And here, nothing could be less exhilarating nor less seasonable than the first news she heard.
The regiment of General Kinsale was ordered into Kent, in the neighbourhood of Tunbridge: It was the season for drinking the water of that spring; and Mr. Dennel was going thither with his daughter. Sir Sedley Clarendel conceived it would be serviceable also to his own health; and had suddenly proposed to Mrs. Arlbery forming a party to pass a few weeks there. With a vivacity always ready for any new project, she instantly agreed to it, and the journey was settled to take place in three days. When Camilla was informed of this intended excursion, the disappointment with which it overpowered her was too potent for disguise: and Mrs. Arlbery was so much struck with it, that, during coffee, she took Sir Sedley apart, and said; ‘I feel such concern for the dismal alteration of that sweet girl, that I could prevail with myself, all love-lorn as she is, to take her with me to Tunbridge, if you will aid my hardy enterprise of driving that frozen composition of premature wisdom from her mind. If you are not as invulnerable as himself, you cannot refuse me this little sleight of gallantry.’
Sir Sedley gave a laughing assent, declaring, at the same time, with the strongest professed diffidence, his conscious inability. Mrs. Arlbery, in high spirits, said she scarce knew which would most delight her, to mortify Edgar, or restore Camilla to gaiety and independance. Yet she would watch, she said, that matters went no further than just to shake off a whining first love; for the last thing upon earth she intended was to entangle her in a second.
Camilla received the invitation with pleasure yet anxiety: for though glad to be spared returning to Cleves in a state of disturbance so suspicious, she was bitterly agitated in reflecting upon the dislike of Edgar to Mrs. Arlbery, the pains he had taken to prevent her mingling with this society, and the probably final period to his esteem and good-will, that would prove the result of her accompanying such a party to a place of amusement.
CHAPTER VIII
A Youth of the Times
Mrs. Arlbery accompanied Camilla the next day to Cleves, to ask permission of Mr. Tyrold for the excursion. She would trust the request to none but herself, conscious of powers of persuasion unused to repulse.
Mr. Tyrold was distressed by the proposition: he was not satisfied in trusting his unguarded Camilla to the dissipation of a public place, except under the wing of her mother; though he felt eager to remove her from Edgar, and rejoiced in any opportunity to allow her a change of scene, that might revive her natural spirits, and unchain her heart from its unhappy subjection.
Perceiving him undetermined, Mrs. Arlbery called forth all her artillery of eloquence and grace, to forward her conquest. The licence she allowed herself in common of fantastic command, gave way to the more feminine attraction of soft pleading: her satire, which, though never malignant, was often alarming, was relinquished for a sportive gaiety that diffused general animation; and Mr. Tyrold soon, though not caught like his daughter, ceased to wonder that his daughter had been caught.
In this indecision he took Camilla apart, and bade her tell him, without fear or reserve, her own feelings, her own wishes, her own opinion upon this scheme. She held such a call too serious and too kind for disguise: she hid her face upon his shoulder and wept; he soothed and encouraged her to confidence; and, in broken accents, she then acknowledged herself unequal, as yet, to fulfilling his injunctions of appearing cheerful and easy, though sensible of their wisdom.
Mr. Tyrold, with a heavy heart, saw how much deeper was her wound, than the airiness of her nature had prepared him to expect, and could no longer hesitate in granting his consent. He saw it was her wish to go; but he saw that the pleasures of a public place had no share in exciting it. To avoid betraying her conscious mortification was her sole and innocent motive; and though he would rather have sent her to a more private spot, and have trusted her to a more retired character; he yet thought it possible, that what opportunity presented unsought, might, eventually, prove more beneficial than what his own choice would have dictated; for public amusements, to the young and unhackneyed, give entertainment without requiring exertion; and spirits lively as those of Mrs. Arlbery create nearly as much gaiety as they display.
Fixed, now, for the journey, he carried Camilla to her uncle to take leave. The prospect of not seeing her again for six weeks was gloomy to Sir Hugh; though he bore it better at this moment, when his fancy was occupied by arranging preparations for the return of Clermont, than he could have done at almost any other. He put into her hand a fifty pound Bank note for her expences, and when, with mingled modesty and dejection, she would have returned the whole, as unnecessary even to her wishes, Mr. Tyrold, interfering, made her accept twenty pounds. Sir Hugh pressed forward the original sum in vain; his brother, though always averse to refuse his smallest desire, thought it here a duty to be firm, that the excursion, which he granted as a relief to her sadness, might not lead to pleasures ever after beyond her reach, nor to their concomitant extravagance. She could not, he knew, reside at Tunbridge with the œconomy and simplicity to which she was accustomed at Etherington; but he charged her to let no temptation make her forget the moderate income of which alone she was certain; assuring her, that where a young woman’s expences exceeded her known expectations, those who were foremost to praise her elegance, would most fear to form any connection with her, and most despise or deride her in any calamity.
Camilla found no difficulty in promising the most exact observance of this instruction; her heart seemed in sackcloth and ashes, and she cared not in what manner her person should be arrayed.
Sir Hugh earnestly enjoined her not to fail to be at Cleves upon the arrival of Clermont, intimating that the nuptials would immediately take place.
She then sought Eugenia, whom she found with Dr. Orkborne, in a state of mind so perfectly calm and composed, as equally to surprise and rejoice her. She saw with pleasure that all Bellamy had inspired was the most artless compassion; for since his dismission had now positively been given, and Clermont was actually summoned, she devoted her thoughts solely to the approaching event, with the firm, though early wisdom which distinguished her character.
Indiana joined them; and, in a low voice, said to Camilla, ‘Pray, cousin, do you know where Mr. Macdersey is? because I am sadly afraid he’s dead.’
Camilla, surprised, desired to know why she had such an apprehension?
‘Because he told me he’d shoot himself through the brains if I was cruel — and I am sure I had no great choice given me: for, between ourselves, Miss Margland gave all the answers for me, without once stopping to ask me what I should chuse. So if he has really done it, the fault is more her’s than mine.’
She then said, that, just after Camilla’s departure the preceding day, Mr. Macdersey arrived, and insisted upon seeing her, and speaking to Sir Hugh, as he was ordered into Kent, and could not go so far in suspence. Sir Hugh was not well enough to admit him; and Miss Margland, upon whom the office devolved, took upon her to give him a positive refusal; and though she went into the room while he was there, never once would let her make an answer for herself.
Miss Margland, she added, had frightened Sir Hugh into forbidding him the house, by comparing him with Mr. Bellamy; but Mr. Macdersey had frightened them all enough, in return, as he went away, by saying, that as soon as ever Sir Hugh was well, he would call him out, because of his sending him word down stairs not to come to Cleves any more, for he had been disturbed enough already by another Irish fortune-hunter, that came after another of his nieces; and he was the more sure Mr. Macdersey was one of them, because of his being a real Irishman, while Mr. Bellamy was only an Englishman. ‘But don’t you think now, cousin,’ she continued, ‘Miss Margland might as well have let me speak for myself?’
Camilla inquired if she was sorry for the rejection.
‘N ... o,’ she answered, with some hesitation; ‘for Miss Margland says he’s got no rent-roll; besides, I don’t think he’s so agreeable as Mr. Melmond; only Mr. Mel
mond’s worth little or no fortune they say: for Miss Margland inquired about it, after Mr. Mandlebert behaved so. Else I can’t say I thought Mr. Melmond disagreeable.’
Mrs. Arlbery now sent to hasten Camilla, who, in returning to the parlour, met Edgar. He had just gathered her intended excursion, and, sick at heart, had left the room. Camilla felt the consciousness of a guilty person at his sight; but he only slightly bowed; and coldly saying, ‘I hope you will have much pleasure at Tunbridge,’ went on to his own room.
And there, replete with resentment for the whole of her late conduct, he again blessed Dr. Marchmont for his preservation from her toils; and, concluding the excursion was for the sake of the Major, whose regiment he knew to be just ordered into Kent, he centered every former hope in the one single wish that he might never see her more.
Camilla, shocked by such obvious displeasure, quitted Cleves with still increasing sadness; and Mrs. Arlbery would heartily have repented her invitation, but for her dependance upon Sir Sedley Clarendel.
At Etherington they stopt, that Camilla might prepare her package for Tunbridge. Mrs. Arlbery would not alight.
While Camilla, with a maid-servant, was examining her drawers, the chamber door was opened by Lionel, for whom she had just inquired, and who, telling her he wanted to speak to her in private, turned the maid out of the room.
Camilla begged him to be quick, as Mrs. Arlbery was waiting.
‘Why then, my dear little girl,’ cried he, ‘the chief substance of the matter is neither more nor less than this: I want a little money.’
‘My dear brother,’ said Camilla, pleasure again kindling in her eyes as she opened her pocket-book, ‘you could never have applied to me so opportunely. I have just got twenty pounds, and I do not want twenty shillings. Take it, I beseech you, any part, or all.’
Lionel paused and seemed half choaked. ‘Camilla,’ he cried presently, ‘you are an excellent girl. If you were as old and ugly as Miss Margland, I really believe I should think you young and pretty. But this sum is nothing. A drop of water to the ocean.’
Camilla now, drawing back, disappointed and displeased, asked how it was possible he should want more.
‘More, my dear child? why I want two or three cool hundred.’
‘Two or three hundred?’ repeated she, amazed.
‘Nay, nay, don’t be frightened. My uncle will give you two or three thousand, you know that. And I really want the money. It’s no joke, I assure you. It’s a case of real distress.’
‘Distress? impossible! what distress can you have to so prodigious an amount?’
‘Prodigious! poor little innocent! dost think two or three hundred prodigious?’
‘And what is become of the large sums extorted from my uncle Relvil?’
‘O that was for quite another thing. That was for debts. That’s gone and over. This is for a perfectly different purpose.’
‘And will nothing — O Lionel! — nothing touch you? My poor mother’s quitting England ... her separation from my father and her family ... my uncle Relvil’s severe attack ... will nothing move you to more thoughtful, more praise-worthy conduct?’
‘Camilla, no preaching! I might as well cast myself upon the old ones at once. I come to you in preference, on purpose to avoid sermonising. However, for your satisfaction, and to spur you to serve me, I can assure you I have avoided all new debts since the last little deposit of the poor sick hypochondriac miser, who is pining away at the loss of a few guineas, that he had neither spirit nor health to have spent for himself.’
‘Is this your reasoning, your repentance, Lionel, upon such a catastrophe?’
‘My dear girl, I am heartily concerned at the whole business, only, as it’s over, I don’t like talking of it. This is the last scrape I shall ever be in while I live. But if you won’t help me, I am undone. You know your influence with my uncle. Do, there’s a dear girl, use it for your brother! I have not a dependance in the world, now, but upon you!’
‘Certainly I will do whatever I can for you,’ said she, sighing; ‘but indeed, my dear Lionel, your manner of going on makes my very heart ache! However, let this twenty pounds be in part, and tell me your very smallest calculation for what must be added?’
‘Two hundred. A farthing less will be of no use; and three will be of thrice the service. But mind!... you must not say it’s for me!’
‘How, then, can I ask for it?’
‘O, vamp up some dismal ditty.’
‘No, Lionel!’ exclaimed she, turning away from him; ‘you propose what you know to be impracticable.’
‘Well, then, if you must needs say it’s for me, tell him he must not for his life own it to the old ones.’
‘In the same breath, must I beg and command?’
‘O, I always make that my bargain. I should else be put into the lecture room, and not let loose again till I was made a milk-sop. They’d talk me so into the vapours, I should not be able to act like a man for a month to come.’
‘A man, Lionel?’
‘Yes, a man of the world, my dear; a knowing one.’
Mrs. Arlbery now sent to hasten her, and he extorted a promise that she would go to Cleves the next morning, and procure a draft for the money, if possible, to be ready for his calling at the Grove in the afternoon.
She felt this more deeply than she had time or courage to own to Lionel, but her increased melancholy was all imputed to reflections concerning Mandlebert by Mrs. Arlbery.
That lady lent her chaise the next morning, with her usual promptitude of good humour, and Camilla went to Cleves, with a reluctance that never before accompanied her desire to oblige.
Her visit was received most kindly by all the family, as merely an additional leave taking; in which light, though she was too sincere to place it, she suffered it to pass. Having no chance of being alone with her uncle by accident, she was forced to beg him, in a whisper, to request a tête-à-tête with her: and she then, covered with all the confusion of a partner in his extravagance, made the petition of Lionel.
Sir Hugh seemed much surprised, but protested he would rather part with his coat and waistcoat than refuse anything to Camilla. He gave her instantly a draft upon his banker for two hundred pounds; but added, he should take it very kind of her, if she would beg Lionel to ask him for no more this year, as he was really so hard run, he should not else be able to make proper preparations for the wedding, till his next rents became due.
Camilla was now surprised in her turn; and Sir Hugh then confessed, that, between presents and petitions, his nephew had had no less than five hundred pounds from him the preceding year, unknown to his parents; and that for this year, the sum she requested made the seventh hundred; without the least account for what purpose it was given.
Camilla now heartily repented being a partner in a business so rapacious, so unjustifiable, and so mysterious; but, kindly interrupting her apology, ‘Don’t be concerned, my dear,’ he cried, ‘for there’s no help for these things; though what the young boys do with all their money now-a-days, is odd enough, being what I can’t make out. However, he’ll soon be wiser, so we must not be too severe with him; though I told him, the last time, I had rather he would not ask me so often; which was being almost too sharp, I’m afraid, considering his youngness; for one can’t expect him to be an old man at once.’
Camilla gave voluntarily her word no such application should find her its ambassadress again: and though he would have dispensed with the promise, she made it the more readily as a guard against her own facility.
‘At least,’ cried the baronet, ‘say nothing to my poor brother, and more especially to your mother; it being but vexatious to such good parents to hear of such idleness, not knowing what to think of it; for it is a great secret, he says, what he does with it all; for which reason one can’t expect him to tell it. My poor brother, to be sure, had rather he should be studying hic, hæc, hoc; but, Lord help him! I believe he knows no more of that than I do myself; and I never could make out mu
ch meaning of it, any further than it’s being Latin; though I suppose, at the time, Dr. Orkborne might explain it to me, taking it for granted he did what was right.’
Camilla was most willing to agree to concealing from her parents what she knew must so painfully afflict them, though she determined to assume sufficient courage to expostulate most seriously with her brother, against whom she felt sensations of the most painful anger.
Again she now took leave; but upon re-entering the parlour, found Edgar there alone.
Involuntarily she was retiring; but the counsel of her father recurring to her, she compelled herself to advance, and say, ‘How good you have been to Eugenia! how greatly are we all indebted for your kind vigilance and exertion!’
Edgar, who was reading, and knew not she was in the house, was surprised, both by her sight and her address, out of all his resolutions; and, with a softness of voice he meant evermore to deny himself, answered, ‘To me? can any of the Tyrold family talk of being indebted to me? — my own obligations to all, to every individual of that name, have been the pride, have been — hitherto — the happiness of my life!—’
The word ‘hitherto,’ which had escaped, affected him: he stopt, recollected himself, and presently, more drily added, ‘Those obligations would be still much increased, if I might flatter myself that one of that race, to whom I have ventured to play the officious part of a brother, could forget those lectures, she can else, I fear, with difficulty pardon.’
‘You have found me unworthy your counsel,’ answered Camilla, gravely, and looking down; ‘you have therefore concluded I resent it: but we are not always completely wrong, even when wide from being right. I have not been culpable of quite so much folly as not to feel what I have owed to your good offices; nor am I now guilty of the injustice to blame their being withdrawn. You do surely what is wisest, though not — perhaps — what is kindest.’
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 194
