Before Lord Orville went, Sir Clement Willoughby called. He was more grave than I had ever seen him, and made several attempts to speak to me in a low voice, and to assure me that his regret upon the occasion of our journey, was entirely upon my account. But I was not in spirits, and could not bear to be teazed by him. However, he has so well paid his court to Captain Mirvan, that he gave him a very hearty invitation to the Grove. At this, he brightened, – and, just then, Lord Orville took leave.
No doubt but he was disgusted at this ill-timed, ill-bred partiality; for surely it was very wrong to make an invitation before Lord Orville, in which he was not included! I was so much chagrined, that, as soon as he went, I left the room; and I shall not go down stairs till Sir Clement is gone.
Lord Orville cannot but observe his assiduous endeavours to ingratiate himself into my favour; and does not this extravagant civility of Captain Mirvan, give him reason to suppose, that it meets with our general approbation? I cannot think upon this subject, without inexpressible uneasiness; – and yet, I can think of nothing else.
Adieu, my dearest Sir. Pray write to me immediately. How many long letters has this one short fortnight produced! More than I may, probably, ever write again: I fear I shall have tired you with reading them; but you will now have time to rest, for I shall find but little to say in future.
And now, most honoured Sir, with all the follies and imperfections which I have thus faithfully recounted, can you, and with unabated kindness, suffer me to sign myself
Your dutiful,
and most affectionate
EVELINA?
Letter Twenty-Four
Mr Villars to Evelina
Berry Hill, April 22
How much do I rejoice that I can again address my letters to Howard Grove! My Evelina would have grieved had she known the anxiety of my mind, during her residence in the great world. My apprehensions have been inexpressibly alarming; and your journal, at once exciting and relieving my fears, has almost wholly occupied me, since the time of your dating it from London.
Sir Clement Willoughby must be an artful designing man; I am extremely irritated at his conduct. The passion he pretends for you has neither sincerity nor honour; the manner and the opportunities he has chosen to declare it, are bordering upon insult.
His unworthy behaviour after the opera, convinces me, that, had not your vehemence frightened him, Queen-Ann-Street would have been the last place whither he would have ordered his chariot. O my child, how thankful am I for your escape! I need not now, I am sure, enlarge upon your indiscretion and want of thought, in so hastily trusting yourself with a man so little known to you, and whose gaiety and flightiness should have put you on your guard.
The nobleman you met at the Pantheon, bold and forward as you describe him to be, gives me no apprehension; a man who appears so openly licentious, and who makes his attack with so little regard to decorum, is one who, to a mind such as my Evelina’s, can never be seen but with the disgust which his manners ought to excite.
But Sir Clement, though he seeks occasion to give real offence, contrives to avoid all appearance of intentional evil. He is far more dangerous, because more artful; but I am happy to observe, that he seems to have made no impression upon your heart, and therefore a very little care and prudence may secure you from those designs which I fear he has formed.
Lord Orville appears to be of a better order of beings. His spirited conduct to the meanly impertinent Lovel, and his anxiety for you after the opera, prove him to be a man of sense and of feeling. Doubtless, he thought there was much reason to tremble for your safety, while exposed to the power of Sir Clement; and he acted with a regard to real honour, that will always incline me to think well of him, in so immediately acquainting the Mirvan family with your situation. Many men of this age, from a false and pretended delicacy to a friend, would have quietly pursued their own affairs, and thought it more honourable to leave an unsuspecting young creature to the mercy of a libertine, than to risk his displeasure by taking measures for her security.
Your evident concern at leaving London, is very natural; and yet it afflicts me. I ever dreaded your being too much pleased with a life of dissipation, which youth and vivacity render but too alluring; and I almost regret the consent for your journey, which I had not the resolution to withhold.
Alas, my child, the artlessness of your nature, and the simplicity of your education, alike unfit you for the thorny paths of the great and busy world. The supposed obscurity of your birth and situation, makes you liable to a thousand disagreeable adventures. Not only my views, but my hopes for your future life, have ever centered in the country. Shall I own to you, that, however I may differ from Captain Mirvan in other respects, yet my opinion of the town, its manners, inhabitants, and diversions, is much upon a level with his own? Indeed it is the general harbour of fraud and of folly, of duplicity and of impertinence; and I wish few things more fervently, than that you may have taken a lasting leave of it.
Remember, however, that I only speak in regard to a public and dissipated life; in private families, we may doubtless find as much goodness, honesty, and virtue, in London as in the country.
If contented with a retired station, I still hope I shall live to see my Evelina the ornament of her neighbourhood, and the pride and delight of her family: giving and receiving joy from such society as may best deserve her affection, and employing herself in such useful and innocent occupations as may secure and merit the tenderest love of her friends, and the worthiest satisfaction of her own heart.
Such are my hopes, and such have been my expectations. Disappoint them not, my beloved child, but chear me with a few lines, that may assure me, this one short fortnight spent in town, has not undone the work of seventeen years spent in the country.
ARTHUR VILLARS
Letter Twenty-Five
Evelina to the Rev. Mr Villars
Howard Grove, April 25
No, my dear Sir, no; the work of seventeen years remains such as it was, ever unworthy your time and your labour, but not more so now, – at least I hope not, – than before that fortnight which has so much alarmed you.
And yet, I must confess, that I am not half so happy here at present, as I was ere I went to town: but the change is in the place, not in me. Captain Mirvan and Madame Duval have ruined Howard Grove. The harmony that reigned here is disturbed, our schemes are broken, our way of life is altered, and our comfort is destroyed. But do not suppose London to be the source of these evils; for, had our excursion been any where else, so disagreeable an addition to our household, must have caused the same change at our return.
I was sure you would be displeased with Sir Clement Willoughby, and therefore I am by no means surprised at what you say of him: but for Lord Orville – I must own I had greatly feared, that my weak and imperfect account would not have procured him the good opinion which he so well deserves, and which I am delighted to find you seem to have of him. O Sir, could I have done justice to the merit of which I believe him possessed; – could I have painted him to you such as he appeared to me, – then, indeed, you would have had some idea of the claim which he has to your approbation!
After the last letter which I wrote in town, nothing more passed previous to our journey hither, except a very violent quarrel between Captain Mirvan and Madame Duval. As the Captain intended to travel on horseback, he had settled that we four females should make use of his coach. Madame Duval did not come to Queen-Ann-Street, till the carriage had waited some time at the door, and then, attended by Monsieur Du Bois, she made her appearance.
The Captain, impatient to be gone, would not suffer them to enter the house, but insisted that we should immediately get into the coach. We obeyed; but were no sooner seated, than Madame Duval said, ‘Come, Monsieur Du Bois, these girls can make very good room for you; sit closer, children.’
Mrs Mirvan looked quite confounded, and M. Du Bois, after making some apologies about crowding us, actually got into the coach, on the side with
Miss Mirvan and me. But no sooner was he seated, than the Captain, who had observed this transaction very quietly, walked up to the coach-door, saying, ‘What, neither with your leave, nor by your leave?’
M. Du Bois seemed rather shocked, and began to make abundance of excuses; but the Captain neither understood nor regarded him, and, very roughly, said, ‘Look’ee, Monseer, this here may be a French fashion, for aught I know; – but Give and Take is fair in all nations; and so now, d’ye see, I’ll make bold to shew you an English one.’
And then, seizing his wrist, he made him jump out of the coach.
M. Du Bois instantly put his hand upon his sword, and threatened to resent this indignity. The Captain, holding up his stick, bid him draw at his peril. Mrs Mirvan, greatly alarmed, got out of the coach, and, standing between them, entreated her husband to re-enter the house.
‘None of your clack!’ cried he, angrily, ‘what the D–l, do you suppose I can’t manage a Frenchman?’
Mean time, Madame Duval called out to M. Du Bois, ‘Eh, laissez-le, mon ami, ne le corrigez pas; c’est un vilain bête qui n’en vaut pas la peine.’*
‘Monsieur le Capitaine,’ cried M. Du Bois, ‘voulez-vous bien me demander pardon?’†
‘O ho, you demand pardon; do you?’ said the Captain, ‘I thought as much; I thought you’d come to; – so you have lost your relish for an English salutation, have you?’ strutting up to him with looks of defiance.
A crowd was now gathering, and Mrs Mirvan again besought her husband to go into the house.
‘Why what a plague is the woman afraid of? – did you ever know a Frenchman that could not take an affront? – I warrant, Monseer knows what he is about; – don’t you, Monseer?’
M. Du Bois, not understanding him, only said, ‘Plaît-il, Monsieur?’
‘No, nor dish me, neither,’ answered the Captain; ‘but be that as it may, what signifies our parleying here? If you’ve any thing to propose, speak at once; if not, why let us go on our journey without more ado.’
‘Parbleu, je n’entends rien, moi!’ cried M. Du Bois, shrugging his shoulders, and looking very dismal.
Mrs Mirvan then advanced to him, and said, in French, that she was sure the Captain had not any intention to affront him, and begged he would desist from a dispute which could only be productive of mutual misunderstanding, as neither of them knew the language of the other.
This sensible remonstrance had the desired effect, and M. Du Bois, making a bow to every one, except the Captain, very wisely gave up the point, and took leave.
We then hoped to proceed quietly on our journey; but the turbulent Captain would not yet permit us: he approached Madame Duval with an exulting air, and said, ‘Why how’s this, Madam? what, has your champion deserted you? why I thought you told me, that you old gentlewomen had it all your own way, among them French sparks?’
‘As to that, Sir,’ answered she, ‘it’s not of no consequence what you thought; for a person who can behave in such a low way, may think what he pleases for me, for I sha’n’t mind.
‘Why, then, Mistress, since you must needs make so free,’ cried he, ‘please to tell me the reason why you took the liberty for to ask any of your followers into my coach, without my leave? Answer me to that.’
‘Why then, pray, Sir,’ returned she, ‘tell me the reason why you took the liberty to treat the gentleman in such a unpolite way, as to take and pull him neck and heels out? I’m sure he had n’t done nothing to affront you, nor nobody else; and I don’t know what great hurt he would have done you, by just sitting still in the coach; he would not have eat it.’
‘What, do you think, then, that my horses have nothing to do, but to carry about your snivelling Frenchmen? If you do, Madam, I must make bold to tell you, you are out, for I’ll see ’em hanged first.’
‘More brute you, then! for they’ve never carried nobody half so good.’
‘Why, look’ee, Madam, if you must needs provoke me, I’ll tell you a piece of my mind; you must know, I can see as far into a mill-stone as another man, and so, if you thought for to fobb me off with one of your smirking French puppies for a son-in-law, why you’ll find yourself in a hobble, – that’s all.’
‘Sir, you’re a – but I won’t say, what; – but, I protest, I had n’t no such a thought, no more had n’t Monsieur Du Bois.’
‘My dear,’ said Mrs Mirvan, ‘we shall be very late.’
‘Well, well,’ answered he, ‘get away then; off with you, as fast as you can, it’s high time. As to Molly, she’s fine lady enough in all conscience; I want none of your French chaps to make her worse.’
And so saying, he mounted his horse, and we drove off. And I could not but think with regret of the different feelings we experienced upon leaving London, to what had belonged to our entering it!
During the journey Madame Duval was so very violent against the Captain, that she obliged Mrs Mirvan to tell her, that, when in her presence, she must beg her to chuse some other subject of discourse.
We had a most affectionate reception from Lady Howard, whose kindness and hospitality cannot fail of making every body happy, who is disposed so to be.
Adieu, my dearest Sir. I hope, though I have hitherto neglected to mention it, that you have always remembered me to whoever has made any enquiry concerning me.
Letter Twenty-Six
Evelina to the Rev. Mr Villars
Howard Grove, April 27
O my dear Sir, I now write in the greatest uneasiness! Madame Duval has made a proposal which terrifies me to death, and which was as unexpected, as it is shocking.
She had been employed for some hours this afternoon in reading letters from London, and, just about tea-time, she sent for me into her room, and said, with a look of great satisfaction, ‘Come here, child, I’ve got some very good news to tell you: something that will surprise you, I’ll give you my word, for you ha’n’t no notion of it.’
I begged her to explain herself; and then, in terms which I cannot repeat, she said she had been considering what a shame it was, to see me such a poor country, shame-faced thing, when I ought to be a fine lady; and that she had long, and upon several occasions, blushed for me, though she must own the fault was none of mine: for nothing better could be expected from a girl who had been so immured. However, she assured me she had, at length, hit upon a plan, which would make quite another creature of me.
I waited, without much impatience, to hear what this preface led to; but I was soon awakened to more lively sensations, when she acquainted me, that her intention was to prove my birthright, and to claim, by law, the inheritance of my real family!
It would be impossible for me to express my extreme consternation, when she thus unfolded her scheme. My surprise and terror were equally great. I could say nothing; I heard her with a silence which I had not the power to break.
She then expatiated very warmly upon the advantages I should reap from her plan; talked in a high style of my future grandeur; assured me how heartily I should despise almost every body and every thing I had hitherto seen; predicted my marrying into some family of the first rank in the kingdom; and, finally, said I should spend a few months in Paris, where my education and manners might receive their last polish.
She enlarged also upon the delight she should have, in common with myself, from mortifying the pride of certain people, and shewing them, that she was not to be slighted with impunity.
In the midst of this discourse, I was relieved by a summons to tea. Madame Duval was in great spirits; but my emotion was too painful for concealment, and every body enquired into the cause. I would fain have waved the subject, but Madame Duval was determined to make it public. She told them, that she had it in her head to make something of me, and that they should soon call me by another name than that of Anville, and yet that she was not going to have the child married, neither.
I could not endure to hear her proceed, and was going to leave the room; which, when Lady Howard perceived, she begged Madame Duval would defer
her intelligence to some other opportunity; but she was so eager to communicate her scheme, that she could bear no delay, and therefore they suffered me to go, without opposition. Indeed, whenever my situation or affairs are mentioned by Madame Duval, she speaks of them with such bluntness and severity, that I cannot be enjoined a task more cruel than to hear her.
I was afterwards acquainted with some particulars of the conversation by Miss Mirvan, who told me that Madame Duval informed them of her plan with the utmost complacency, and seemed to think herself very fortunate in having suggested it; but soon after, she accidentally betrayed, that she had been instigated to the scheme by her relations the Branghtons, whose letters, which she received to-day, first mentioned the proposal. She declared that she would have nothing to do with any round-about ways, but go openly and instantly to law, in order to prove my birth, real name, and title to the estate of my ancestors.
How impertinent and officious, in these Branghtons, to interfere thus in my concerns! You can hardly imagine what a disturbance this plan has made in the family. The Captain, without enquiring into any particulars of the affair, has peremptorily declared himself against it, merely because it has been proposed by Madame Duval, and they have battled the point together with great violence. Mrs Mirvan says she will not even think, till she hears your opinion. But Lady Howard, to my great surprise, openly avows her approbation of Madame Duval’s intention: however, she will write her reasons and sentiments upon the subject to you herself.
As to Miss Mirvan, she is my second self, and neither hopes nor fears but as I do. And as to me, – I know not what to say, nor even what to wish; I have often thought my fate peculiarly cruel, to have but one parent, and from that one to be banished for ever; – while, on the other side, I have but too well known and felt the propriety of the separation. And yet, you may much better imagine than I can express, the internal anguish which sometimes oppresses my heart, when I reflect upon the strange indifferency, that must occasion a father never to make the least enquiry after the health, the welfare, or even the life of his child!
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