When she entered the room, Delamere, who was at the door to meet her, was astonished at the alteration he saw in her countenance.
‘You are ill, Emmeline?’ said he, taking her hand.
‘I am not quite well — I have a violent cold coming.’
‘A cold?’ eagerly answered Delamere, ‘you have been crying — who was the person who called on you yesterday?’
It was now in vain to attempt concealment if she had intended it.
‘He did not tell me his name, for our conversation was very short; but his servants told those of Mrs. Ashwood that his name is Sir Richard Crofts.’
‘And what business could Sir Richard Crofts possibly have with you?’
Emmeline related the conversation with great fidelity and without comment.
Delamere had hardly patience to hear her out. He protested he would immediately go to Sir Richard Crofts, and not only force him to apologize for what had passed, but promise never again to interfere between Lord Montreville and his family.
From executing this violent measure, Emmeline by earnest entreaty diverted him. She had not yet recovered the shock given her by the unwelcome interview of the preceding day; and though she had a very excellent constitution, her sensibility of mind was so great, that when she suffered any poignant uneasiness, it immediately affected her frame. In the present state of her spirits, she could not hear Delamere’s vehement and passionate exclamations without tears; and when he saw how much she was hurt, he commanded himself; spoke more calmly; and by a rapid transition from rage to tenderness, he wept also, and bathed her hands with his tears.
He was not without hopes that this last effort of Lord Montreville would effect a change in his favour; and he pleaded again for an elopement with the warmest eloquence of love.
But Emmeline, though she felt all the force of his arguments, had still the courage to resist them; and all he could obtain from her was a renewal of her former promise, neither to leave Mrs. Ashwood unknown to him or to conceal the place of her residence; to consent to see him wherever she should be, and positively to reject Mr. Rochely’s offer.
In return, she expected from Delamere some concessions which nothing but the sight of her uneasiness would have induced him to grant. At length she persuaded him to promise that he would not insult Sir Richard Crofts, or commit any other rashness which might irritate Lord Montreville.
Nothing was a stronger proof of the deep root which his passion had taken in his heart, than the influence Emmeline had obtained over his ungovernable and violent spirit, hitherto unused to controul, and accustomed from his infancy to exert over his own family the most boundless despotism.
Emmeline, tranquillized and consoled by his promises, then entreated him to go; as the state of Mrs. Ashwood’s family made visitors improper. In this, too, he obeyed her. And as soon as he was gone, Emmeline sat down to write to Mrs. Stafford, related briefly what had lately happened, and told her, that as soon as Lord Montreville could be induced to settle some yearly sum for her support, (which notwithstanding his threats she still thought he would do, on condition of her engaging never, without his consent, to marry Delamere,) she would set out for Woodfield.
Lord Montreville, absorbed in politics and in a negociation with ministry, had, on the evening when he and his son were at Lord Dornock’s, forgotten the impatient temper and particular situation of Delamere. His non appearance at supper occasioned an enquiry, and it was found he had left the house. It was too late for Lord Montreville to follow him that night, and would, indeed, have been useless; but early the next morning he was in Berkley-Square, where he heard nothing of his son.
He received a letter from Sir Richard Crofts, relating the ill success of his embassy; but adding, that he would bring Rochely to his Lordship the next day, to consider together what was next to be done. A letter also soon after arrived from Lady Montreville, to let his Lordship know that herself and her daughter, with Lady Mary and Miss Otley, were coming to town the next evening.
Delamere, the tumult of whose spirits was too great immediately to subside, took, for the first time in his life, some pains to conquer their violence, in consideration of Emmeline.
He sent his servants to Berkley-Square, to enquire among the domestics what had passed. He thence learned that his father had returned in the morning from Lord Dornock’s in very ill humour, and that his mother was expected in town. An interview with either, would, he was conscious, only be the occasion of that dissention he had promised Emmeline to avoid. His mother, he knew, came to town determined to keep no terms with him; and that she would incessantly harrass him with reproaches or teize him with entreaties. He therefore determined to avoid entirely all conversation with both; and after a short reflection on the best means to do so, he ordered Millefleur to discharge the lodgings; told him and his other two servants that he was going out of town, and should not take either them or his horses; therefore would have them go to Berkley-Square, and wait there his return. He bade his valet tell Lord Montreville that he should be absent ten days or a fortnight. Then ordering an hackney coach, he directed it to drive to Westminster Bridge, as if he meant there to take post: instead of which he dismissed it at the end of Bridge-Street; and walking over to the Surry side, he presently provided himself with lodgings under the name of Mr. Oswald, a gentleman just come from Ireland; and all traces of Mr. Delamere were lost.
END OF THE FIRST VOLUME
VOLUME II
CHAPTER I
Sir Richard Crofts brought Mr. Rochely to Lord Montreville at the time appointed; and in consequence of the conversation then held, his Lordship was confirmed in his resolution of persisting in the plan Sir Richard had laid down, to force Emmeline to accept the good fortune offered her. Lord Montreville had sent as soon as he got to town to Delamere’s lodgings, whose servants said that he had slept there, but was then gone out. His Lordship concluded he was gone to Clapham; but as he could not remedy his uneasiness on that head, he was obliged to endure it. About twelve o’clock Delamere had arranged matters for his concealment; and about three, as Lord Montreville was dressing to go out, Millefleur, together with Delamere’s footman and groom, came as they had been ordered to Berkley-Square. This circumstance was no sooner related to Lord Montreville by his valet de chambre, than he ordered Millefleur to be sent up. The Frenchman related to his Lordship, that his master was certainly gone to Mr. Percival’s; but Lord Montreville concluded he was gone to Scotland, and, in a tempest of anger and vexation, cursed the hour when he had listened to the advice of Sir Richard Crofts, the harshness of whose proceedings had, he imagined, precipitated the event he had so long dreaded. He was so entirely persuaded that this conjecture was the truth, that he first gave orders for a post-chaise and four to be ready directly; then recollecting that if he overtook his son he had no power to force him back, he thought it better to take with him some one who could influence Emmeline. His youngest daughter was still in Yorkshire; Mrs. Stafford he knew not where to find; but he supposed that Mrs. Ashwood, with whom she had lived some months, might have power to persuade her; and not knowing what else to do, indeed hardly knowing what he expected from the visit, he ordered his coachman to be as expeditious as possible in conveying him to the house of that lady.
Mrs. Ashwood, her brother, and four or five other persons related to the family, were at dinner. Lord Montreville entered the room; spoke to those he knew with as much civility as he could; but not seeing Emmeline among them, his apprehensions were confirmed. He desired they would not disturb themselves; and declined sharing their repast; but being unable to conceal his emotion till it was over, he said to Mrs. Ashwood— ‘I am sorry, Madam, to trouble you on this unhappy business. I did hope you would have had the goodness at least to inform me of it. What can I do?’ exclaimed he, breaking suddenly from his discourse and rising— ‘Good God, what can I do?’
The company were silent, and amazed.
Mrs. Ashwood, however, said, ‘I am sorry that any thing, my Lord, has
disturbed your Lordship. I am sure I should have been happy, my Lord, could I have been of any service to your Lordship in whatever it is.’
‘Disturbed!’ cried he, striking his forehead with his hand, ‘I am distracted! When did she go? How long has she been gone?’
‘Who, my Lord?’
‘Miss Mowbray — Emmeline — Oh! it will be impossible to overtake them!’
‘Gone! my Lord?’
‘Gone with Delamere! — Gone to Scotland!’
‘Miss Mowbray was however in the house not an hour ago,’ said Miss Galton; ‘I saw her myself go up the garden just as we sat down to dinner.’
‘Then she went to meet him! — then they went together!’ — exclaimed Lord Montreville, walking round the room.
An assertion so positive staggered every one. They rose from table in confusion.
‘Let us go up,’ said Mrs. Ashwood; ‘I can hardly think it possible, my Lord, that Miss Mowbray is gone, unless your Lordship absolutely saw them.’
Yet Mrs. Ashwood remembered that Delamere had been there in the morning, and that Emmeline had dined early alone, and had remained by herself all the rest of the day, under pretence of sickness; and she began to believe that all this was done to give her time to elope with Delamere.
She went up stairs; and Lord Montreville, without knowing what he did, followed her. The stairs were carpetted; any one ascending was hardly heard; and Mrs. Ashwood suddenly throwing open the door of her chamber, Lord Montreville saw her, with her handkerchief held to her face, hanging over a packet of papers which lay on the table before her.
Emmeline did not immediately look up — an exclamation from Lord Montreville made her take her handkerchief from her eyes.
She arose; tried to conceal the sorrow visible in her countenance yet wet with tears, and assuming as much as she could her native ease and sweetness, she advanced towards his Lordship, who still stood at the door, amazed, and asked him if he would pardon her for desiring him to sit down in a bed-chamber; if not, she would wait on him below. She then went back to the table; threw the papers into the casket that was on it; and placing a chair between that and the fire, again asked him if he would do her the honour to sit down.
Lord Montreville did so, but said nothing. He was ashamed of his precipitancy; yet as Emmeline did not know it, he would not mention it; and was yet too full of the idea to speak of any thing else.
Mrs. Ashwood had left them — Emmeline continued silent.
Lord Montreville, after a long pause, at length said, with a stern and displeased countenance, ‘I understand, Miss Mowbray, that my son was here this morning.’
‘Yes, my Lord.’
‘Pray, do you know where he now is?’
‘I do not, indeed. Is he not at your Lordship’s house?’
‘No; I am told by his servants that he is gone to Mr. Percival’s — But you—’(continued he, laying a strong emphasis on the word) ‘you, Miss Mowbray, are I dare say better informed of his intentions than any one else.’
‘Upon my word, my Lord,’ answered Emmeline, astonished, ‘I do not know. He said nothing to me of an intention to go any where; on the contrary, he told me he should be here again to-morrow.’
‘And is it possible you are ignorant of his having left London this morning, immediately after he returned from visiting you?’
‘My Lord, I have never yet stooped to the meanness of a falsehood. Why should your Lordship now suppose me guilty of it? I repeat — and I hope you will do me the justice to believe me — upon my honour I do not know whither Mr. Delamere is gone — nor do I know that he has left London.’
Lord Montreville could not but believe her. But while his fears were relieved as to the elopement, they were awakened anew by the uncertainty of what was become of his son, and what his motive could be for this sudden disappearance.
He thought however the present opportunity of speaking to Emmeline of his resolution was not to be neglected.
‘However ignorant you may be, Miss Mowbray,’ said he, ‘of the reason of his having quitted his lodgings, you are not to learn that his motive for estranging himself from his family, and becoming a stranger to his father’s house, originates in his inconsiderate attachment to you. Contrary to the assurances you gave me at Swansea, you have encouraged this attachment; and, as I understand from Sir Richard Crofts, you peremptorily and even rudely refuse the opportunity now offered you of establishing yourself in rank and affluence, which no other young woman would a moment hesitate to accept. Such a refusal cannot be owing to mere caprice; nor could it possibly happen had you not determined, in despite of every objection, and of bringing discord into my family, to listen to that infatuated and rash young man.’
‘Your Lordship does not treat me with your usual candour. I have promised you, voluntarily promised you, not to marry Mr. Delamere without your Lordship’s consent. To prevent his coming here was out of my power; but if I really aspired to the honour of which your Lordship thinks me ambitious, what has prevented me from engaging at once with Mr. Delamere? who has, I own to you, pressed me repeatedly to elope. My Lord, while I am treated with kindness and confidence, I can rely upon my own resolution to deserve it; but when your Lordship, on suspicion or misrepresentation, is induced to withdraw that kindness and confidence — why should I make a point of honour, where you no longer seem to expect it?’
The truth of this answer, as well as it’s spirit, at once hurt and irritated Lord Montreville.
Determined to separate Emmeline from his son, he was mortified to be forced to acknowledge in his own breast that she merited all his affection, and angry that she should be in the right when he wished to have found something to blame in her conduct. Pride and self-love seemed to resent that a little weak girl should pretend to a sense of rectitude, and a force of understanding greater than his own.
‘Miss Mowbray,’ said his Lordship sharply, ‘I will be very explicit with you — either consent to marry Mr. Rochely, whose affection does you so much honour, or expect from me no farther kindness.’
‘Your Lordship knows,’ answered Emmeline, ‘that I have no friend on whom I have the least claim but you. If you abandon me — but, my Lord, ought you to do it? —— I am indeed most friendless!’
She could no longer command her tears — sobs obliged her to cease speaking.
Lord Montreville thought her resolution would give way; and trying to divest himself of all feeling, with an effort truly political, he determined to press his point.
‘It is in your power,’ resumed he, ‘not only to place yourself above all fear of such desertion, but to engage my affection and that of my whole family. You will be in a situation of life which I should hardly refuse for one of the Miss Delameres. You will possess the most unbounded affluence, and a husband who adores you. A man unexceptionable in character; of a mature age; and whose immense fortune is every day encreasing. You will be considered by me, and by Lady Montreville, as a daughter of the house of Mowbray. The blemish of your birth will be wiped off and forgotten.’
Emmeline wept more than before.
And his Lordship continued, ‘If you absurdly refuse an offer so infinitely above your expectations, I shall consider myself as having more than done my duty in putting it in your way; and that your folly and imprudence dissolve all obligation on my part. You must no longer call yourself Mowbray; and you must forget that you ever were allowed to be numbered among the relations of my family. Nor shall I think myself obliged in any manner to provide for a person, who in scorn of gratitude, prudence and reputation, throws from her an opportunity of providing for herself.’
Emmeline regained some degree of resolution. She looked up, her eyes streaming with tears, and said, ‘Well, my Lord! to the lowest indigence I must then submit; for to marry Mr. Rochely is not in my power.’
‘We will suppose for a moment,’ resumed Lord Montreville, ‘that you could realize the visionary hopes you have presumed to indulge of uniting yourself to Mr. Delamere. Dear as he
is to me and his mother, we are determined from that moment to renounce him — never shall the rebellious son who has dared to disobey us, be again admitted to our presence! — never will we acknowledge as his wife, a person forced upon us and introduced into our family in despite of our commands, and in violation of duty, honour, and affection. You will be the occasion of his being loaded with the curses of both his parents, and of introducing misery and discord into his family. Can you yourself be happy under such circumstances? In point of fortune too you will find yourself deceived — while we live, Mr. Delamere can have but a very slender income; and of every thing in our power we shall certainly deprive him, both while we live, and at our decease. Consider well what I have said; and make use of your reason. Begin by giving up to me the ridiculous witnesses of a ridiculous and boyish passion, which must be no longer indulged; to keep a picture of Delamere is discreditable and indelicate — you will not refuse to relinquish it?’
He reached over the table, and took from among two or three loose papers, which yet lay before Emmeline, a little blue enamelled case, which he concluded contained a miniature of Delamere, of whom several had been drawn. Emmeline, absorbed in tears, did not oppose it. The spring of the case was defective. It opened in his hand; and presented to his view, not a portrait of his son, but of his brother, drawn when he was about twenty, and at a period when he was more than a brother — when he was the dearest friend Lord Montreville had on earth. A likeness so striking, which he had not seen for many years, had an immediate effect upon him.
His brother seemed to look at him mournfully. A melancholy cast about the eye-brows diminished the vivacity of the countenance, and the faded colour (for the picture had been painted seven and twenty years) gave it a look of languor and ill health; such perhaps as the original wore before his death, when a ruined constitution threatened him for some months, tho’ his life terminated by a malignant fever in a few hours.
Complete Poetical Works of Charlotte Smith Page 43