whole time behind Lord Montreville, besought him to ring up the housekeeper, and direct her to stay with her for the rest of the night; for she declared she would on no account remain in her own room alone.

  His Lordship recommending her to the care of Fitz-Edward, went himself in search of the housekeeper; and Emmeline refusing to seek a more commodious apartment, sat down in one of the windows of the hall to wait his return.

  Fitz-Edward, to whom she had yet hardly spoken, now entertained her with a profusion of compliments, almost as warm as those she had heard from Delamere; but her spirits, quite exhausted by the terror which had so lately possessed them, could no longer support her; she was unable to give an answer of common civility, and was very glad to see Lord Montreville return with Mrs. Garnet; who, extremely discomposed at being disturbed and obliged to appear in her nightcap, followed her, grumbling, into her room; where, as Emmeline refused to go to it herself, she took possession of her bed, and soon falling into a profound sleep, left its melancholy owner to her sad reflections.

  She had not been many minutes indulging them, and wishing for the return of light, before somebody was again at the door. Emmeline still apprehending Delamere, stepped to it; and was astonished to see Lord Montreville himself.

  He entered the room; and told her, that as his son knew of her journey in the morning, he would probably try some means to prevent it, or at least to trace out her abode; that it was therefore absolutely necessary for her to be ready by day break or before, for which he had prepared Mr. Headly; who was up, and getting ready to set out as soon as there was light enough to make it safe.

  Emmeline, who thought she could not be gone too soon, now hastily finished the remainder of her packing; and having dressed herself for her journey, which notwithstanding her sleepless night she rejoiced to find so near, she waited with impatience ‘till Mr. Headly summoned her to go.

  CHAPTER VI

  The sun no sooner appeared above the horizon, than her conductor was ready with his one-horse chair: and Emmeline being seated in it, and her little baggage adjusted, she left the door of the castle; where Maloney, who saw his favourite hopes vanish as he feared for ever, stood with a rueful countenance to behold her departure.

  However desirous she was of quitting a residence which had long been uneasy to her, and which was now become so extremely improper, such is the force of early habit, that she could not bid it adieu without being greatly affected.

  There she had passed her earliest infancy, and had known, in that period of unconscious happiness, many delightful hours which would return no more.

  It was endeared to her by the memory of that good friend who had supplied to her the place of a parent; from whom alone she had ever heard the soothing voice of maternal solicitude. And as she passed by the village church, which had been formerly the chapel of the monastery, and joined the castle walls, she turned her eyes, filled with tears, towards the spot where the remains of Mrs. Carey were deposited, and sighed deeply; a thousand tender and painful recollections crouding on her heart.

  As she left the village, several women and children, who had heard she was going that day, were already waiting to bid her farewell; considering her as the last of that family, by whom they had been employed when in health, and relieved when in sickness; they lamented her departure as their greatest misfortune.

  The present possessor of the castle bore not the name of Mowbray, and was not at all interested for the peasantry, among whom he was a stranger; they therefore, in losing Emmeline, seemed to lose the last of the race of their ancient benefactors.

  Emmeline, affected by their simple expressions of regret, returned their good wishes with tears; and as soon as the chaise drove out of the village, again fixed her eyes on the habitation she had quitted.

  Its venerable towers rising above the wood in which it was almost embosomed, made one of the most magnificent features of a landscape, which now appeared in sight.

  The road lay along the side of what would in England be called a mountain; at its feet rolled the rapid stream that washed the castle walls,
foaming over fragments of rock; and bounded by a wood of oak and pine; among which the ruins of the monastery, once an appendage to the castle, reared its broken arches; and marked by grey and mouldering walls, and mounds covered with slight vegetation, it was traced to its connection with the castle itself, still frowning in gothic magnificence; and stretching over several acres of ground: the citadel, which was totally in ruins and covered with ivy, crowning the whole. Farther to the West, beyond a bold and rocky shore, appeared the sea; and to the East, a chain of mountains which seemed to meet the clouds; while on the other side, a rich and beautiful vale, now variegated with the mellowed tints of the declining year, spread its enclosures, ‘till it was lost again among the blue and barren hills.

  Headly declaimed eloquently on the charms of the prospect, which gradually unveiled itself as the autumnal mist disappeared. But Emmeline, tho’ ever alive to the beauties of nature, was too much occupied by her own melancholy reflections to attend to the animadversions of her companion.

  She saw nothing but the castle, of which she believed she was now taking an eternal adieu; and her looks were fixed on it, ‘till the road winding down the hill on the other side, concealed it from her sight.

  Headly imputed her sadness to a very different cause than that of an early and long attachment to a particular spot. He supposed that regret at being obliged to leave Delamere, to whose passion he could not believe her insensible, occasioned the melancholy that overwhelmed her. He spoke to her of him, and affected to lament the uneasiness which so violent and ungovernable a temper in an only son, might occasion to his family. He then talked of the two young ladies, his sisters, whom he described as the finest young women in the country, and as highly accomplished. Emmeline sighed at the comparison between their situation and her own.

  After some hours travelling through roads which made it very fatigueing, they arrived at a little obscure house of entertainment, and after some refreshment, continued their journey unmolested.

  Delamere arose early, and calling for Millefleur, enquired at what hour Miss Mowbray was to go. On hearing that she had left the castle more than an hour, his rage and vexation broke through all the respect he owed his father; who being acquainted by his valet of his resolution immediately to follow the chaise, entered the room. He remonstrated with him at first with great warmth; but Delamere, irritated by contradiction, obstinately adhered to his resolution of immediately pursuing the travellers.

  Lord Montreville, finding that opposition rather encreased than remedied the violence of his son’s passionate sallies, determined to try what persuasion would do; and Delamere, whose temper was insensible to the threats of anger, yielded to remonstrance when softened by paternal affection; and consented to forego his intention if Lord Montreville would tell him where Emmeline was gone.

  His Lordship, who probably thought this one of those instances in which falsehood is excuseable if not meritorious, told him, with affected reluctance, that she was gone to board at Bridgenorth, with Mrs. Watkins, the sister of old Carey.

  As this account was extremely probable, Delamere readily believed it; and having with some difficulty been prevailed upon to pass his word that he would not immediately take any steps to see her, tranquillity was for the present restored to the castle.

  Emmeline in the mean time, after a long and weary journey, arrived at Swansea. Mrs. Watkins, who expected her, received her in a little but very neat habitation, which consisted of a small room by way of parlour, not unlike the cabin of a packet boat, and a bed-chamber over it of the same dimensions. Of these apartments, Emmeline took possession. Her conductor took leave of her; and she now wished to be able to form some opinion of her new hostess; whose countenance, which extremely resembled that of Mrs. Carey, had immediately prejudiced her in her favour.

  Being assured by Lord Montreville of every liberal payment for the board and lodging of Miss Mowbray, she received her with a degree of civility almost oppressive: but Emmeline, who soon found that she possessed none of that warmth of heart and lively interest in the happiness of others which so much endeared to her the memory of her former friend, was very glad when after a few days the good woman returned with her usual avidity to the regulation of her domestic matters, and suffered Emmeline to enjoy that solitude which she knew so well how to employ.

  Delamere, still lingering at the castle, where he seemed to stay for no other reason than because he had there seen Emmeline, was pensive, restless, and absent; and Lord Montreville saw with great alarm that this impression was less likely to be effaced by time and absence than he had supposed.

  Fitz-Edward, obliged to go to Ireland to his regiment for some time, had taken leave of them; and the impatience of Lord Montreville to return to town was encreased by repeated letters from his wife.

  Delamere however still evaded it; hoping that his father would set out without him, and that he should by that means have an opportunity of going to Bridgenorth, where he determined to solicit Emmeline to consent to a Scottish expedition, and persuaded himself he should not meet a refusal.

  At length Lady Montreville, yet more alarmed at the delay, directed her eldest daughter to write to his Lordship, and to give such an account of her health as should immediately oblige the father and son to return.

  Delamere, after such a letter, could not refuse to depart; and comforting himself that he might be able soon to escape from the observation of his family, and put his project in execution, he consented to begin his journey. He determined, however, to write to Miss Mowbray, and to desire her to direct her answer under cover to a friend in London.

  He did so; and addressed it to her at Mrs. Watkins’s, at Bridgenorth: but soon after his arrival in town, the letter was returned to the place from which it was dated; having been opened at the office in consequence of no such person as Miss Mowbray or Mrs. Watkins being to be found there.

  Delamere saw he had been deceived; but to complain was fruitless: he had therefore no hope of discovering where Emmeline was, but by lying in wait for some accidental intelligence.

  The family usually passed the Christmas recess at their seat in Norfolk; whither Delamere, who at first tried to avoid being of the party, at length agreed to accompany them, on condition of his being allowed to perform an engagement he had made with Mr. Percival for a fortnight. Part of this time he determined to employ in seeing Headly, who did not live above thirty miles from thence; hoping from him to obtain intelligence of Emmeline’s abode. And that no suspicion might remain on the mind of his father, he affected to reassume his usual gaiety, and was to all appearance as volatile and dissipated as ever.

  While the family were in Norfolk, their acquaintance was warmly renewed with that of Sir Francis Devereux, who was lately returned from a residence on the Continent, whither he had been to compleat the education of his two daughters, heiresses to his fortune, on the embellishment of whose persons and manners all the modern elegancies of education had been lavished.

  They were rather pretty women; and of a family almost as ancient and illustrious as that of Mr. Delamere. Their fortunes were to be immense; and either of them would have been a wife for Delamere, the choice of whom would greatly have gratified the families on both sides.

  Infinite pains were taken to bring the young people frequently together; and both the ladies seemed to allow that Delamere was a conquest worthy their ambition.

  As he never refused to entertain them with every appearance of gallantry and vivacity, Lord Montreville flattered himself that at length Emmeline was forgotten; and ventured to propose to his son, a marriage with whichever of the Miss Devereux’s he should prefer.

  To which, Delamere, who had long foreseen the proposal, answered coldly, ‘that he was not inclined to marry at all; or if he did, it should not be one of those over-educated puppets.’

  So far were their acquisitions from having made any impression on his heart, that the frivolous turn of their minds, the studied ornaments of their persons, and the affected refinement
of their manners, made him only recollect with more passionate admiration, that native elegance of person and mind which he had seen only in the Orphan of Mowbray Castle.

  CHAPTER VII

  There was, in the person and manner of Emmeline, something so interesting, that those who were little accustomed to attach themselves to any one, were insensibly disposed to love her, and to become solicitous for her welfare.

  Even the insensibility with which long and uninterrupted prosperity had encased the heart of Lord Montreville, was not entirely proof against her attractive powers; and when he no longer apprehended the effect of her encreasing charms on his son, he suffered himself to feel a degree of pity and even of affection for her.

  He therefore heard with pleasure that she was contented in her present situation; and was convinced she had kept her word in not giving any intelligence of her residence to Delamere. To shew his approbation of her conduct, he directed a person in town to send her down a small collection of books; some materials for drawing; and other trifles which he thought would be acceptable.

  Emmeline, charmed with such acquisitions, felt the most lively gratitude for her benefactor; and having fitted up her little cabin extremely to her satisfaction; she found, in the occupation these presents afforded her, all that she wished, to engage her attention; and gratify her taste.

  Sensible of the defects of her education, she applied incessantly to her books; for of every useful and ornamental feminine employment she had long since made herself mistress without any instruction.

  She endeavoured to cultivate a genius for drawing, which she inherited from her father; but for want of knowing a few general rules, what she produced had more of elegance and neatness than correctness and knowledge.

  She knew nothing of the science of music; but her voice was soft and sweet, and her ear exquisite. The simple songs, therefore, she had acquired by it, she sung with a pathos which made more impression on her hearers than those studied graces learned by long application, which excite wonder rather than pleasure.