Letter Five
Evelina in continuation
Clifton, Sept. 24th
This morning I came down stairs very early, and, supposing that the family would not assemble for some time, I strolled out, purposing to take a long walk, in the manner I was wont to do at Berry Hill, before breakfast. But I had scarce shut the gardengate, before I was met by a gentleman, who, immediately bowing to me, I recollected to be the unhappy Mr Macartney. Very much surprised, I courtsied, and stopped till he came up to me. He was still in mourning, but looked better than when I saw him last, though he had the same air of melancholy which so much struck me at first sight of him.
Addressing me with the utmost respect, ‘I am happy, Madam,’ said he, ‘to have met with you so soon. I came to Bristol but yesterday, and have had no small difficulty in tracing you to Clifton.’
‘Did you know, then, of my being here?’
‘I did, Madam; the sole motive of my journey was to see you. I have been to Berry Hill, and there I had my intelligence, and, at the same time, the unwelcome information of your ill health.’
‘Good God! Sir, – and can you possibly have taken so much trouble?’
‘Trouble! Oh, Madam, could there be any, to return you, the moment I had the power, my personal acknowledgements for your goodness?’
I then enquired after Madame Duval, and the Snow Hill family. He told me, they were all well, and that Madame Duval proposed soon returning to Paris. When I congratulated him upon looking better, ‘It is yourself, Madam,’ said he, ‘you should congratulate, for to your humanity alone it may now be owing that I exist at all.’ He then told me, that his affairs were now in a less desperate situation, and that he hoped, by the assistance of time and reason, to accommodate his mind to a more chearful submission to his fate. ‘The interest you so generously took in my affliction,’ added he, ‘assures me you will not be displeased to hear of my better fortune: I was therefore eager to acquaint you with it.’ He then told me, that his friend, the moment he had received his letter, quitted Paris, and flew to give him his personal assistance and consolation. With a heavy heart, he acknowledged, he accepted it; ‘but yet,’ he added, ‘I have accepted it, and therefore, as bound equally by duty and honour, my first step was to hasten to the benefactress of my distress, and to return’ (presenting me something in a paper) ‘the only part of my obligations that can be returned; for the rest, I have nothing but my gratitude to offer, and must always be contented to consider myself her debtor.’
I congratulated him most sincerely upon his dawning prosperity, but begged he would not deprive me of the pleasure of being his friend, and declined receiving the money, till his affairs were more settled.
While this point was in agitation, I heard Lord Orville’s voice, enquiring of the gardener if he had seen me? I immediately opened the garden-gate, and his Lordship, advancing to me with quickness, said, ‘Good God, Miss Anville, have you been out, alone? Breakfast has been ready some time, and I have been round the garden in search of you.’
‘Your Lordship has been very good,’ said I; ‘but I hope you have not waited.’
‘Not waited!’ repeated he, smiling. ‘Do you think we could sit down quietly to breakfast, with the idea that you had run away from us? But come,’ (offering to hand me) ‘if we do not return, they will suppose I am run away too; and they very naturally may, as they know the attraction of the magnet that draws me.’
‘I will come, my Lord,’ said I, rather embarrassed, ‘in two minutes.’ Then, turning to Mr Macartney, with yet more embarrassment, I wished him good morning.
He advanced towards the garden, with the paper still in his hand.
‘No, no,’ cried I, ‘some other time.’
‘May I then, Madam, have the honour of seeing you again?’
I did not dare take the liberty of inviting any body to the house of Mrs Beaumont, nor yet had I the presence of mind to make an excuse; and therefore, not knowing how to refuse him, I said, ‘Perhaps you may be this way again to-morrow morning, – and I believe I shall walk out before breakfast.’
He bowed, and went away; while I, turning again to Lord Orville, saw his countenance so much altered, that I was frightened at what I had so hastily said. He did not again offer me his hand, but walked, silent and slow, by my side. Good Heaven! thought I, what may he not suppose from this adventure? May he not, by my desire of meeting Mr Macartney to-morrow, imagine it was by design I walked out to meet him to-day? Tormented by this apprehension, I determined to avail myself of the freedom which his behaviour since I came hither has encouraged; and, since he would not ask any questions, begin an explanation myself. I therefore slackened my pace, to gain time, and then said, ‘Was not your Lordship surprised to see me speaking with a stranger?’
‘A stranger!’ repeated he; ‘is it possible that gentleman can be a stranger to you?’
‘No, my Lord’ – said I, stammering, ‘not to me, – but only it might look – he might seem – ’
‘No, believe me,’ said he, with a forced smile, ‘I could never suppose Miss Anville would make an appointment with a stranger.’
‘An appointment, my Lord!’ repeated I, colouring violently.
‘Pardon me, Madam,’ answered he, ‘but I thought I had heard one.’
I was so much confounded, that I could not speak; yet, finding he walked quietly on, I could not endure he should make his own interpretation of my silence; and therefore, as soon as I recovered from my surprise, I said, ‘Indeed, my Lord, you are much mistaken, – Mr Macartney had particular business with me, – and I could not, – I knew not how to refuse seeing him, – but indeed, my Lord – I had not, – he had not,’ – I stammered so terribly that I could not go on.
‘I am very sorry,’ said he, gravely, ‘that I have been so unfortunate as to distress you; but I should not have followed you, had I not imagined you were merely walked out for the air.’
‘And so I was!’ cried I, eagerly, ‘indeed, my Lord, I was! My meeting with Mr Macartney was quite accidental; and if your Lordship thinks there is any impropriety in my seeing him to-morrow, I am ready to give up that intention.’
‘If I think!’ said he, in a tone of surprise; ‘surely Miss Anville must best judge for herself! surely she cannot leave the arbitration of a point so delicate, to one who is ignorant of all the circumstances which attend it?’
‘If,’ said I, ‘it was worth your Lordship’s time to hear them, – you should not be ignorant of the circumstances which attend it.’
‘The sweetness of Miss Anville’s disposition,’ said he, in a softened voice, ‘I have long admired, and the offer of a communication which does me so much honour, is too grateful to me not to be eagerly caught at.’
Just then, Mrs Selwyn opened the parlour-window, and our conversation ended. I was rallied upon my passion for solitary walking, but no questions were asked me.
When breakfast was over, I hoped to have had some opportunity of speaking with Lord Orville; but Lord Merton and Mr Coverley came in, and insisted upon his opinion of the spot they had fixed upon for the old women’s race. The ladies declared they would be of the party, and, accordingly, we all went.
The race is to be run in Mrs Beaumont’s garden; the two gentlemen are as anxious as if their joint lives depended upon it. They have, at length, fixed upon objects, but have found great difficulty in persuading them to practise running, in order to try their strength. This grand affair is to be decided next Thursday.
When we returned to the house, the entrance of more company still prevented my having any conversation with Lord Orville. I was very much chagrined, as I knew he was engaged at the Hotwells in the afternoon. Seeing, therefore, no probability of speaking to him before the time of my meeting Mr Macartney arrived, I determined that, rather than risk his ill opinion, I would leave Mr Macartney to his own suggestions.
Yet, when I reflected upon his peculiar situation, his poverty, his sadness, and, more than all the rest, the idea I knew he enter
tained of what he calls his obligations to me, I could not resolve upon a breach of promise, which might be attributed to causes of all others the most offensive to one whom misfortune has made extremely suspicious of slights and contempt.
After the most uneasy consideration, I at length determined upon writing an excuse, which would, at once, save me from either meeting or affronting him. I therefore begged Mrs Selwyn’s leave to send her man to the Hotwells, which she instantly granted; and then I wrote the following note.
To Mr Macartney
Sir,
As it will not be in my power to walk out to-morrow morning, I would by no means give you the trouble of coming to Clifton. I hope, however, to have the pleasure of seeing you before you quit Bristol. I am,
Sir,
Your obedient servant,
EVELINA ANVILLE
I desired the servant to enquire at the Pump-room where Mr Macartney lived, and returned to the parlour.
As soon as the company dispersed, the ladies retired to dress. I then, unexpectedly, found myself alone with Lord Orville; who, the moment I rose to follow Mrs Selwyn, advanced to me, and said, ‘Will Miss Anville pardon my impatience, if I remind her of the promise she was so good as to make me this morning?’
I stopped, and would have returned to my seat, but, before I had time, the servants came to lay the cloth. He retreated, and went towards the window; and while I was considering in what manner to begin, I could not help asking myself what right I had to communicate the affairs of Mr Macartney; and I doubted whether, to clear myself from one act of imprudence, I had not committed another.
Distressed by this reflection, I thought it best to quit the room, and give myself some time for consideration before I spoke; and therefore, only saying I must hasten to dress, I ran up stairs: rather abruptly, I own, and so, I fear, Lord Orville must think; yet what could I do? unused to the situations in which I find myself, and embarrassed by the slightest difficulties, I seldom, till too late, discover how I ought to act.
Just as we were all assembled to dinner, Mrs Selwyn’s man, coming into the parlour, presented to me a letter, and said, ‘I can’t find out Mr Macartney, Madam; but the post-office people will let you know if they hear of him.’
I was extremely ashamed of this public message; and meeting the eyes of Lord Orville, which were earnestly fixed on me, my confusion redoubled, and I knew not which way to look. All dinner-time, he was as silent as myself, and, the moment it was in my power, I left the table, and went to my own room. Mrs Selwyn presently followed me, and her questions obliged me to own almost all the particulars of my acquaintance with Mr Macartney, in order to excuse my writing to him. She said it was a most romantic affair, and spoke her sentiments with great severity, declaring that she had no doubt but he was an adventurer and an impostor.
And now, my dear Sir, I am totally at a loss what I ought to do: the more I reflect, the more sensible I am of the utter impropriety, nay, treachery, of revealing the story, and publishing the misfortunes and poverty of Mr Macartney? who has an undoubted right to my secrecy and discretion, and whose letter charges me to regard his communication as sacred. – And yet, the appearance of mystery, – perhaps something worse, which this affair must have to Lord Orville, – his seriousness, – and the promise I have made him, are inducements scarce to be resisted for trusting him, with the openness he has reason to expect from me.
I am equally distressed, too, whether or not I should see Mr Macartney to-morrow morning.
Oh, Sir, could I now be enlightened by your counsel, from what anxiety and perplexity should I be relieved!
But no, – I ought not to betray Mr Macartney, and I will not forfeit a confidence which would never have been reposed in me, but from a reliance upon my honour which I should blush to find myself unworthy of. Desirous as I am of the good opinion of Lord Orville, I will endeavour to act as if I was guided by your advice, and, making it my sole aim to deserve it, leave to time and to fate my success or disappointment.
Since I have formed this resolution, my mind is more at ease; but I will not finish my letter till the affair is decided.
Sept. 25th
I rose very early this morning, and, after a thousand different plans, not being able to resolve upon giving poor Mr Macartney leave to suppose I neglected him, I thought it incumbent upon me to keep my word, since he had not received my letter; I therefore determined to make my own apologies, not to stay with him two minutes, and to excuse myself from meeting him any more.
Yet, uncertain whether I was wrong or right, it was with fear and trembling that I opened the garden-gate, – judge, then, of my feelings, when the first object I saw was Lord Orville! – he, too, looked extremely disconcerted, and said, in a hesitating manner, ‘Pardon me, Madam, – I did not intend, – I did not imagine you would have been here so soon – or, – or I would not have come.’ – And then, with a hasty bow, he passed me, and proceeded to the garden.
I was scarce able to stand, so greatly did I feel myself shocked; but, upon my saying, almost involuntarily, ‘Oh my Lord!’ – he turned back, and, after a short pause, said, ‘Did you speak to me, Madam?’
I could not immediately answer; I seemed choaked, and was even forced to support myself by the garden-gate.
Lord Orville, soon recovering his dignity, said, ‘I know not how to apologize for being, just now, at this place; – and I cannot immediately, – if ever, – clear myself from the imputation of impertinent curiosity, to which I fear you will attribute it: however, at present, I will only entreat your pardon, without detaining you any longer.’ Again he bowed, and left me.
For some moments, I remained fixed to the same spot, and in the same position, immoveably as if I had been transformed to stone. My first impulse was to call him back, and instantly tell him the whole affair; but I checked this desire, though I would have given the world to have indulged it; something like pride aided what I thought due to Mr Macartney, and I determined not only to keep his secret, but to delay any sort of explanation, till Lord Orville should condescend to request it.
Slowly he walked, and before he entered the house, he looked back, but hastily withdrew his eyes, upon finding I observed him.
Indeed, my dear Sir, you cannot easily imagine a situation more uncomfortable than mine was at that time; to be suspected by Lord Orville of any clandestine actions, wounded my soul; I was too much discomposed to wait for Mr Macartney, nor, in truth, could I endure to have the design of my staying so well known. Yet I was so extremely agitated, that I could hardly move, and, I have reason to believe, Lord Orville, from the parlour-window, saw me tottering along, for, before I had taken five steps, he came out, and hastening to meet me, said, ‘I fear you are not well; pray allow me’ (offering his arm) ‘to assist you.’
‘No, my Lord,’ said I, with all the resolution I could assume; yet I was affected by an attention, at that time so little expected, and forced to turn away my head to conceal my emotion.
‘You must,’ said he, with earnestness, ‘indeed you must, – I am sure you are not well; – refuse me not the honour of assisting you;’ and, almost forcibly, he took my hand, and drawing it under his arm obliged me to lean upon him. That I submitted was partly the effect of surprise at an earnestness so uncommon in Lord Orville, and partly, that I did not, just then, dare trust my voice to make any objection.
When we came to the house, he led me into the parlour, and to a chair, and begged to know if I would not have a glass of water.
‘No, my Lord, I thank you,’ said I, ‘I am perfectly recovered;’ and, rising, I walked to the window, where, for some time, I pretended to be occupied in looking at the garden.
Determined as I was to act honourably by Mr Macartney, I yet most anxiously wished to be restored to the good opinion of Lord Orville; but his silence, and the thoughtfulness of his air, discouraged me from speaking.
My situation soon grew disagreeable and embarrassing, and I resolved to return to my chamber till breakfast was ready.
To remain longer, I feared, might seem asking for his enquiries; and I was sure it would ill become me to be more eager to speak, than he was to hear.
Just as I reached the door, turning to me hastily, he said, ‘Are you going, Miss Anville?’
‘I am, my Lord,’ answered I, yet I stopped.
‘Perhaps to return to – but I beg your pardon!’ he spoke with a degree of agitation that made me readily comprehend he meant to the Garden, and I instantly said, ‘To my own room, my Lord.’ And again I would have gone; but, convinced by my answer that I understood him, I believe he was sorry for the insinuation; he approached me with a very serious air, though, at the same time, he forced a smile, and said, ‘I know not what evil genius pursues me this morning, but I seem destined to do or to say something I ought not: I am so much ashamed of myself, that I can scarce solicit your forgiveness.’
‘My forgiveness! my Lord?’ cried I, abashed, rather than elated by his condescension, ‘surely you cannot – you are not serious?’
Evelina Page 35