The astonishment and agitation she felt at this sight, hardly left her power to read the letter which she held.
Berkley-Square, May 5, 17 —
‘Dear Miss Mowbray,
‘My son, Lord Delamere, convinced at length of the impropriety of a marriage so unwelcome to his family, allows me to release you from the promise which he obtained. I do myself the pleasure to enclose it, and shall be glad to hear you receive it safe by an early post. My Lord Delamere assures me that you hold no promise of the like nature from him. If he is in this matter forgetful, I doubt not but that you will return it on receipt of this.
‘Maddox informs me that he shall in a few days forward to you the payment due: to which I beg leave to add, that if you have occasion for fifty or an hundred pounds more, during your stay on the continent, you may draw on Maddox to that amount. With sincere wishes for your health and happiness, I am, dear Miss Mowbray, your obedient and faithful humble servant,
Montreville.’
Tho’ joy was, in the heart of Emmeline, the predominant emotion, she yet felt some degree of pique and resentment involuntarily arise against Lord Montreville and his son; and tho’ the renunciation of the latter was what she had secretly wished ever since she had discovered the capricious violence of Delamere and the merit of Godolphin, the cold and barely civil stile in which his father had acquainted her with it, seemed at once to shock, mortify, and relieve her.
After having considered a moment the contents of her own letters, she cast her eyes towards Lady Westhaven, whose countenance expressed great emotion; while her Lord, sternly and displeased ran over his, and then put them into his pocket.
‘What say your letters from England, my fairest cousin?’ said he, advancing and trying to shake off his chagrin.
‘Will you do me the honour to peruse them, my Lord?’ said she, half smiling.— ‘They will not take you up much time.’
He read them. ‘It is a settled thing then I find. Lady Westhaven, your’s are, I presume, from Berkley-Square?’
‘They are,’ answered she.— ‘Never,’ and she took out her handkerchief— ‘never have I received any less welcome!’
She gave one from Lady Frances Crofts to his Lordship, in which, with many details of her own affairs, was this sentence —
‘Before this, you have heard from my father or my mother that Lord Delamere has entirely recovered the use of his reason, and accepts of Miss Otley with her immense fortune. This change was brought about suddenly. It was settled in Norfolk, immediately after Lord Delamere’s return from Ireland. I congratulate you and Lord W. on an event which I conclude must to both of you be pleasing. I have seen none of the family for near three weeks, as they are gone back into Norfolk; only my brother called for a moment, and seemed to be greatly hurried; by which, as well as from other circumstances, I conclude that preparations are making for the wedding immediately.’
May 18.
Lady Westhaven, who saw all hopes of being allied to the friend of her heart for ever at an end — who believed that she had always cherished an affection for her brother, and who supposed that in consequence of his desertion she was left in mortifying dependance on Lord Montreville, was infinitely hurt at this information. The letter from her father to Emmeline confirmed all her apprehensions. There was a freezing civility in the style, which gave no hopes of his alleviating by generosity and kindness the pain which her Ladyship concluded Emmeline must feel; while Lord Westhaven, knowing that to her whom he thus insulted with the distant offer of fifty or an hundred pounds, he really was accountable for the income of an estate of four thousand five hundred a year, for near nineteen years, and that he still withheld that estate from her, could hardly contain his indignation even before his wife; whom he loved too well not to wish to conceal from her the ill opinion he could not help conceiving of her father.
Emmeline, who was far from feeling that degree of pain which Lady Westhaven concluded must penetrate her heart, was yet unwilling to shew that she actually received with pleasure (tho’ somewhat allayed by Lord Montreville’s coldness) an emancipation from her engagement. Of her partiality to Godolphin, her friend had no idea; for Emmeline, too conscious of it to be able to converse about him without fearing to betray herself, had studiously avoided talking of him after their first meeting; and she now imagined that Lady Westhaven, passionately fond of her brother as she was, would think her indifference affected thro’ pique; and carried too far, if she did not receive the intelligence of their eternal separation with some degree of concern. These thoughts gave her an air of vexation and embarrassment which would have saved her the trouble of dissimulation had she been an adept in it’s practice. Extremely harrassed and out of spirits before, tears now, in spite of her internal satisfaction, and perhaps partly arising from it, filled her eyes; while Lady Westhaven, who was greatly more hurt, exclaimed —
‘My brother then marries Miss Otley! After all I have heard him say, I thought it impossible!’
‘He will however, I doubt not, be happy,’ answered Emmeline. ‘The satisfaction of having made Lord and Lady Montreville completely happy, must greatly contribute to his being so himself.’
‘Heaven grant it!’ replied Lady Westhaven. ‘Poor Frederic! he throws away an invaluable blessing! Whether he will, in any other, find consolation, I greatly doubt. But however changed his heart may be, my dearest Emmeline,’ added she, tenderly embracing her, ‘I think I can venture to assure you that those of Lord Westhaven and your Augusta, will, towards you, ever be the same.’
Emmeline now wished to put an end to a conversation which Lady Westhaven seemed hardly able to support; and she languished herself to be alone. Forcing therefore a smile, tho’ the tears still fell from her eyes, she said— ‘My dear friends, tho’ I expected this long ago, yet I beg you to consider that being but a woman, and of course vain, my pride is a little wounded, and I must recollect all your kindnesses, to put me in good humour again with myself. Do not let the Chevalier follow me; for I am not disposed to hear any thing this evening, after these sweetest and most consoling assurances of your inestimable friendship. Therefore I shall take Madelon with me, and go for a walk.’
She then left the room, Lady Westhaven not attempting to detain her; and her Lord, vexed to see his gentle Augusta thus uneasy, remained with her, pointing out to her the fairest prospects of establishment for her beloved Emmeline; tho’ he thought the present an improper opportunity to open to her his knowledge of those circumstances in her friend’s fortune, which, without such conspicuous merit, could hardly fail of obtaining it.
To go to a great distance from the house, alone, Emmeline had not courage; to stay near it, subjected her to the intrusion and importunity of the Chevalier. She therefore determined to take Madelon, whose presence would be some protection without any interruption to her thoughts. She had wished, ever since her arrival at St. Alpin, to visit alone the borders of the lake of Geneva. Madelon, alert and sprightly, undertook to shew her the pleasantest way, and led her thro’ a narrow path crossing a hill covered with broom and coppice wood, into a dark and gloomy wood of fir, cypress, and chestnut, that extended to the edge of the water; from which it was in some places separated by rocks pointing out into the lake, while in others the trees grew almost in the water, and dipped their extremities in the limpid waves beneath them.
Madelon informed Emmeline that this was the place where the servants of the castle assembled to dance of an holyday, in the shade; and where boats usually landed that came from the other side of the lake.
The scene, softened into more pensive beauty by the approach of a warm and serene evening, had every thing in it that could charm and soothe the mind of the lovely orphan. But her internal feelings were at this time too acute to suffer her to attend to outward circumstances. She wished only for tranquillity and silence, to collect her thoughts; and bidding Madelon find herself a seat, she went a few yards into the wood, and sat down on the long grass, where even Madelon might not remark her.
The events of the two last days appeared to be visions rather than realities. From being an indigent dependant on the bounty of a relation, whose caprice or avarice might leave her entirely destitute, she was at once found to be heiress to an extensive property. From being bound down to marry, if he pleased, a man for whom she felt only sisterly regard, and who had thrown her from him in the violence of unreasonable jealousy and gloomy suspicion, she was now at liberty to indulge the affections she had so long vainly resisted, and to think, without present self-accusation, or the danger of future repentance, of Godolphin. In imagination, she already beheld him avowing that tenderness which he had before generously struggled to conceal. She saw him, who she believed would have taken her without fortune, receiving in her estate the means of bestowing happiness, and the power of indulging his liberal and noble spirit. She saw the tender, unhappy Adelina, reconciled to life in contemplating the felicity of her dear William; and Lord Westhaven, to whom she was so much obliged, glorying in the good fortune of a brother so deservedly beloved; while still calling her excellent and lovely friend Augusta by the endearing appellation of sister, she saw her forget, in the happiness of Godolphin, the concern she had felt for Delamere.
From this delicious dream of future bliss, she was awakened somewhat suddenly by Madelon; who running towards her, told her that a boat, in which there appeared to be several men, was pointing to land just where she had been sitting. Emmeline, wearied as she was with the Chevalier’s gallantry, immediately supposed it to be him, and she knew he was out on the lake. She therefore advanced a step or two to look. It was so nearly dark that she could only distinguish a man standing in the boat, whose figure appeared to be that of Bellozane; and taking Madelon by the arm, she hastily struck into the wood, to avoid him by returning to St. Alpin before he should perceive her.
She had hardly walked twenty paces, when she heard the boat put on shore, and two or three persons leap out of it. Still hoping, however, to get thro’ the wood before Bellozane could overtake her, she almost ran with Madelon. But somebody seemed to pursue them. Her cloaths were white; and she knew, that notwithstanding the evening was so far shut in, and the path obscured by trees, she must yet be distinguished gliding between their branches. The persons behind gained upon her, and her pace quickened as her alarm encreased; for she now apprehended something yet more disagreeable than being overtaken by Bellozane. Suddenly she heard— ‘Arretez, arretez, Mesdames! de grace dites moi si vous etes de la famille du Baron de St. Alpin?’
The first word of this sentence stopped the flying Emmeline, and fixed her to the spot where she stood. It was the voice of Godolphin — Godolphin himself was before her!
The suddenness of his appearance quite overcame her, breathless as she was before from haste and fear; and finding that to support herself was impossible, she staggered towards a tree which grew on the edge of the path, but would have fallen if Godolphin had not caught her in his arms.
He did this merely from the impulse of his natural gallantry and good nature. What were his transports, when he found that the fugitive whom he had undesignedly alarmed by asking a direction to St. Alpin, was his adored Emmeline; and that the lovely object whose idea, since their first meeting, had never a moment been absent from it, he now pressed to his throbbing heart? Instantly terrified, however, to find her speechless and almost insensible, he ordered the servant who followed him to run back for some water; and seating her gently on the ground, he threw himself down by her and supported her; while Madelon, wringing her hands called on her aimable, her belle maitresse; and was too much frightened to give her any assistance.
Before the man returned with the water, her recollection was restored, and she said, faintly— ‘Mr. Godolphin! Is it possible?’
‘Loveliest Miss Mowbray, how thoughtlessly have I alarmed you! — Can you forgive me?’
‘Ah!’ cried she, disengaging herself from his support— ‘how came you here, and from whence?’
Godolphin, without considering, and almost without knowing what he said, replied— ‘I come from Lord Delamere.’
‘From Lord Delamere!’ exclaimed she, in amazement. ‘Is he not in London then? — is he not married?’
‘No; I overtook him at Besançon; where he lies ill — very ill!’
‘Ill!’ repeated Emmeline.— ‘Ill, and at Besançon! — merciful heaven!’
She now again relapsed almost into insensibility: for at the mention of Godolphin’s having overtaken him, and having left him ill, a thousand terrific and frightful images crouded into her mind; but the predominant idea was, that it was on her account they had met, and that Delamere’s illness was a wound in consequence of that meeting.
That such an imagination should possess her, Godolphin had no means of knowing. He therefore very naturally concluded that the violent sorrow which she expressed, on hearing of Delamere’s illness, arose from her love towards him; and, in such a conclusion, he found the ruin of those hopes he had of late fondly cherished.
‘Happy, happy Delamere!’ said he, sighing to himself.— ‘Her first affections were his, and never will any secondary tenderness supersede that early impression. Alas! his rejection of her, has not been able to efface it — For me, there is nothing to hope! and while I thus hold her to my heart, I have lost her for ever! I came not hither, however, solely on my own account, but rather to save from pain, her and those she loves. ’Tis not then of myself I am to think.’
While these reflections passed thro’ his mind, he remained silent; and Emmeline concluded that his silence was owing to the truth of her conjecture. The grief of Lady Westhaven for her brother, the despair of Lord Montreville for his son, presented themselves to her mind; and the contemptuous return of her promise, which a few hours before she thought of with resentment, was now forgotten in regret for his illness and pity for his sufferings.
‘Ah!’ cried she, trying to rise, ‘what shall I say to Lady Westhaven? — How disclose to her such intelligence as this?’
‘It was to prevent her hearing it abruptly,’ said Godolphin, ‘that I came myself, rather than sent by a messenger or a letter, such distressing information.’
So strongly had the idea of a duel between them taken possession of the mind of Emmeline, that she had no courage to ask particulars of his illness; and shuddering with horror at the supposition that the hand Godolphin held out to assist her was stained with the blood of the unfortunate Delamere, she drew her’s hastily and almost involuntarily from him; and taking again Madelon’s arm, attempted to hasten towards home.
But the scene of anguish and terror which she must there encounter with Lady Westhaven, the distress and vexation of her Lord, and the misery of believing that Godolphin had made himself for ever hateful to all her own family, and that if her cousin died she could never again behold him but with regret and anguish, were altogether reflections so overwhelming, and so much more than her harrassed spirits were able to sustain, that after tottering about fifty yards, she was compelled to stop, and gasping for breath, to accept the offered assistance of Godolphin. Strongly prepossessed with the idea of her affection for Delamere, he languidly and mournfully lent it. He had no longer courage to speak to her; yet wished to take measures for preventing Lady Westhaven’s being suddenly alarmed by his appearance; and he feared, that not his appearance only, but his countenance, would tell her that he came not thither to impart tidings of happiness.
It was now quite dark; and the slow pace in which only Emmeline could walk, had not yet carried them through the wood. The agitation of Emmeline encreased: she wished, yet dreaded to know the particulars of Delamere’s situation; and unable to summons courage to enquire into it, she proceeded mournfully along, almost borne by Godolphin and Madelon; who understanding nothing of what had been said, and not knowing who the gentleman was who had thus frightened her mistress, was herself almost as much in dismay.
After a long pause, Emmeline, in faultering accents, asked ‘if the situation of Lord Delamere
was absolutely desperate?’
‘I hope and believe not,’ said Godolphin. ‘When I left him, at least, there were hopes of a favourable issue.’
‘Ah! wherefore did you leave him? Why not stay at least to see the event?’
‘Because he so earnestly desired that his sister might know of his situation, and that I only might acquaint her with it and press her to go to him.’
‘She will need no entreaties. Poor, poor Delamere!’ — sighing deeply, Emmeline again became silent.
They were to mount a small hill, which was between the wood they had left and the grounds immediately surrounding St. Alpin, which was extremely steep and rugged. Before she reached the top, she was quite exhausted.
‘I believe,’ said she, ‘I must again rest before I can proceed.’
She sat down on a bank formed by the roots of the trees which sustained the earth, on the edge of the narrow path.
Godolphin, excessively alarmed at her weakness and dejection, which he still attributed to the anguish she felt for Delamere, sat by her, hardly daring to breathe himself, while he listened to her short respiration, and fancied he heard the violent palpitation of her heart.
‘And how long do you think,’ said she, again recurring to Delamere— ‘how long may he linger before the event will be known?’
‘I really hope, and I think I am not too sanguine, that the fever will have left him before we see him again.’
‘The fever!’ repeated Emmeline— ‘has he a fever then?’
‘Yes,’ replied Godolphin— ‘I thought I told you that a fever was his complaint. But had you not better, my dear Madam, think a little of yourself! Ill as you appear to be, I see not how you are to get home unless you will suffer me to go on and procure some kind of conveyance for you.’
Complete Poetical Works of Charlotte Smith Page 74