I N T H R E E V O L U M E S.
BY THE AUTHOR OF
B E N E D I C T A
and P O W I S
C A S T L E.
V O L. III.
Love is
not Sin, but where ’tis sinful Love,
Mine is a Flame so holy and so clear,
That the white Taper leaves no Soot behind,
No Smoke of Lust.
DRYDEN.
L O N D O N:
PRINTED
AT THE
Minerva Press,
LEADENHALL-STREET.
M DCC XCII.
A S H T O N P R I O R Y.
C H A P. XXXVIII.
A sudden
Resolution.
THERE was, perhaps, no woman in England, of
Charlotte’s education, accomplishments, and youth, who possessed so small a
share of vanity as herself, or to whom the idle distinctions of rank and splendor appeared with less allurement.—The shock which her
fortune had sustained, when considered with reference to herself alone, could
therefore have no power of destroying her peace of mind; and, when a little
time had seconded Mrs. Danby’s kind exertions, she would pleasantly descant on
the subject of her misfortunes, which, she said, had deprived her of nothing
really valuable.—“The convenience of a carriage, blest as I am with health and
youth, would be a mere bagatelle, and what thousands, whose age and infirmities
require it, do without; and, as for those acquaintances who pay more deference
to éclat than merit, it is certainly a privilege to be released from them, and
I am now pretty sure of seeing none but such as really regard me.”
In this tranquil situation the two ladies had for a considerable time
enjoyed a satisfaction which the rapacious spoilers of her fortune could never
deduce from their parsimonious acquisition; but even this humble scale of
happiness was not to be long allowed them. Mrs. Danby had, during her
widowhood, subsisted partly on the interest of a small sum in the funds, and
the rest of her very moderate expences had been
generously supplied by an annuity constantly granted her by a maiden
gentlewoman, who was a distant relation. It is highly probable this good lady
intended by will to place her beyond the reach of pecuniary distresses, but
unfortunately, at this period, she expired suddenly, and her heirs seizing the
whole of her property, Mrs. Danby was consequently deprived of further
assistance from that quarter, and her income reduced to the small sum arising
from her funded property, which was scarcely considerable enough to preserve
her from the pressure of absolute indigence; but, though the misfortunes of her
daughter-in-law had sensibly affected her, she bore her own without complaint,
and scarcely appeared touched with the loss she had sustained.
Some
hints of this kind she had dropped to Mrs. Danby, who always heard them with
displeasure. “There is enough (said she) left, thank heaven! for the support of
both, my Charlotte. We know how to bound our desires, and consequently may yet
be rich, in spite of ill fortune. I will never consent to your leaving me,
except I should see a prospect of your enjoying a more eligible situation than
it is in my power to procure you.”
Convinced
by this that she must either remain a burden on her mother’s narrow
circumstances, or quit her in a clandestine manner, after much painful
reflection she determined on the latter, and therefore, rising one morning very
early, she expressed the reasons of her conduct in a short but affectionate
billet, which she left for Mrs. Danby on the table, and then, taking the little
money she was mistress of, and a small part of her apparel, got into a
hackney-coach, and was set down in Pall-mall. From hence she traversed several
streets before she could discover a bill of lodgings to her mind. At length she
met with rather a retired situation, where, at the window of a cook’s shop, she
read, ‘A second floor to be let,’ and, on farther enquiry, found the
apartments, consisting of a ready-furnished dining-room and bed-chamber, so
much to her satisfaction,—that is, so consonant to the state of her finances,
that she immediately agreed for it, intending to subsist entirely by her
needle, in which she was an excellent proficient.
During
the time of her conversing with the mistress of the house, she observed the
woman to eye her with a good deal of attention, who at last took the liberty to
ask if she knew any of the name of Overbury. “What is your reason, pray, for
that question?” replied she, a little confused. “Only, madam, because I think
you particularly like the family.”
“Why,
did you then ever know that family?”
“Perfectly.—The
greatest, and I am sure the happiest, part of my life was spent in their
service. I was house-maid to Mr. Overbury at the time he died, and a better
master no one ever had. Thousands of tears have I shed for him, and I would
give the world to see either of his children.”
“I
think, (said she, after considering the woman more attentively,) I recollect
something of your person.—Were not you called Betty?”
“Yes,
Betty Holmes was my name; and, if it was not for that I know it cannot be, I
should think you, madam, were my sweet Miss Charlotte, who was but a little
thing then, though the best-natured child in the world.”
Charlotte,
however, did not satisfy the good woman at that time, though she could not but
think it an instance of good fortune in having her abode with one who professed
so great a respect for her family; nor was it long before she fully discovered
herself, though under promise of inviolable secrecy, of which she had no cause
to repent, for Mrs. Bates thought it impossible to pay her too great an
attention and respect; and, as the former kept no servant, willingly rendered
her those little assistances without which she must have felt her condition
very disagreeable.
The
plan which
Our
heroine now entered on a scene of life, altogether new to her, and, like most
other young adventurers on the same voyage, flushed with hope, and believing
every thing easily practicable which a lively imagination presents,—the idea of
being able by her own industry to acquire subsistence, without becoming
burdensome to any one, was exceedingly pleasing, though, perhaps, the practical
part of the scheme was not quite so easy as the theory; and of this it was not
long before she was forced to admit some suspicion; for, however zealous Mrs.
Bates might have been in the service of her old master’s daughter, the ability
for that purpose was not so great as she had flattered herself.
Her
first application was to the wife of a neighbouring tallow-chandler, who,
having two or three smart daughters, no doubt could be entertained but that
this would prove an excellent house of work to our milliner; accordingly, a
whole bundle of matters were dispatched, with orders to let them be executed
with particular neatness, which, on opening, proved to consist of some yellow
gauze caps, (which had already employed the clear-starcher’s
dexterity more than once,) a quantity of ribbands,
and some old white sarsenet, all which it was
expected, when washed and made up, should enable the young ladies to rival
their neighbours in the splendor of new finery.
Charlotte,
having been accustomed to genteel life, and to have her own things made by the
most fashionable milliners, would not have been at a loss in trimming a hat or
cap with elegance and taste, which was the very reflection that determined her
to embrace that mode of employ.—But here was a trial to which she was by no
means equal. However, with all the ardour of a mind intent on pleasing, she sat
about the task, and the tattered finery was sent home, as might have been
expected, not altogether rivalling the whiteness of new-fallen snow.
Within
a quarter of an hour afterwards, a female voice was heard on the stairs,
bawling most vociferously, that she wondered how her neighbour Bates could
suffer her to put such valuable articles in the hands of one who knew nothing
at all of her business. Immediately the door opened, and discovered poor
“Take back your money, and be satisfied,” returned Charlotte, hurrying
into the next apartment, where, having shut the door, she left the enraged
belle to vent her indignation, while she indulged her own feelings in a flood
of tears.—Merely to be poor was a circumstance which many had borne, and she as
well as they could also bear with fortitude, but to be thus treated by vulgar
and illiberal minds was a reflection which stung her sensibility to the quick.
C H A P. XXXIX.
Success
not equal always to Abilities and Application.
SO mortifying a stroke to a
young beginner was sufficient to have damped a larger share of effrontery than
was possessed by Charlotte. The millinery-scheme was now entirely given over,
and Mrs. Bates again gave her advice, which was, that, for a person of genteel
education, there could be no mode of subsistence so eligible as the keeping a
school; adding, that she was certain of being able to procure her twenty or
thirty pupils immediately. Her sanguine expectations, somewhat dashed by the
late success, Charlotte readily overlooked every thing disagreeable in the
plan, and, pursuant to the advice given her, from that period commenced
school-mistress.
Certain
it is, that no one could be better qualified for the undertaking than herself, as,
besides the advantages of a liberal education, she possessed that equanimity of
temper, which in this station perhaps is more necessary than in any other. She
therefore opened her academy with five pupils, for the rest of Mrs. Bates’s twenty were, it seems, ideal ones, or rather what
she could have wished than actually procure; and, after three months waste of
money, time, and patience, another was added to the number; but, as all of
mortal race are not born geniuses, so it unfortunately fell to Charlotte’s lot
to have but two who had any pretentions to that
endowment, the other four were incontrovertibly the greatest dunces that ever
tired the patience of a teacher; hence it happened that the parents of these
bright luminaries became jealous of the improvements of the others, and roughly
upbraided her with negligence in their tuition.
Charlotte
simply remarked, in her defence, that all children were not endowed with equal
capacities for improvement; but, as neither of these sagacious people would
suppose it possible the deficiency laid in their precious offspring, the
consequence was that they were taken from under her care with every mark of
contempt and low spite.
But
this was not the worst consequence which had attended this scheme. For nearly
half a year she had devoted her time to this little school, the emoluments of
which being by no means sufficient for her support, her finances were become
miserably deranged, and her privy purse yielded no more than one solitary
half-guinea for the payment of considerable arrears to her landlady and
laundress.
In
this dilemma she was obliged to have recourse to a pawn-broker. Taking her
watch from her side, and dropping a few tears as she held it in her hand, she
determined on pledging it, as an article less really necessary than some
others. The broker advanced her twenty guineas, which, with a sigh, she dropped
into her purse, and hurried out of the shop, without noticing a young man who
had observed her with a very particular attention during the time she had been
in it. She had not been long at home before she was told that a person desired
to speak with her, who proved to be no other than her late servant, Richard
Sanders.
The poor young fellow was so much affected on entering the room, that
it was a considerable time before he could speak. At length, with tears in his
eyes, he entreated her to pardon the liberty he had taken in waiting on her,
but that he had seen her in —— street, and had now come to present her with
some money, which the Captain, her brother, had left in his hands for her use.
“How
can this be, Sanders? You can have no money of my brother’s.—Come, come,
(perceiving his confusion,) there is more in it than this.—What money do you
mean?”
Sanders
here, dropping on his knees, besought her to forgive his presumption in hoping
he might have it in his power to tender a trifling service, but confessed that
the money he had offered was the Captain’s donation to him, which he declared
he had no use for at present; and, since she would accept it no other way,
begged at least she would borrow it of him, as it would be safer in her hands
than his own.
It
was impossible to remain unmoved on such an occasion. She, however, refused the
offer in suitable terms, and then, drying her eyes, told him to sit down, for
she had much to enquire of him. He replied, that he would wait her commands,
but hoped he knew his duty better than to sit in her presence. After indulging
her emotion a few minutes, she asked several particulars relating to Mrs. Danby,
&c. and found by his replies that he had left that lady’s house soon after
herself, and was now in the service of a nobleman, waiting the return of the
Captain or of his dear master;—that, on her departure, Mrs. Danby had been
inconsolable, and for some time was much indisposed through grief, and, though
now better, was incapable of enjoying any amusement or satisfaction;—that
letters had been received from Mr. Danby, but his return was not expected yet.
“And can you tell (demanded she) whether those letters have been answered
yet?”—He believed not. “I am glad of that, (resumed she,) as I would not have
his worthy heart distressed by the relation of painful circumstances.”
In
fine, Sanders, after she had charged him not to reveal the place of her retreat
to Mrs. Danby, departed with a respectful melancholy air, and Charlotte once
more took up her pen to write to her mother, as she had often done since her
departure from her house, though she carefully avoided the representing any
thing as disagreeable in her present situation, as well as giving any hints
which might lead to a discovery of where she was, for she was fully resolved,
however poignant her own distresses might be, never to augment the pecuniary
difficulties of her mother.
C H A P. XL.
Mortifying
Rebuffs.
IT has been one of the valuable acquisitions of genius
to discover that misfortune and imprudence are synonimous
terms, by which, no doubt, these speculative gentry have opened a most
consolatory source of reflection to the unfortunate of their own species; but,
as Mrs. Bates was only a person of ordinary capacity, this charitable maxim had
not entered her head, she therefore loved and pitied our heroine the more for
the disappointments her late endeavours had been attended with; and, as her derniere resource, advised
her to apply for work to a mantua-maker’s of eminence
in the neighbourhood. Here, indeed, she met with better success.—The expedition
with which she managed the needle rendered her a desirable assistant in that
branch; the only disagreeable circumstance which attended it was the being
frequently obliged to attend at the mantua-maker’s
house, where one day, as she was sitting, two ladies suddenly rushed into the
parlour from a carriage, one of which she immediately recognized to be Miss Grimstone.
Confused
at so unwelcome a meeting, she would have hid her emotion by turning to the
window; but that lady was too polite to suffer so delightful a rencontre to
pass unenjoyed, and therefore, running up to her,
exclaimed, “What, Charlotte Overbury! or, rather, Mrs. George Danby! my dear
child, where is it possible you can have been concealed so long?—Why, one never
meets you in any place of genteel resort, nor even at the theatre, so much.
Surely you resolve to bury yourself alive?—But, my dear creature, we are to
have the sweetest fête champêtre
next week, at my Lady E—’s country-seat, imaginable;—shall I tell her ladyship
you will be there?”
Charlotte, disdaining reply, gave her a look, which, if we mistake not,
penetrated her ungenerous soul, and then with a majestic air retired; but what
use Miss Grimstone intended to make of this interview
will best appear by the following incident. Returning one day to her lodgings,
Mrs. Bates ran up to her with a countenance of rapture, exclaiming, “O my dear
young lady, all will end well at last!—I am sure it will.—Here has been the
handsomest gentleman in the world to enquire for you; aye, and in a grand coach
too, I assure you.”
“I
hope, then, you denied my residing here.”
“Why,
I did at first; but he said he was certain this was the house; and then, seeing
my little boy, he slipped five guineas into his hand,—true, as I am alive,—and
bid him be a good boy, and he would do more for him another day.”
“Well,
and then you told him the truth,” interrupted Charlotte, in a tone of
displeasure.
“Why,
to be sure I did, madam; but not before he had assured me that he was
recommended to call on you by a friend of your’s; and
so I thought it would be wrong to keep him in the dark about it:—as perhaps he
may do you a piece of service.”
“But
I will not accept of it, and therefore I charge you, whoever he may be, to deny
me if ever he calls again.”
The
woman on this retired, not perfectly pleased with the reception her good
offices had met with, and some few days after Sanders was again announced, who
came into the room, bearing a large parcel in his hand, with a letter inscribed
to Mrs. George Danby. “O madam, (cried he, before she had time to demand his
business,) you are betrayed! Some ill-minded person has discovered you to my
master, who has sent me with these presents, as I guess they are; but, pray,
good madam, do not touch them, for, if you do, you are ruined.”
Astonished
at the incident, she enquired what farther he knew of this business; on which
he replied, that, some little time ago, Sir Bevil Grimstone
had been with his lord, who, a few hours after, ordered his coach to Bates’s house;—that he, being footman, had attended. “At
that time, (pursued Sanders,) I thought nothing of it; but yesterday my lord
ordered me into his dressing-room, and asked if I had not once lived in your
service, madam. I said I had: on which, putting a guinea into my hand, he bade
me be an honest fellow, and he would do well for me. He then told me to carry
you this parcel with a letter, adding, I would have you see her yourself, and
take notice how she looks:—you understand me, my lad. And now, madam, though I
know my bread may depend upon it, I was resolved to tell you all. My lord has a
wife in Ireland, and therefore can mean you no good; and I am sure I had rather
die than see you, madam, insulted.”
It
required no uncommon penetration to discover that Miss Grimstone
was at the bottom of the affair. She had, indeed, with a triumphant envy,
acquainted the baronet with the circumstances of her meeting with Charlotte;
but her feelings so far gratified, she had indulged them no farther, except it
was by revealing the same to some ladies of her acquaintance;—the rest was the
product of Sir Bevil’s fruitful brain, who,
recollecting that he had some nights before lost a large sum to Lord S—,
prudently hoped a piece of service might be accepted in lieu of specie. Lord S—
was a professed debauchee,—Charlotte a young and friendless beauty, whose
present situation presented her as come-at-able. Thus there might be some money
saved, (the Baronet concluded,) and no great harm done.
Charlotte,
without a moment’s deliberation, resolved on returning the parcel unopened, and
Sanders departed with tears and prayers for her safety.—The next day, Mrs.
Bates, dressing herself as fine as possible, went out with a servant in rich
livery, and did not return till the evening, when she came up stairs, saying,
“Well, lady, I have heard and seen the finest things to-day!—You must know I
have been at my lord’s, and I can tell you he adores you.”
“And
what would you infer from this, Bates?”
“Why,
madam, my heart aches to see such a lady as you live in so poor a manner, and
for a husband who, if ever he comes back, has it not in his power to make
things better. Now my lord is as generous, aye, and as rich too, as a prince,
and he says he will settle on you, for life, whatever you choose:—for life,
only consider,— and is not that better than —”
“No
more, I insist.—You have either mistaken my character or I have your’s.—However, offend me not by the mention of my lord
any more.”
Bates
was at once put to silence by the solemnity of this reply. She durst say no
more, though her heart was full of the subject.—To do her justice, she was a
woman of too much simplicity to act the part of a procuress to perfection, nor
did her principles really incline to such measures as she here seemed to
recommend; but the truth is, she thought penury the greatest evil in nature,
particularly when it alighted on those who had been accustomed to better days;
consequently, that, to accept a settlement from a rich and generous lover was
better than mourning the absence of an indigent husband, who, if he had sense,
might improve by the incident; and, finally, that constancy in such
cohabitations was not very remote from chastity itself.
Lord
S—, on finding his present, which consisted of rich silks, contemptuously
returned, had sent for Bates, and, by dint of liberality, brought her over
entirely to his interest, especially as he made it clear that compassion for
that unfortunate young lady was the motive of his attachment to her; but
Charlotte, relying on the rectitude of her own principles, concluded she had
nothing farther to apprehend from his lordship, much less from the people of
the house where she lived, till one day the following note was brought her by
the penny-post.
HONOURED
MADAM,
Plots
are forming against you. Mrs. Bates is not in your interest; and, if a poor
servant may presume to give his opinion, you cannot be safe where you are.
From
Your faithful servant,
RICHARD SANDERS.
On receipt of this letter, as she pensively sat considering what were
best to be done, she accidentally cast her eyes on a morning-paper that laid by
her, in which was an advertisement for a private governess to a young lady. One
would wonder how this mode of life did not present itself to her thoughts
before;—it never did. However, she resolved now on applying for the place, and
accordingly took coach, and drove to Stepney, but without discovering any thing
of her intention to the people of the house where she resided.
The
person who had inserted the advertisement had been once a cheesemonger, but now
had retired from business, and with a wife and daughter lived in a snug box at
the above-named place. On being introduced to the parlour, Charlotte found
there a middle-aged man in a round wig and drab-coloured cloaths; his wife
about the same age, though rather more gaudily dressed, and a girl of about
seventeen, miserably thrumming a jig on the harpsichord, to which her fond
parents seemed listening with great delight.
The
subject of her visit being properly introduced, Charlotte was asked if she
understood French, to which she replied in the affirmative;—“And
Italian?”—“Yes.” “Music, drawing, geography?”—to all which she answered as
before. “It is too much to be true, I doubt, (said the mother.) Let James run,
and tell our neighbour Stiles I want to speak to him.”
In
a few moments Mr. Stiles appeared;—this gentleman was, in plain English, a
school-master, though, by a board over his door, he had been pleased to
distinguish himself by the appellation of “Professor of the Languages and
Mathematics.” As to his abilities in the latter, they will remain unquestioned,
by us at least, but, in regard to the former, he certainly had so vile a
pronunciation, and his diction was so extremely ungrammatical, that it was with
difficulty Charlotte could suppress her risibility as she passed her
examination, for this it seems was the business on which he had been sent for.
However, he was pleased to declare her a perfect mistress of French and
Italian. She was now desired to give a specimen of her skill in music, which
she did in a most inimitable manner,—not that any of the present company were
judges in the science, but it was a mere matter of course, and they were
satisfied.
“There
is one point more, (said the old lady.) Pray what sort of a hand do you write,
young woman?’
“By
no means a correct one.”
“But
you can teach my girl that sort of a scrawling hand which the quality use, no
doubt.—Do you know any thing of accompts?”
“I
have some little knowledge of the four first rules,—nothing farther.”
The
father declared that was sufficient for a woman, and all were quite satisfied
with the governess’s abilities, for the due exertion of which they would give
her five guineas per annum,
which they assured her was a most extravagant sum. The salary was really no
object in Charlotte’s estimation, who only wished for a peaceable asylum till
her husband’s or brother’s return, and doubtless would have accepted the
situation, but madam happening to observe that she supposed she could bring a
character of her honesty, Charlotte felt herself hurt at the intimation, and,
forgetting the humility necessary to her new condition, replied that her
character was sufficiently known.—“But you can recommend us to somebody of
reputation for one?”
“None,
madam, that I choose to apply to on this occasion.”
“Oh,
ho! (cried the professor of languages) that will not hold water I doubt.—I
thought these fine accomplishments had not been for nothing.—Child, will not
your last keeper give you a character?”
Shocked
at this cruel speech, our heroine burst into tears.—“You see, madam, (resumed
the pedagogue,) I have touched the galled horse.”
“Yes,
yes, (cried the lady,) I find it will not do.—Young woman, you may go about
your business, for you will not do for me.—I will have nobody about me but
people of reputation.”
Charlotte
was about to reply, but the door was opened for her, and she immediately
withdrew, though with an emotion hardly conceivable by any except such as have
unfortunately experienced the like trials of delicate sensibility.
C H A P. XLI.
News from
the Continent.
REFLECTING on the former incident, Charlotte began to
suspect that she might have been hurried by a false delicacy to discover rather
more hauteur than was suitable to the occasion;—that, although those sort of
enquiries had in them something irksome to ingenuous minds, yet, nevertheless,
they might possibly be common to such occasions, and therefore, as her present
situation afforded nothing favourable to that purpose, she thought it best,
instead of looking out for another lodging, to return once more to Mrs. Danby,
whose character in life must infallibly facilitate any farther attempts she
might make in this way.
As it was not necessary to apprize Mrs. Bates of this intention, she
was supposed to have gone to some other lodging, and by that means was happily
released from Lord
S—’s farther pursuit for the present, much
indeed to the concern of her former hostess, who thereby lost a fine
opportunity of replenishing her privy purse.
On
Charlotte’s unexpected arrival at Mrs. Danby’s, she found that good lady busied
in looking over some letters, which instantly dropped from her hand at the
sight of her lost daughter, and she fell back lifeless in her chair. In fine,
on her recovery, tears of joy, tender reproaches, and maternal caresses,
expressed the feelings of her heart. Nor were the transports of Charlotte less
ardent or sincere, who with tears related more fully than she had done by
letter the reasons which prompted her recent conduct. Mrs. Danby, though
tenderly chiding her for the precipitancy of it, could not but admire the
magnanimity of her sentiments. She then put a letter into her hand, which she
had received the day before from her son, to whom she had given an account of
Sir Bevil Grimstone’s procedure, though prudently
avoided acquainting him with the step which his wife had taken in consequence
of it, well knowing that the pain such a relation must have given him would
have been as fruitless as intolerable. In this letter, addressed to his dear
Charlotte, he touched on the subject of her misfortunes in the following
manner.
“Had
this event taken place two years ago, it could not have affected me. I should
not then have experienced the feelings which harrow up my soul as often as I
reflect that it is for my sake the dearest object of my affections is deprived
of those accommodations which she has so just a right to enjoy. It was my
temerity which provoked the unhappy incident.—I dwell on the dreadful thought
till distraction seizes on my brain. Why were you not born to poverty?—then had
there been no torturing remembrance to sting our peace. I could then have
loved, and not been criminal.—You did not write to me, Charlotte, when my
mother sent her distressing letter.—No, you could not; you must abhor the man whose
culpable passion has reduced you to penury. It is natural you should do so, and
I deserve it; but, to be hated by you, methinks I cannot bear that; and yet,
could the banishing me for ever from your sight,—could the being loaded with
ignominy, chains, and, what is worse than death, the certainty of being hated
by you, restore you to the fortune our union has deprived you of, I would
calmly bear it all; nay, I would cheerfully embrace the fate I merit. But, O
thou most amiable of womankind, is there no soft impulse in your breast which
whispers we might yet be happy? Were it possible you could cease to regret the
empty satisfactions of wealth and splendor, we might
yet be blest beyond the conception of vulgar minds. We shall still enjoy a
competency. I trust I shall acquire this; at least, I will deserve it for your
sake much more than my own. With your love, my charming wife, I could deem the
meanest cottage superior to the splendor of a court;
yet, for my Charlotte I would wish for something more. Has she then fortitude
enough to think with tenderness on him who is the author of her
wrongs?—Something whispers me that she has, and we shall still be blest above
the reach of fate. Transporting hope!—Wealth, fame, and splendor,
what are the delights you offer, compared to this!
“Many
tedious miles have I yet to pass before I can behold my soul’s beloved, but my
thoughts are ever near her. O Charlotte, dearer to me, now pennyless
and stripped of all, than when in the possession of affluence, when shall we meet?—when
shall I kiss the tear from thy lovely cheek, and whisper that thy Danby envies
not the lot of kings?”
In
the pleasing emotions which this affectionate epistle excited, Charlotte for
some time forgot all her schemes and distresses.—As it appeared that this
faithful husband could not be in England yet a considerable time, the plan of
self-maintenance again was revived, and communicated to Mrs. Danby in a manner
which demonstrated that no argument should prevail on her to relinquish it.
Finding her so determined on the point, Mrs. Danby forebore
expostulation, and contented herself with directing her to the most eligible
mode of acquiring her favourite independence, and none certainly appeared more
desirable, in the present case, than the one she had lately meditated herself.
An advertisement was therefore inserted in one of the papers, which brought her
proposals from the mistress of a boarding-school of some eminence in the
country, which, after due consideration, was accepted; not only as such a retired
spot was most congenial to her choice, but from the supposition that a teacher
in a boarding-school would be exempt from many little circumstances attending
the station of a governess in an opulent family, and which, circumstanced as
she was, would perhaps have been somewhat mortifying; for Mrs. Danby rightly
observed, that young women of quality are too often encouraged to treat their tutoresses rather as waiting maids, than with the respect
due to the character.
C H A P. XLII.
An
agreeable Surprise.
THE second separation being accompanied with none of
those embarrassing circumstances which had attended the former, Charlotte took
leave of Mrs. Danby with frankness and affection, who, on her part, poured the
effusions of her soul in pious ejaculations for her welfare and happiness.
Animated by the proof she had recently received of her George’s
fidelity and affection, the former took her seat in the mail-coach with
cheerfulness and alacrity, and in due time arrived safely at the place of destination,
which was at a considerable distance from the capital, and about three miles
from any market-town. So retired a situation was perfectly agreeable to her
taste, and she entered on her new character with ardour and diligence.
Perfectly qualified to initiate the younger part of her own sex in the
principles of liberal education, it was impossible she could fail of acquitting
herself with due approbation in the station she had engaged in, and the natural
sweetness of her temper, in a short time, so entirely endeared her to her young
pupils, as rendered the business of instruction a far less irksome and
laborious task than it is often found to be.—Unfortunately for her, however,
Mrs. P— was not calculated to promote the happiness of domestic life.—She had
formerly been waiting-woman to a lady of quality, but the abject servility
often necessary in that capacity was now exchanged for the other extreme of
haughtiness, a quality which, in the middle class of society, more especially,
proves the bane of all social satisfaction. Sordid, suspicious, and passionate,
she could neither inspire respect nor shew any to others, except where her
interest was concerned, and then indeed she could be as submissive as, on other
occasions, she was supercilious. Without possessing one requisite qualification
for the undertaking, she had opened a boarding-school, and, by the help of a
pompous board over her door and some ostentatious advertisements, had contrived
to fill her house with pupils, who, instructed to interlard bad English with a
few French phrases, dress smartly, and move with affectation, had obtained her
a tolerable reputation in that part of the world.
Such
an assistant as Charlotte, it might be expected, would have been esteemed by
her a valuable acquisition. So in fact she was; yet, as, in spite of all
restraint, nature, long repressed, will now and then break forth, so she often
discovered such sallies of temper as would have ruffled a mind not already
regulated by the lessons of adversity; but, in fact, without aiming at the
distinction, Charlotte was insensibly become a practical philosopher, and,
galling as she undoubtedly felt many circumstances, she had learned to endure
them all with equanimity of soul; and, in fine, comparing the present with the
past, to think herself in possession of affluence and felicity, which ought
undoubtedly to be reckoned as one of those advantages she had acquired in the
school of misfortune.
Somewhat
more than ten months had elapsed since her entrance on the office of teacher,
when, sitting one day in the midst of a juvenile circle, word was brought that
a gentleman below desired to speak with her. She was yet on the landing-place
of the stairs, when, glimpsing the profile of her beloved George Danby, she
instantly give a spring, and bounded into his extended arms. “My George!”—“My
heart’s dear Charlotte!” were severally uttered in the same extatic
moment. They then entered the parlour, where we will leave them to express by
mutual tears that joy which was too vast for the scope of language.
On
his landing at Dover, Mr. Danby had left the care of his baggage and other
concerns to his servant, and, taking post-horses, had set off the same hour for
London, eager to surprise his lady by his unexpected appearance; but how great
was his disappointment on not finding her with his mother! Here he learned
those particulars which overwhelmed him with affliction and chagrin; yet,
admiring, as he was compelled to do, that noble fortitude of mind which had
prompted her conduct, he drew from it a most flattering presage of future
connubial felicity. Without stopping to accept of any refreshments, he
immediately repaired, or rather flew, to the school where his dear Charlotte
resided, whom he would have that hour taken from so subordinate a situation,
but her engagement with Mrs. P— had been for twelve months, and on no account
would she be prevailed on to remove before the expiration of that period; for,
though she had not always experienced from her the treatment due to so superior
a merit, she would not ungenerously occasion a detriment to her school, by
quitting it before a successor had been provided. Mr. Danby was therefore,
however reluctantly, obliged to acquiesce, and content himself with seeing her
as often as possible.
In
one of these interviews it was, that a trifling incident discovered to him that
extremity which Charlotte, from an unwillingness to give pain, had concealed
even from Mrs. Danby. Having occasion to enquire the hour, he found that he had
not his watch about him, and desired she would look at hers. The circumstance,
trivial as it was, visibly embarrassed her, for she had not yet had an
opportunity of redeeming the pledge, and the remembrance of that distressing
period forced tears into her eyes. Too plainly he read their meaning, and
exclaimed, “Surely this cannot be!—My dear girl cannot have been reduced to
such an extremity of wretchedness! It is too plain she has. O Charlotte,
(heaving a bitter sigh,) what hast thou suffered on my account!”
“Rather,
my dear George, (interrupted she,) what have you yet to suffer on mine, who am
destined to deprive you even of the comforts of mediocrity.”
“Cruel
girl! thus to wound my already-tortured heart with those tacit reflections.”
“What
have I said! (perceiving she had really distrest
him.) George, my dear George, forgive me.—Indeed, I meant not to give you
pain.”
“Do
you not know, my love, (pressing her to his bosom,) that the conscious breast
is jealous of reflection? Knowing myself to have been the source of your wrong,
I feel those expressions as the bitterest reproof; yet, at this moment,
deprived as you are of your paternal fortune, I swear to you, my dearest
Charlotte, that you are dearer to my soul than ever. We cannot want the
necessaries of life, and these, with the supreme felicity of calling you my
own, will, in my estimation, be a treasure superior to any the world can
afford, if destitute of that inestimable bliss. Be but you reconciled to ill
fortune, and your George will exult in the opportunity of proving the sincerity
and purity of his affection.”
C H A P. XLIII.
Court-Favour
awarded to honest Merit.
DURING that period which remained unexpired of
Charlotte’s engagement with Mrs. P—, Mr. Danby diligently exerted himself to
improve the interest he possessed with the great, and so well were his late
services accepted by the Minister, that it was thought expedient to reward them
with a sinecure of the value of about eight hundred pounds per annum.
Flushed with the happy success of his fidelity and zeal, he repaired to
his beloved wife, who, being now at liberty, quitted her employment, and
accompanied him to town. “Fortune (cried he, enraptured) still favours us, and
now let the avaricious mind vainly seek enjoyment in ill-acquired wealth. Competency
and love will secure us the possession of a happiness which the sordid knows
not.”
It
would be in vain to attempt an adequate comprehension of the felicity of this
amiable pair on so agreeable an event.—Their first visit was to Mrs. Danby,
whose joyful emotions kept her long speechless as she pressed her children
alternately to her heaving bosom. “It is enough! (cried she, at length,) My
heart, long torn with anguish, is now at peace, and I have nothing left for the
remainder of my life but to rejoice in your mutual happiness and virtue. My
children, the purity and generosity of your attachment is rewarded, not indeed
by what the world calls affluence, but with sufficient to afford you every real
comfort, and I doubt not but your good sense and amiable dispositions will
teach you its proper value. I need not say that riches are not essentially
necessary to solid happiness. You are already convinced of that truth, and the
fault can only rest within your own breasts, if you are not as truly happy as
it is allowed mankind in the present state to be.”
Referring
the disposal of his emoluments entirely to the choice of his lady, Mr. Danby
wished her to fix on the spot she would approve for their future residence, but
she positively declared her resolution never to be separated from Mrs. Danby,
who had, she said, an indisputable claim to all her gratitude, duty, and
affection. “Alas! my dear Charlotte, (said that lady,) the disparity of our
years might be expected to produce a dissimilarity of tastes not altogether
favourable to social satisfaction. Enjoy, therefore, the pleasures suitable to
your youth and condition, and leave me to those more serious pursuits which
become my age.—Why should I be a check on your innocent enjoyments?”
“I
should blush (replied Charlotte) to own a propensity which my amiable mother
could not approve in herself. When our fortunes were more humble than at
present, we found no dissimilarity of taste to prevent our mutual happiness;
the hours we then passed together will ever yield me an agreeable reflection,
and do you think so meanly of me as to suppose an unexpected emancipation from
adversity will alter me so much for the worse, as to render me incapable of
tasting the highest pleasure in your society.”
At
length it was determined that Mrs. Danby’s small, though neat and convenient,
mansion at Hackney should be the future residence of all three, and a happier
trio surely the whole metropolis could not boast. Their domestic establishment,
though not on an expensive plan, was yet settled with a proper regard to
elegance and social comfort. Slaves to no passions, unambitious
of splendor and ostentatious distinctions, the income
they enjoyed was abundantly adequate to every purpose of their hearts, and
perfect content appeared in every countenance within the happy dwelling. Mr.
Danby, though possessed of talents sufficient to have rendered him a very
popular character, was yet endowed with every qualification requisite to the
promoting domestic felicity. Amiable in his temper, ever serene and cheerful,
with a mind enlarged by liberal study and enriched by the knowledge of mankind,
he was as eminently calculated to prove the polite and tender husband, the
agreeable and intelligent companion, as he ever had been a most attentive and affectionate
son.
Richard
Sanders, having quitted his late service, and accidentally hearing of the
return of Mr. Danby, availed himself of the opportunity of waiting again on his
benefactress. His application was readily accepted, and from him she learned
that Lord S—, foiled in his attempts by her removal from Bates’s,
had given over all thoughts of pursuit, till Sir Bevil Grimstone
was so kind as to remind him that it was probable the lady was with her
husband’s mother. Hither, therefore, his search was directed; but, by that
time, she had gone into the country, where, choosing to assume a different
name, the Baronet’s civil intentions for once were effectually disappointed.
C H A P. XLIV.
Law and
Equity a little at Variance.
SEVERAL months having passed in
the most agreeable manner imaginable, Charlotte was led to expect an
augmentation of her happiness by the presence of her brother, whose ship, she
was informed, laid at Spithead, and shortly after the
Captain arrived in town.
He was not altogether a stranger to the circumstances which had taken
place respecting his sister in his absence, but he was far from considering the
conduct of the guardians with the same passive resignation as herself; and
though, for obvious reasons, Mr. Danby had not stirred in the business, the
time was now come when the grounds of that transaction were to undergo a more
exact scrutiny than hitherto had been the case.
Mr.
Overbury’s death having happened before either of his
children had properly attained the years of discretion, the contents of the
will had been taken on trust, in full reliance on the judgment and integrity of
those gentlemen which had been nominated as the trustees thereof. Captain Overbury’s first business was therefore to examine his
father’s testament, by which, according to the opinion of the best lawyers, it
appeared that the forfeiture of Charlotte’s fortune could only be for the term
of her natural life, and that, on her decease, it must return to her immediate
heirs, or, in default of issue, to the heirs of her brother. The design of the
good old gentleman, by this, was unquestionably no more than to prevent the
idle expenditure of his daughter’s substance, should she unfortunately marry a
spendthrift to the detriment of her posterity, his opinion of the guardians he
had chosen being such as to leave him no shadow of doubt but that they would
readily accede to her choice of a virtuous young man, abstracted from pecuniary
considerations. This idea the preamble to the said clause fully expressed.—Mr.
Butterfield’s character led him to expect every paternal feeling for his child,
and Sir Bevil he supposed to be apprised of his partiality to young Danby, for
such it will appear he certainly entertained. In fact, the Baronet understood
it perfectly well, and it was the very reason which induced him to consider
that young gentleman with so restless a jealousy from the time of Charlotte’s
meeting him at the masquerade.
The
case then being as above recited, Captain Overbury deemed it expedient to call
a meeting of the guardians, supposing, from his own feelings, that men of
honest principles would always distinguish between the letter and the spirit of
legal right, and, as he had it in his power fully to elucidate his father’s
meaning, he could have no great doubts of prevailing on them to forego the
claim. On the appointed day, the gentlemen, who, in complying, had probably
paid only a respect to appearances, being met, Captain Overbury, in a sensible
and manly strain of discourse, set before them the motives of his father’s
conduct, respecting the clause relative to his sister, in so plain and rational
a manner, as must have prevailed over every feeling but that of avarice; and,
as an undeniable proof of his arguments, produced a letter which his father had
written to him in his last illness, and but a few days before his decease, in
which his sentiments on this subject were expressed in the following words.
“As
to your sister, my son, I have amply provided for her, and taken every
precaution which a tender father could devise for the security of her future
welfare. The persons that I have nominated in my will her guardians are men of
integrity and property, consequently every consideration may be expected from
them which is due to the child of a departed friend; yet, remember, it is
yourself that I look on as the real guardian of her youth, peace, and honour.
In this confidence, I will express a wish with which you only ought to be
explicitly entrusted. In respect of marriage, I had rather she were happy than
rich. Do not then direct her views merely to worldly considerations, but,
should she place her affections on a man of real merit, though he may not
possess a fortune equal to her own, let her not be deterred from making him her
husband. In this description I confess I have one in my eye; the son of my
respected friend Mr. Danby is the person I mean. From what I can discover of
his disposition at present, he will prove the very husband I could wish for my
dear Charlotte. Her fortune will be enough for both. Yet, even here, I would
not have her inclinations biassed. Be careful
therefore, and conceal my sentiments on the point. Sir Bevil Grimstone knows my attachment to the family, and that will
be sufficient. Forget not, my dear son, that your sister, being several years
younger than yourself, will naturally look to you for a protector and a
friend.—I charge you, let her not seek in vain.”
“And
now, gentlemen, (continued the Captain,) what is your opinion of this letter?”
“We
have nothing to do with it, my dear Sir, (replied the Baronet with great
coolness;) it is our business to go by the letter of the will alone.”
“Very
well.—You have informed yourself though, I suppose, Sir Bevil, that your right
to this money is only temporary, and that, in case of my sister’s death, it
reverts to her heirs.”
This was a point which Sir Bevil had not indeed considered, nor would allow. However, as the gentlemen of the law, engaged by the different parties, were also present, after a short consultation, they unanimously gave their opinion, that the lady’s heirs would have a clear right to demand payment of the principle, though, as to the interest, during the intervening time, it might be a point of lit