The Complete Northanger Horrid Novel Collection (9 Books of Gothic Romance and Horror)

by Eliza Parsons

  Matilda sunk back in her chair, overwhelmed with horror; he looked furious with passion; the Marquis and his lady were perplexed and chagrined, at length the former said, "Without the smallest intent of contesting your rights, Sir, I have patiently attended to what has passed between this young lady and yourself; the Marchioness and I have been scrupulously exact not to give our opinion, much less advice on the subject; but now, since she has resolutely made up her mind, you certainly have too just a sense of what is owing to yourself, to persist in addressing her; taking that for granted, and that you think it improper she should become a Nun, I request it as a favor, that Miss Matilda may be permitted to spend a few months with us; should any person appear to claim her, I trust it will be no dishonour to have her found in my protection; and I pledge my honor she shall form no marriage or engagement under our care, but return to you as she now is." "My Lord," returned Mr Weimar, "I must consider of this request, and she will do well to consider and repent her rash determination; if she does, I will receive her with open arms. I trust her to your honor, and shall to-morrow wait on you with my decided opinion." With a polite, but general bow, he left the room.

  The Marchioness was supporting Matilda's head upon her shoulder. "Look; up, my dear girl, be composed, he is gone." "Thank heaven!" said she, "but my head is very bad, and with your leave I will lay down an hour or two." "Do so, my dear," replied her friend; and calling the servant to attend her, she was conducted to her apartment.

  When she left the room the Marchioness said, "Mr Weimar's conduct appears very strange, and unbecoming a man of his years; I know not what to think; had he not injudiciously mentioned her birth she would certainly have accepted his hand, though I own it would have given me pain had she done so."

  "For my part," answered the Marquis, "I marked him well during the whole scene; that he is excessively fond of her, I believe, but I am not perfectly satisfied, although I know not, what part to blame of his conduct; nevertheless she has now taken her resolution, and only force shall compel me to withdraw my protection from a friendless orphan, whose situation is really deplorable. If the circumstances he related of her birth are true, I have no doubt but one time or other a discovery will take place to her advantage; all I wish at present is, that she may accompany you to England." "Do you not think, said the Marchioness, "the Count De Bouville is very fond of her? "I fear so," replied he; "but you know Mr Weimar's observations with respect to the obscurity of her birth are founded on truth, I would by no means encourage a dangerous intimacy between them, which might be productive of misery to both; 'tis for that reason I should wish her to leave Paris whilst the liking which I think mutual is in its infancy." During the conversation of her generous friends the unhappy Matilda gave herself up to extreme sorrow. If Mr Weimar chose to exert his right over her, she saw no one to whom she could appeal for redress; but determined as she now was never to become his wife, she was sensible she had little chance of becoming the wife of any other man; to engage her benefactors in disputes and controversies with him was equally repugnant to her inclinations, and without his consent it would be in vain to think of accompanying her friends, as he might pursue her every where. She knew she had many obligations to him, but she could not return them in the way he was desirous of, which must make her miserable, and of course give no happiness to him. "What then," cried she, weeping, "am I to do? there is no alternative but Mr Weimar or a convent; the latter is my preferable choice, and if he persists to-morrow in exerting the authority he claims over me, I will fly to that for protection."

  Having now made up her mind, she dropped asleep, but her slumbers were broken and disturbed; and in about three hours she returned to her friends, very little refreshed, but was much gratified by their peculiar tenderness and attention, and an increased respect in their manner proved they wished to restore her self consequence, and make her at ease with herself.

  This is true benevolence; 'tis the mode of confering favours that either obliges or wounds a feeling heart. Many people are generous, but they forget how painful it is to ask favors, and think it quite sufficient if they give, let the manner of giving be ever so ungracious, and their superiority ever so ostentatiously displayed. Not so the Marquis and his lady - they endeavoured to persuade her, they were the persons obliged by her acceptance of their little civilities, and entered into all her concerns with the affection and anxiety of her nearest relatives.

  Matilda's grateful heart overflowed; speech indeed was not lent her, but her tears, her expressive looks forcibly conveyed the language she could not utter.

  In the meantime Mademoiselle De Fontelle was not idle; scarce a person the Marchioness was acquainted with, but knew she had taken a girl under her protection, who had robbed and run away from her uncle, with a young handsome footman; and during two days circulation of the story Miss Weimar was detected by her uncle in several low intrigues, which he kindly forgave, "till quite abandoned and incorrigible, she had taken away all his gold and jewels, and came to Paris with this fellow, whom the Marchioness herself had taken into the house.

  "Ciel," cries one, shrugging her shoulders, "a pretty story indeed; this is the discreet, the admirable Marchioness De Melfort, held up as a pattern to all the women in Paris." "Yes, I thought she was a wonder," said another; "abundance of art, to be sure she has; for I"ll answer for it, this intrigue with a footman is not the first by many; but, poor woman, her charms are in their wane now, so the man is a substitute for the master." "What," cries a third, "has the Marchioness herself an intrigue? Lord, didn't you hear that? why this girl is only a cover to her own amusements." "Well," said a fourth, "I saw both the other night at Madame De Bouville's, and I am sure they are both ugly enough, notwithstanding the men made such a fuss about them."

  "Twas thus the scandal of Mademoiselle's fabricating was increased and magnified among their generous and charitable acquaintance: like Sir Peter Teale's wound, it was in all parts of his body, and by a variety of murderous weapons, when the poor man was unconscious of having received any himself, and could scarce obtain credit when he appeared in perfect health: so unwilling is the good-natured world to give up a story that is to the disadvantage of others. It was in vain the Countess De Bouville, her son and daughter, Madame De Nancy and her sister, attempted to stop the scandalous tales; like lightning it flew from house to house, and every one who had no character to lose, and others of suspected reputation only rejoiced to level an amiable respectable woman with themselves.

  The Count De Bouville was distracted; he flew from a set of envious wretches to the Marquis De Melfort's; when he entered the room he met the eyes of the lovely dejected Matilda, with such an expression of grief and softness in them, that it pierced his heart: she blushed, and withdrew them, with a sigh she could not suppress. The Marquis had left the room, the Marchioness was holding her young friend's hand with an affectionate tender air.

  After the usual compliments he enquired particularly after Matilda's health; she could not trust her voice just then to speak, the Marchioness answered, "She is better, only a dejection on her spirits, which you must assist in removing: I was trying to persuade her to accompany me in a carriage to pay a few visits." The Count, alarmed at the intention, replied, "Paying visits might possibly be too fatiguing, but an airing would surely be of service." "Well then," said the Marchioness, forgetful of her Lord's caution, "you shall accompany us." The carriage, which was in waiting, drawing up, he gladly escorted the two ladies to it, and took his seat very quietly opposite to Matilda, who had hitherto observed a profound silence. He contrived however to draw her into a little conversation, and was charmed with her good sense and sweetness of manners. The languor that pervaded her fine features, powerfully engaged the heart, and the Count could not help thinking how happy that man must be who was destined to possess so great a treasure! This reflection caused a sudden alteration in his countenance; he grew thoughtful and uneasy, when he was disturbed in his reverie by an exclamation from the Marchioness, "Good he
avens! what insolence." "What's the matter, madam?" "Bless me, didn't you observe the two carriages that past, in one was Madame Remini and her two daughters, in the other Madame Le Brun, her niece, and two others of my acquaintance. As the carriage past, I bowed and kissed my hand; they one and all returned a slight bow, and laughed in each other's faces: upon my word I never saw such rudeness." The Count who could too well account for this behaviour, was however very much vexed. "Dear madam," said he, "such impertinent women are scarce worth your notice, and only deserving contempt." "That's true, Count," replied she, "and henceforth I shall treat them as they deserve."

  As neither of the parties were in high spirits, their airing was not a long one, and they returned to the house as the Marquis entered it.

  After they were seated the Marchioness was expressing her wishes to be in England. "Does Miss Weimar accompany you?" asked the Count. "I hope so," replied the Marchioness. The Marquis giving the Count a glance, they retired to the library, where the conversation of the morning, between Mr Weimar and Matilda, was repeated. The Count felt indignation, pity, and resentment; he was delighted with Matilda's spirit, yet most sincerely felt for her unhappy situation. "Good God, my dear Marquis, what is to be done for this amiable girl?" "I hope," he replied, "we shall prevail on him to leave her with us, - to-morrow will determine; but take it how he will, I have this day made several persons acquainted with his being the guardian of Matilda, and his offers of marriage in my presence: the circumstance of a young lady's flying from her guardian is nothing extraordinary, and will, I hope, do away the scandal that has been propagated at her expense." "You are very good," returned the Count, "and I am sure she merits the esteem of all the world." He took his leave under such a contrariety of sentiments, and so much real concern for the unfortunate Matilda, that when he returned to his sister she was quite alarmed, and asked a thousand questions relative to her friend. When he had explained every thing, the gentle Adelaide felt equal concern, and lamented that her troubles were of a kind that placed it out of the power of their friendship to afford her any consolation or relief.

  Whilst they were expressing mutual regret Mademoiselle De Fontelle was announced; she was received with a coldness that would have mortified any other person, but putting on a gay air, "Ah! Count, so soon returned from your party; I did not expect to find you here." "Perhaps, madam, had I known your intended visit, I might have been elsewhere." "Very polite, upon my word," said she, colouring deeply; "your brother, my dear Bouville, has acquired the English roughness of manners, by his tour to that country." "I hope, madam," replied he, significantly, "I have acquired the sincerity of that nation, at least, to speak as I think; and as a proof of it, were you not my sister's guest, I should be free enough to say, I so much detest the fabricators of scandal, that I heartily rejoice when they are mortified by being obliged to hear the object of their envy is as much superior to them in every amiable quality of the mind, as she is in the beauty of her person, and that it will be her own fault only if she is not established in a more brilliant situation than her enemies can boast of."

  With these words he left the room, with a look of scorn she could not support, but burst into tears. "Your brother has cruelly insulted me," said she. "I am sorry for it, and for the occasion," answered Mademoiselle De Bouville; "but indeed you have been too unguarded in your reports to the disadvantage of Miss Weimar." "Name her not," cried she, "I hate her." "That may be," returned the other, "nevertheless I hold it my duty to do her justice." She then briefly mentioned Mr Weimar was only her guardian, and that he was come after her to solicit her hand, the only thing for which she left him. His offers before the Marquis and his lady, and the very great justice he did her character. The malicious girl was ready to burst with spleen, but carried it off with an air. "Upon my word," said she, "Mr Weimar was himself the person who first mentioned the affair to her disadvantage; and I suppose there is some point to carry, or some mystery in an affair where there are such contradictions, which I do not comprehend, and which, I dare say, will deceive nobody, though I would venture to swear, hardly any person will concern themselves about the Marchioness's little protégée, or whether the German is uncle or not to one whom no body knows." She arose, and desiring her respects to her very polite brother, flounced out of the room.

  Neither her resentment nor absence was a subject of regret to Adelaide, who only visited her in compliance with the fashion of the times, which is to go every where with the rest of the world, and assist in forming a crowd, without knowing or caring for three fourths of the company.

  Meantime the remainder of the day was spent at the Marquis's in the most affectionate endeavours to console Matilda, and the warmest assurances of love and attention to her interests. They all anxiously expected the return of Mr Weimar next morning, as the crisis on which her future destiny appeared to depend.

  At the appointed hour Mr Weimar sent in his name; her friends had persuaded Matilda to receive him alone, and send for them when she thought it necessary. She had tried all the morning to reconcile herself to his displeasure, but she was resolved to persevere in the resolution she had formed of retiring to a convent, if he made it necessary.

  He entered the room with an air of kindness and complacency took her hand and kissed it. "Let me flatter myself, dearest Matilda," said he, "that you are in better health and disposition than when I left you yesterday. I have passed many uneasy hours lately, indeed I may say truly, from the day you was committed to my care, every hour of my life has been spent in anxiety on your account." "Do not, Sir," said she, "for heaven's sake, do not crush me with the weight of obligations I owe you: a poor forlorn being, without family or friends, as you have justly told me, is entitled to no one's consideration; I am therefore beyond all possibility of return at present; indebted to you for every thing, for the life I enjoy, hard is the task upon me to refuse any thing you request, but as this meeting is to decide once for all, pardon me if I say I cannot marry you, but this deference I owe to your fatherly care of me, I solemnly declare, that unless the authors of my being claim my first reverence, I never will encourage any man without your permission; this, Sir, is all I can, or ever will promise in your favour." "Ungrateful girl!" cried he, raising his voice, "and is this all, this all you owe to a man who preserved your life, and bestowed his time and fortune to make you what you are?" "Oh! that I had died," cried Matilda, in an agony, "rather than to live and be thus upbraided for favours I never can return; but my mind tells me you will one day be repaid for all; - yes, I have a pre-sentiment I am no base-born unworthy offspring; one day, Sir, I may yet have the power to prove my sense of the obligations you reproach me with, and it will be the happiest moment of my life." She had spoken with such vehemence as precluded interruption; he was surprised; "You are warm, Matilda," said he, very calmly. "I cannot help it, Sir, you have made me desperate; I will seek peace and quietness in a convent. You will not permit me to accompany the Marchioness," said she, softening, and tears running down her cheeks, "and I think I owe you that respect not to go without your leave; therefore I have no other asylum but a convent to hope for." "Have I not a house, Matilda?" "Yes, Sir; I might have resided in my uncle's house, but I cannot, with propriety, in yours, when I have no such claim to boast of." She arose and rang the bell; "Desire the Marquis and his lady to favour me with their company." When the servant retired, "You are then determined, madam?" "I am, Sir." "Then so am I, and you may take the consequence."

  Her friends now entered; after they were seated Matilda spoke, "I took the liberty to request your presence, that you might be witness to my declaration for the last time, That I never will be the wife of Mr Weimar, nor without his consent, unless commanded by my parents, (alas! how unlikely at present that hope) never to marry any other man. It would be the joy of my heart to have been permitted to accept the honor of the protection you have offered me, but as I fear that cannot be, I will retire into a convent, 'tis the only place of refuge for a poor unfortunate, friendless being,
without family, friends, or even a name." She wept aloud, pronouncing those last words. The Marchioness sympathized with her, and addressing Mr Weimar, "Come, Sir," said she, "let me prevail on you to accede to our request, we ask it as a favor; permit Miss Matilda to be in our care for six months; I engage my honor she shall return by that time free from every engagement." He made no answer.

  "Shall I entreat the favor of a few words in private, Sir," said the Marquis. They arose and left the room. Within a short time they returned. Mr Weimar, advancing to Matilda, "I have consented to oblige you, too ungrateful girl; I permit you to remain with the Marchioness, but conditionally, that you write me constantly every occurrence, nor presume to enter into any engagement without my acquiescence." "To these conditions," cried she, her eyes sparkling with joy, "I most cheerfully subscribe." He looked full of resentment at her, but taking a polite leave, declined an invitation to stay dinner, and hastily withdrew. The moment he left the room Matilda arose, and throwing her arms round the Marchioness, her grateful heart overflowing into tears, "Oh! my dearest, my generous protectress, how shall I ever return your goodness?" "By loving me, my precious girl, as affectionately as I do you," answered she, embracing her. Observing the Marquis seeming musing, "May I ask, my Lord, what occupies your thoughts?" "Yes," replied he; "it is fit you should know; to be plain then, I don't like Mr Weimar; I suspect he means to deceive us." "Good God," cried Matilda, alarmed, "how is that possible?" "Be it as it may," answered the Marquis, "we will guard against any sinister design; let our young friend retire this night to some place of safety." "You do not surely apprehend he will apply for a lettre de cachet?" said the Marchioness. "I should not be surprised at it," returned he. "Then," said she, "we will set off instantly on our journey; Louison and Antoine can attend us; Marianne shall take care of all our baggage here, and follow us, with Pierre, in a day or two, or come with you." " 'Tis a hasty, and rather an inconvenient scheme," said he, "but I have no other to offer at present." "O, what trouble I occasion to my friends," cried Matilda. "Go to your apartment, set about packing, my dear girl; we must take a few necessaries with us, and set off immediately after dinner." She obeyed. The Marquis set about the arrangements for their journey, and promised to follow in four or five days.