Every thing was, by the diligence of Godolphin, soon prepared for their departure. Lady Adelina, her little boy, Emmeline and Godolphin, attended by their servants, went the same evening to Southampton; from whence they began their journey the next day; and resting one night at Farnham, arrived early on the following at the house Lord Westhaven had taken in Grosvenor street
CHAPTER XIV
The transports with which Lord Westhaven received his sister, were considerably checked by her melancholy air and faded form. The beauty and vivacity which she possessed when he last saw her, were quite gone, tho’ she was now only in her twenty second year; and tears and sighs were the only language by which she could express the pleasure she felt at again seeing him. Imputing, however, this dejection entirely to her late unfortunate marriage, his Lordship expressed rather sorrow than wonder. He admired the little boy, whom he believed to be the son of Godolphin; and he met Emmeline with that unreserved and generous kindness he had ever shewn her.
Lady Westhaven, with the truest pleasure, again embraced the friend of her heart; and with delight Emmeline met her; but it was soon abated by the sanguine hopes she expressed that nothing would now long delay the happiness of Lord Delamere.
‘My Emmeline,’ said she, ‘will now be indeed my sister! Lord Montreville and my mother can no longer oppose a marriage so extremely advantageous to their son. She will forgive them for their long blindness; and pardoning poor Delamere for the involuntary error into which he was forced, will constitute the happiness of him and of his family.’
To this, Emmeline could only answer that she had not the least intention of marrying. Lady Westhaven laughed at that assertion. And she foresaw a persecution preparing for her, on behalf of Delamere, which was likely to give her greater uneasiness than she had yet suffered from any event of her life.
Lord Westhaven, as soon as they grew a little composed, took an opportunity of leaving the rest of the party; and went into his dressing room, where he sent for Emmeline.
‘Well, my lovely cousin,’ said he, when she was seated, ‘I have seen Lord Montreville on your business. I cannot say that his Lordship received me with pleasure. But some allowances must be made for a man who loves money, on finding himself obliged to relinquish so large an estate, and to refund so large a sum as he holds of yours.’
‘I hope, however, you, my Lord, have had no dispute on my account with the Marquis?’
‘Oh! none in the world. What he thought, I had no business to enquire; what he said, was not much; as he committed the arguments against you to Sir Richard Crofts, who talked very long, and, as far as I know, very learnedly. He spoke like a lawyer and a politician. I cut the matter short, by telling him that I should attend to nothing but from an honest man and a gentleman.’
‘That was severe, my Lord.’
‘Oh! he did not feel it. Wrapped in his own self-sufficiency, and too rich to recollect the necessity of being honest, he still persisted in trying to persuade me that nothing should be done in regard to restoring your estate ‘till all the deeds had been examined; as he had his doubts whether, allowing your father’s marriage to be established, great part of the landed property is not entailed on the heirs male. In short, he only seemed desirous of gaining time and giving trouble. But the first, I was determined not to allow him; and to shorten the second, I took Mr. Newton with me the next day, and desired Sir Richard, if he could prove any entail, to produce his proofs. For that, he had an evasion ready — he had not had time to examine the deeds; which I find are all in his hands. We, however, were better prepared. Mr. Newton produced the papers that authenticate your birth; he offered to bring a witness who was present when Mr. Mowbray was married to Miss Stavordale; nay even the clergyman who performed the ceremony at Paris, and who is found to be actually living in Westmoreland. The hand writing of your father is easily proved; and Mr. Newton, summing up briefly all the corroborating testimonies that exist of your right to the Mowbray estate, concluded by telling Lord Montreville, that at the end of two days he should wait upon his Lordship for his determination, whether he would dispute it in a court of law or settle it amicably with me on behalf of his niece. Newton then left us; and I desired your uncle to allow me a few moments private conversation; which, as he could not refuse it, obliged old Crofts, and that formal blockhead his son, to leave us alone together. I then represented to him how greatly his character must suffer should the affair become public. That tho’ I believed myself he was really ignorant of the circumstances which gave you, from the moment of your father’s death, an undoubted claim to the whole of his fortune, yet that the world will not believe it; but will consider him as a man so cruelly insatiable, so shamefully unjust, as to take advantage of a defenceless orphan to accumulate riches he did not want, and had no right to enjoy. I added, that if notwithstanding he chose to go into court, he must excuse me if I forgot the near connection I had with him, and appeared publicly as the assertor of your claim, and of course as his enemy.
‘The Marquis seemed very much hurt at the peremptory style in which I thought myself obliged to speak. He declined giving any positive answer; saying, only, that he must consult his wife and his son. What the former said, I know not; but the latter, generous in his nature, and adoring you, protested to his father that he would himself, as your next nearest relation, join in the suit against him, if the estate was not immediately given up. This spirited resolution of Lord Delamere, and the opinions of several eminent lawyers whom Sir Richard was sent to consult, at length brought Lord Montreville to a resolution before the expiration of the two days; and last night I received a letter from him, to say that he would, on Monday next, account with you, and put you in possession of your estate; the management of which, however, and the care of your person, he should reserve to himself ‘till you were of age.’
‘Good God!’ exclaimed Emmeline; trembling, ‘am I to meet my uncle on Monday on this business?’
‘Yes; and wherefore are you terrified?’
‘At the idea of his anger — his hatred; and of being compelled to live with the Marchioness, who always disliked me, and now must detest me.’
Lord Westhaven then assured her that he would be there to support her spirits. That her uncle, whatever might be his feelings, would not express them by rudeness and asperity; but would more probably be desirous of shewing kindness and seeking reconciliation. Yet that it was improbable he should propose her residing with Lady Montreville; ‘whose present state of health,’ said he, ‘makes her incapable of leaving her room, and for whose life the most serious apprehensions are entertained by her physicians.’
Emmeline, thus reassured by Lord Westhaven on that subject, and extremely glad to hear there would be no necessity for proceedings at law against her uncle, returned with some chearfulness to the company; where it was not encreased by the entrance of Lord Delamere, which happened soon afterwards.
The very ill state of health indicated by his appearance, extremely hurt her. Nor was she less affected by his address to her, so expressive of the deepest anguish and regret. She could not bear to receive him with haughtiness and coldness; but mildly, and with smiles, returned the questions he put to her on common subjects. His chagrin seemed to wear off; and hope, which Emmeline as little wished to give, again reanimated in some degree his melancholy countenance.
The next day, and again the next, he came to Lord Westhaven’s; but Emmeline cautiously avoided any conversation with him to which the whole company were not witnesses. Godolphin too was there: her behaviour to him was the same; and she would suffer neither to treat her with any degree of particularity. Godolphin, who knew her reason for being reserved towards him, was content; and Delamere, who suspected not how dangerous a rival he had, was compelled to remain on the footing only of a relation; still hoping that time and perseverance might restore him to the happiness he had lost.
Monday now arrived, and Emmeline was to wait on her uncle in Berkley-Square. At twelve o’clock Lord Westhaven was ready. Em
meline was led by him into the coach. They took up Mr. Newton in Lincolns-inn; and then went to their rendezvous. Emmeline trembled as Lord Westhaven took her up stairs: she remembered the terror she had once before suffered in the same house; and when she entered the drawing-room, could hardly support herself.
The Marquis, Sir Richard Crofts, his eldest son, and Lord Delamere, with two stewards and a lawyer, were already there. Lord Montreville coldly and gravely returned his niece’s compliments; Sir Richard malignantly eyed her from the corners of his eyes, obscured by fat; and Crofts put on a look of pompous sagacity and consequential knowledge; while Lord Delamere, who would willingly have parted with the whole of his paternal fortune rather than with her, seemed eager only to see a business concluded by which she was to receive benefit.
The lawyer in a set speech opened the business, and expatiated largely on Lord Montreville’s great generosity.
Lord Westhaven looked over the accounts: they appeared to have been made out right. The title deeds of the estate were then produced; the usual forms gone thro’; and papers signed, which put Emmeline in possession of them. All passed with much silence and solemnity: Lord Montreville said very little; and ineffectually struggled to conceal the extreme reluctance with which he made this resignation. When the business was completed, Emmeline advanced to kiss the hand of her uncle: he saluted her; but without any appearance of affection; and coldly enquired how she intended to dispose of herself?
‘I propose, my Lord, wholly to refer myself to your Lordship as to my present residence, or any other part of my conduct in which you will honour me with your advice.’
‘I am sorry, Miss Mowbray, that the ill state of health of the Marchioness prevents my having the pleasure of your company here. However my daughter, Lady Westhaven, will of course be happy to have you remain with her till you have fixed on some plan of life, or till you are of age.’
‘Not only till Miss Mowbray is of age, my Lord, but ever, both Lady Westhaven and myself should be gratified by having her with us,’ said Lord Westhaven.
To this no answer was given; and a long silence ensued.
Emmeline felt distressed; and at length said— ‘I believe, my Lord, Lady Westhaven will expect us.’
They then rose; and taking a formal leave of the Marquis, were allowed to leave the room. Lord Delamere, however, took Emmeline’s hand, and as he led her to the coach implored her to indulge him with one moment’s conversation at any hour when they might not be interrupted. But with great firmness, yet with great sweetness, she told him that she must be forgiven if she adhered to a resolution she had made to give no audience on the topic he wished to speak upon, for many months to come.
‘Almost two years!’ exclaimed he— ‘almost two long years must I wait, without knowing whether, at the end of that time, you will hear and pity me! Ah! can you, Emmeline, persist in such cruelty?’
‘A good morning to your Lordship,’ said she, as she got into the coach.
‘Will you dine with us, Delamere?’ asked Lord Westhaven.
‘Yes; and will go home with you now, and dress in Grosvenor street.’ He then gave some orders to his servants, and stepped into the coach.
‘I never was less disposed in my life,’ said he, ‘to rejoin a party, than I am to go back to those grave personages up stairs: it is with the utmost difficulty I command my temper to meet those Crofts’ on the most necessary business. My blood boils, my soul recoils at them!’
‘Pooh, pooh!’ cried Lord Westhaven, ‘you are always taking unreasonable aversions. Your blood is always boiling at some body or other. I tell you, the Crofts’ are good necessary, plodding people. Not too refined, perhaps, in points of honour, nor too strict in those of honesty; but excellent at the main chance, as you may see by what they have done for themselves.’
Delamere then uttered against them a dreadful execration, and went on to describe the whole family with great severity and with great truth, ‘till he at length talked himself into a violent passion; and Lord Westhaven with difficulty brought him to be calm by the time they had set down Mr. Newton and stopped at his own door. At the same instant Lord Westhaven’s coach arrived there, a splendid chariot, most elegantly decorated, came up also. Delamere, struck with its brilliancy, examined the arms and saw his own: looking into it, he changed countenance, and said to Lord Westhaven— ‘Upon my word! Crofts’ wife and your Swiss relation, de Bellozane!’
‘Crofts’ wife?’
‘Aye. I mean the woman who was once Fanny Delamere, my sister.’
‘Come, Delamere, forget these heartburnings, and remember that she is your sister still.’
‘I should be glad to know (if it were worth my while to enquire) what business Bellozane has with her?’
By this time they were in the house, where Lady Frances and the Chevalier arrived also.
Lord Westhaven met them with his usual politeness; but Delamere only slightly touched his hat to Bellozane, and sternly saluted his sister with ‘your servant, Lady Frances Crofts!’ He then passed them, and went into Lord Westhaven’s dressing room; while her Ladyship, regardless of his displeasure, and affecting the utmost gaity, talked and laughed with Lord Westhaven as she went up stairs. Emmeline followed them, listening to the whispered compliments of Bellozane with great coldness; and Lady Frances, entering with a fashionable flounce the drawing room where her sister was, cried— ‘Well child! how are you? I beg your pardon for not coming to enquire after you sooner: but I have had such crowds of company at Belleville Lodge, that it was impossible to escape. And here’s this animal here, this relation of your Lord’s, really haunts me; so I was forced at last to bring him with me.’ This speech was accompanied by a significant smile directed to Bellozane.
Lady Westhaven, checked by such an address from flying into the arms of her sister, now expressed, without any great warmth, that she was glad to see her. Something like general conversation was attempted. But Lady Frances, who hoped to hide, under the affectation of extravagant spirits, the envy and mortification with which she contemplated the superior happiness of her sister, soon engrossed the discourse entirely. She talked only of men of the first rank, or of beaux esprits their associates, who had been down in parties to Belleville Lodge (the name she had given to her villa near Richmond); and she repeated compliments which both the Lords and the wits had made to her figure and her understanding. When she seemed almost to have exhausted this interesting topic, Lady Westhaven said, as if merely for the sake of saying something— ‘Mr. Crofts has been so obliging as to call here twice since we came to London; but unluckily was not let in. Pray how does he do?’
‘Mr. Crofts? Oh! I know very little of him. At this time of the year we never meet. He lives, you know, in Burlington street, and I live at Belleville; and if he comes thither, as he sometimes does of a Friday or Saturday, he finds me too much engaged to know whether he is there or not. I believe, tho’, he is very well; and I think the last time I saw him he was nearly as lively and amusing as he usually is. Don’t you think he was, Bellozane?’
‘O! assurement oui,’ replied the Chevalier, sneeringly, ‘Monsieur Croff a toujours beaucoup de vivacité. — C’est un homme fort amusant ce Monsieur Croff.’
Lady Westhaven, disgusted, shocked, and amazed, had no power to take any share in such a dialogue; and Lady Frances went on.
‘Well! but now I assure you, Augusta, I’m going to be most uncommonly good; and am coming, tho’ ’tis a terrible heavy undertaking, to pass a whole week, without company, with mon tres cher Mari, in Burlington-Street. Nay, I will go still farther, and make a family party with you to the play, which I generally detest of all things.’
‘That is being really very kind,’ said Lady Westhaven. ‘But since you are so tenderly disposed towards your own family, would it not be well if you were to enquire after my mother? You know, I suppose, how very ill she is; how much worse ’tis feared she may be?’
‘Yes, I shall certainly call,’ replied Lady Frances with the utmost
sang froid, ‘before I go home. But as to her illness, you are frightened at nothing: she has only her old complaints.’
‘Her old complaints! And are not they enough? If I were in a situation to be useful to her; or even as it is, if Lord Westhaven would permit me, I should certainly think it my duty constantly to attend her.’
‘Probably you might. And it is equally probable that it would be of no use if you did. She has Brackley, and all her own people about her; and no more could be done for her, even tho’ you were to hazard your precious life, or if I, (who you know would not risk by it that of an heir to an Earldom) should sacrifice my ease and my friends to attend her.’
The unfeeling malignity of this speech was so extremely distressing to Lady Westhaven, that she could hardly command her tears.
Lord Westhaven saw her emotion, and said, ‘Augusta, my love, your sister is too brilliant for you. You have not acquired that last polish of high life, which quite effaces all other feelings; nor will you, perhaps, ever arrive at it.’
‘God forbid that I ever should!’ cried Lady Westhaven, unable to conceal her indignation.
‘Poor thing!’ said Lady Frances, with the most unblushing assurance— ‘You have curious ideas of domestic felicity: and it’s a thousand pities, that instead of being what you are, destiny had not made you the snug, notable wife of a country parson, with three or four hundred a year — You would have been pure and happy, to drive about in a one horse chaise, make custards, walk tame about the house, and bring the good man a baby every year: but really, you are now quite out of your element.’ She then rang the bell for her carriage; which being soon ready, she gaily wished her sister good day, and the Chevalier handed her down stairs; where, as she descended, she said, loud enough to be heard, ‘S’il y’a une chose au monde que je deteste plus qu’un notre, c’est la tristesse d’une societé comme cela.’ The Chevalier assented with his lips; but his heart and his wishes were fled towards Emmeline. He was, however, so engaged with her proud and insolent rival, that he no longer dared openly to avow his predilection for her: and Lady Frances seemed so sure of the strength of that attachment which was her disgrace, that she brought him on purpose where Emmeline was, to shew how little she apprehended his defection.
Complete Poetical Works of Charlotte Smith Page 89