“Next to Miss Selina Sidney,” continued Lady Mary, “who, after her positive and long persisted-in refusal, is quite out of the question, I have, my dear son, always wished to see you married to one of the Lady Lidhursts; and, of course, Lady Julia’s talents, and beauty, and youth — —”
Vivian interrupted and hastily told his mother that Lady Julia Lidhurst was as much out of the question as Miss Sidney could be; for that he had offered himself, and had been refused; and that he had every reason to believe that the determination of his second mistress against him would be at least as absolute and unconquerable as that of his first. His mother was in amazement. That her son could be refused by Lady Julia Lidhurst appeared a moral and political impossibility, especially when the desire for a connexion between the families had been so obvious on the side of the Glistonburys. What could be the meaning of this? Lady Julia was perhaps under an error, and fancied he was some way engaged to Miss Sidney; “or, perhaps,” said Lady Mary, who had a ready wit for the invention of delicate distresses, “perhaps there is some difficulty about the eldest sister, Lady Sarah; for you know the first winter you were given to her. — Ay, that must be the case. I will go to Glistonbury to-morrow, and I will have Lady Julia to myself for five minutes: I think I have some penetration, and I will know the truth.”
Lady Mary was again surprised, by hearing from her son that Lady Julia was not at Glistonbury — that she was gone with her brother into Devonshire. So there was a dead silence for some minutes, succeeded by an exclamation from Lady Mary, “There is some grand secret here — I must know it!” Her ladyship forthwith commenced a close and able cross-examination, which Vivian stopped at last by declaring that he was not at liberty to speak upon the subject: he knew, he said, that his mother was of too honourable and generous a temper to press him farther. His mother was perfectly honourable, but at the same time extremely curious; and though she continually repeated, “I will not ask you another question — I would not upon any account lead you to say a syllable that could betray any confidence reposed in you, my dear son;” yet she indulged herself in a variety of ingenious conjectures: “I know it is so;” or, “I am sure that I have guessed now, but I don’t ask you to tell me. — You do right to deny it.” — Amongst the variety of her conjectures, Lady Mary did not find out the truth; she was prepossessed by the idea that Russell was attached to Selina Sidney — a secret which her own penetration had discovered whilst her son was abroad with Mrs. Wharton, and which she thought no mortal living knew but herself. Pre-occupied with this notion, Russell was now omitted in all her combinations. His having quitted Glistonbury did not create any suspicion of the real cause of his sudden departure, because there was a sufficient reason for his going to the north to see his sick relation; and Lady Mary was too good a philosopher to assign two causes for the same event, when she had found one that was adequate to the production of the effect. She therefore quietly settled it in her imagination, that Lady Julia Lidhurst was going to be married immediately to a certain young nobleman, who had been lately at Glistonbury whilst they were acting plays. The next day she went with Vivian to Glistonbury Castle; for, waiving all the ceremonials of visiting, she was anxious to see poor Lady Glistonbury, of whose illness she had been apprised, in general terms, by her son. An impulse of curiosity, mixed perhaps with motives of regard for her good friend Lady Glistonbury, hastened this visit. They found Lady Glistonbury much better; she looked nearly as well as she had done before this stroke; and she had now recovered her memory, and the full use of her understanding. Vivian observed, that she and Lady Sarah were both convinced, by Lady Mary Vivian’s curiosity, that he had given no hint of any thing which they did not wish to be known: and the pleasurable consciousness of his integrity disposed him to be pleased with them. Lord Glistonbury, on his side, was convinced that Vivian had behaved honourably with respect to his daughter Julia; so all parties were well satisfied with each other. His lordship answered Lady Mary Vivian’s inquiries after his son and his daughter Julia by saying, that Miss Strictland had just returned to Glistonbury with rather more favourable accounts of Lord Lidhurst’s health, and that Julia and he were now at his brother the Bishop of — —’s. Between this brother and my Lord Glistonbury there had never been any great intimacy, their characters and their politics being very different. The moment Lady Mary Vivian heard Lord Glistonbury pronounce, with such unusual cordiality, the words, “my brother the bishop,” she recollected that the bishop had a very amiable, accomplished, and remarkably handsome son; so she arranged directly in her imagination that this was the person to whom Lady Julia was engaged. Being now thoroughly convinced that this last conjecture was just, she thought no more about Lady Julia’s affairs; but turned her attention to Lady Sarah, whose cold and guarded manners, however, resisted her utmost penetration. Disappointed in all her attempts to lead to sentiment or love, the conversation at last ran wholly upon the approaching election, upon the canvass, and the strength of the various interests of the county; on all which subjects Lady Sarah showed surprisingly exact information. Presently Lord Glistonbury took Vivian with him to his study to examine some poll-book, and then put into his hands a letter from Lady Julia Lidhurst, which had been enclosed in one to himself.
“I told you that I intended to rusticate Julia,” said his lordship, “with a poor parson and his wife — relations, distant relations of ours in Devonshire; but this plan has been defeated by my foolish good brother the bishop. On their journey they passed close by his palace; I charged Miss Strictland to be incog.; but they stayed to rest in the town, for Lidhurst was fatigued; and some of the bishop’s people found them out, and the bishop sent for them, and at last came himself. He was so sorry for Lidhurst’s illness, and, as Miss Strictland says, so much charmed with Julia, whom he had not seen since she was a child, that he absolutely took possession of them; and Julia has made her party good with him, for he writes me word he cannot part with her; that I must allow her to remain with him; and that they will take all possible care of Lyndhurst’s health. I believe I must yield this point to the bishop; for altogether it looks better that Julia should be at the palace than at the parsonage; and, though my poor brother has not the knowledge of the world one could wish, or that is necessary to bring this romantic girl back to reason, yet — But I keep you from reading your letter, and I see you are impatient — Hey? — very natural! — but, I am afraid, all in vain — I’ll leave you in peace. At any rate,” added Lord Glistonbury, “you know I have always stood your firm friend in this business; and you know I’m discreet.”
Vivian never felt so grateful for any instance of his lordship’s friendship and discretion as for that which he gave at this moment, by quitting the room, and leaving him in peace to read his letter.
CHAPTER XIII.
“Before you open this letter, you will have heard, probably, that my uncle, the Bishop of —— , has taken me under his protection. I cannot sufficiently regret that I was not a few years, a few months, sooner, blessed with such a Mentor. I never, till now, knew how much power kindness has to touch the mind in the moment of distress; nor did I ever, till now, feel how deeply the eloquence of true piety sinks into the heart. This excellent friend will, I hope, in time restore me to my better self. From the abstraction, the selfishness of passion, I think I am already somewhat recovered. After being wholly absorbed by one sentiment, I begin to feel again the influence of other motives, and to waken to the returning sense of social duty. Among the first objects to which, in recovering from this trance, or this fever of the soul, I have power to turn my attention, your happiness, sir, next to that of my own nearest relations, I find interests me most. After giving you this assurance, I trust you will believe that, to insure the felicity, or even to restore the health and preserve the life of any relation or friend I have upon earth, I should not think myself justified in attempting to influence your mind to any thing which I did not sincerely and firmly believe would be for your permanent advantage as well as for their
s. Under the solemn faith of this declaration, I hope that you will listen to me with patience and confidence. From all that I have myself seen, and from all that I have heard of your character, I am convinced that your wife should be a woman of a disposition precisely opposite, in many respects, to mine. Your character is liable to vary, according to the situations in which you are placed; and is subject to sudden but transient impressions from external circumstances. You have hitherto had a friend who has regulated the fluctuations of your passions; now that he is separated from you, how much will you feel the loss of his cool and steady judgment! Should you not, therefore, in that bosom friend, a wife, look for a certain firmness and stability of character, capable of resisting, rather than disposed to yield, to sudden impulse; a character, not of enthusiasm, but of duty; a mind, which, instead of increasing, by example and sympathy, any defects of your own — pardon the expression — should correct or compensate these by opposite qualities? And supposing that, with such sobriety and strength of character as I have described, there should be connected a certain slowness, formality, and coldness of manner, which might not at first be attractive to a man of your vivacity, let not this repel you: when once you have learned to consider this manner as the concomitant and indication of qualities essential to your happiness, it would, I am persuaded, become agreeable to you; especially as, on nearer observation, you would soon discover that, beneath that external coldness, under all that snow and ice, there is an accumulated and concentrated warmth of affection.
“Of this, sir, you must lately have seen an example in my own family. At the moment when my poor mother was struck with palsy, you saw my sister’s energy; and her character, probably, then appeared to you in a new point of view. From this burst of latent affection for a parent, you may form some idea what the power of the passion of love would be in her soul; some idea, I say; for I am persuaded that none but those who know her as well as I do can form an adequate notion of the strength of attachment of which she is capable.
“You will be surprised, perhaps, sir, to hear me reason so coolly for others on a subject where I have acted so rashly for myself; and you may feel no inclination to listen to the advice of one who has shown so little prudence in her own affairs: therefore, having stated my reasons, and suggested my conclusions, I leave you to apply them as you think proper; and I shall only add, that the accomplishment of my wishes, on this subject, would give me peculiar satisfaction. It would relieve my mind from part of a weight of self-reproach. I have made both my parents unhappy. I have reason to fear that the shock my mother received, by my means, contributed much to her late illness. An event that would restore my whole family to happiness must, therefore, be to me the most desirable upon earth. I should feel immediate relief and delight, even in the hope of contributing to it by any influence I can have over your mind. And, independently of the pleasure and pride I should feel in securing my sister’s happiness and yours, I should enjoy true satisfaction, sir, in that intimate friendship with you, which only the ties of such near relationship could permit or justify. You will accept of this assurance, instead of the trite and insulting, because unmeaning or unsafe, offer of friendship, which ladies sometimes make to those who have been their lovers.
“JULIA LIDHURST.
“ —— Palace:”
At the first reading of this letter, Vivian felt nothing but a renewal of regret for having lost all chance of obtaining the affections of the person by whom it was written: on a second perusal, he was moved by the earnest expression of her wishes for his happiness; and the desire to gratify her, on a point on which she was so anxious, influenced him much more than any of her arguments. Whatever good sense the letter contained was lost upon him; but all the sentiment operated with full force, yet not with sufficient power to conquer the repugnance he still felt to Lady Sarah’s person and manners. Lord Glistonbury made no inquiries concerning the contents of his daughter Julia’s letter; but, as far as politeness would permit, he examined Vivian’s countenance when he returned to the drawing-room. Lady Glistonbury’s manner was as calm as usual; but the slight shake of her head was a sufficient indication of her internal feelings. Lady Sarah looked pale, but so perfectly composed, that Vivian was convinced she, at least, knew nothing of her sister’s letter. So great indeed was the outward composure, and so immoveable was Lady Sarah, that it provoked Lady Mary past endurance; and as they drove home in the evening, she exclaimed, “I never saw such a young woman as Lady Sarah Lidhurst! She is a stick, a stone, a statue — she has completely satisfied my mind on one point. I own that when I found Lady Julia was out of the question, I did begin to think and wish that Lady Sarah might be my daughter-in-law, because she has really been so carefully brought up, and the connexion with the Glistonbury family is so desirable: then I had a notion, before I saw her this morning, that the girl liked you, and might be really capable of attachment; but now, indeed, I am convinced of the folly of that notion. She has no feeling — none upon earth — scarcely common sense! She thinks of nothing but how she holds her elbows. The formality and importance with which she went on cutting off ends of worsted from that frightful tapestry work, whilst I talked of you, quite put me out of all manner of patience. She has no feeling — none upon earth!”
“Oh, ma’am,” said Vivian, “you do her injustice: she certainly has feeling — for her mother.”
“Ay, for her mother, may be! a kind of mechanical affection!”
“But, ma’am, if you had seen her at the time that her mother was struck with palsy!”
Much to his own surprise, Vivian found himself engaged in a defence, and almost in an eulogium upon Lady Sarah; but the injustice of his mother’s attack, on this point, was, he knew, so great, that he could not join in Lady Mary’s invective.
“Why, my dear Charles!” said she, “do you recollect, on this very road, as we were returning from Glistonbury Castle, this time two years, you called Lady Sarah a petrifaction?”
“Yes, ma’am; because I did not know her then.”
“Well, my dear, I must have time to analyze her more carefully, and I suppose I shall discover, as you have done, that she is not a petrifaction. So, then, Lady Sarah really is to be the woman after all. I am content, but I absolutely cannot pretend to like her — I like the connexion, however; and the rest is your affair. — You haven’t proposed yet?”
“Bless me! no, ma’am! God forbid! How fast your imagination goes, my dear mother! — Is there no difference between saying, that a woman is not a petrifaction, and being in love with her?”
“In love! I never said a word about being in love — I know that’s impossible — I asked only if you had proposed for her?”
“Dear ma’am, no!”
Lady Mary expressed her satisfaction; and, perhaps, the injustice with which she continued, for some days, to asperse Lady Sarah Lidhurst, as being unfeeling, served her more, in Vivian’s opinion, than any other mode in which she could have spoken of her ladyship. Still he felt glad that he had not yet proposed. He had not courage either to recede or advance; circumstances went on, and carried him along with them, without bringing him to any decision. The business of the election proceeded; every day Lord Glistonbury was with him, or he was at Glistonbury Castle; every hour he saw more plainly the expectations that were formed: sometimes he felt that he was inevitably doomed to fulfil these, and at other times he cherished the hope that Lady Julia would soon return home, and that, by some fortunate revolution, she might yet be his. He had not now the advantage of Russell’s firmness to support him in this emergency. Russell’s answer to his letter was so coolly determined, and he so absolutely declined interfering farther in his affairs, that Vivian saw no hopes of regaining his friendship, or of benefiting by his counsels. Thus was Vivian in all the helplessness and all the horrors of indecision, when an event took place, which materially changed the face of affairs in the Glistonbury family. Just at the time when the accounts of his health were the most favourable, and when his friends were dec
eived by the most sanguine hopes of his recovery, Lord Lidhurst died. His mother was the only person in the family who was prepared for this catastrophe: they dreaded to communicate the intelligence to her, lest it should bring on another attack of her dreadful malady; but to their astonishment, she heard it with calm resignation, — said she had long foreseen this calamity, and that she submitted to the will of Heaven. After pity for the parents who lost this amiable and promising young man, heir to this large fortune and to this splendid title, people began to consider what change would be made in the condition of the rest of the family. The Lady Lidhursts, from being very small fortunes, became heiresses to a large estate. The earldom of Glistonbury was to devolve to a nephew of Lord Glistonbury, in case the Lady Lidhursts should not marry, or should not have heirs male; but, in case they should marry, the title was to go to the first son. All these circumstances were of course soon known and talked of in the neighbourhood; and many congratulated Vivian upon the great accession of fortune, and upon the high expectations of the lady to whom they supposed him engaged.
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