And then, begging that Miss Ellis would take her own time, she went, courtesying, down stairs.
‘So you have got all this money, and would not own it?’ said Mr Giles, when she was gone. ‘That’s odd! very odd, I confess! I can’t well understand it; but I hope, my pretty lady, you won’t turn out a rogue? I beg you won’t do that; for it would vex me prodigiously.’
Ellis, dropping upon a chair, ejaculated, with a heavy sigh, ‘What step must I take!’
‘What? — why pay them all, to be sure! What do other people do, when they have got debts, and got money? I shall go and tell them to come to you directly, every one of them.’
Ellis, starting, supplicated his forbearance.
‘And why? — why?’ cried he, looking a little angry: ‘Do you really want to hide up all that money, and make those poor good people, who have served you at their own cost, believe that you have not gotten any?’
She assured him that the money was simply a deposit left in her hands.
This intelligence overset and disappointed him. He returned to his chair, and drawing it near the fire, gave himself up to considering what could be done; ejaculating from time to time, ‘That’s bad! — that’s very bad! — being really so poor is but melancholy! — I am sorry for her, poor pretty thing! — very sorry! — But still, taking up goods one can’t pay for? — Who has a right to do that? — How are trades-people to live by selling their wares gratis? — Will that feed their little ones?’
Then, turning to Ellis, who, in deep disturbance at these commentaries, had not spirits to speak; ‘But why,’ he cried, ‘since you have gotten this money, should not you pay these poor people with it, rather than let it lie dead by your side? for as to the money’s not being yours, — theirs is not yours, neither.’
‘Should I raise myself, Sir, in your good opinion, by contracting a new debt to pay an old one?’
‘If you contract it with a friend to pay a stranger, Yes. — And these notes, I suppose, of course, belong to a friend?’
‘Not to ... an enemy, certainly!—’ she answered, much embarrassed; ‘but is that a reason that I should betray a trust?’
‘What becomes of the trust of these poor people, then, that don’t know you, and that you don’t know? Don’t you betray that? Do you think that they would have let you take their goods, if they had not expected your payment?
‘Oh heaven, Mr Arbe!’ cried Ellis, ‘How you probe — perplex — entangle me!’
‘Don’t vex, don’t vex!’ said he, kindly, ‘for that will fret me prodigiously. Only, another time, when you are in want, borrow from the rich, and not from the poor; for they are in want themselves. This friend of yours is rich, I take for granted?’
‘I ... I believe so!’
‘Well, then, which is most equitable, to take openly from a rich friend, and say, “I thank you;” or to take, underhand, from a hardworking stranger, whom you scorn to own yourself obliged to, though you don’t scruple to harass and plunder? Which, I say, is most equitable?’
Ellis shuddered, hesitated, and then said, ‘The alternative, thus stated, admits of no contest! I must pay my debts — and extricate myself from the consequences as I can!’
‘Why then you are as good as you are pretty!’ cried he, delighted: ‘Very good, and very pretty, indeed! And so I thought you at first! And so I shall think you to the end!’
He then hurried away, to give her no time to retract; nodding and talking to himself in her praise, with abundant complacency; and saying, as he passed through the shop, ‘Miss Matson, you’ll be all of you paid to-morrow morning at farthest. So be sure bid all the good people come; for the lady is a person of great honour, as well as prettiness; and there’s money enough for every one of you, — and more, too.’
CHAPTER XXXV
Ellis remained in the deepest disturbance at the engagement into which she had entered. O cruel necessity! cruel, imperious necessity! she cried, to what a resource dost thou drive me! How unjust, how improper, how perilous! — Ah! rather let me cast myself upon Lady Aurora — Yet, angel as she is, can Lady Aurora act for herself? And Lord Melbury, guileless, like his nature, as may now be his intentions, what protection can he afford me that calumny may not sully? Alas! how may I attain that self-dependence which alone, at this critical period, suits my forlorn condition?
The horror of a new debt, incurred under circumstances thus delicate, made the idea even of performing at the public benefit, present itself to her in colours less formidable, if such a measure, by restoring to her the patronage of Miss Arbe, would obviate the return of similar evils, while she was thus hanging, in solitary obscurity, upon herself. Vainly she would have turned her thoughts to other plans, and objects yet untried; she had no means to form any independent scheme; no friends to promote her interest; no counsellors to point out any pursuit, or direct any measures.
Her creditors failed not to call upon her early the next morning, guided and accompanied by Mr Giles Arbe; who, bright with smiles and good humour, declared, that he could not refuse himself the pleasure of being a witness to her getting rid of such a bad business, as that of keeping other people’s money, by doing such a good one as that of paying every one his due. ‘You are much obliged to this pretty lady, I can tell you,’ he said, to the creditors, ‘for she pays you with money that is not her own. However, as the person it belongs to is rich, and a friend, I advise you, as you are none of you rich yourselves, and nearly strangers to her, to take it without scruple.’
To this counsel there was not one dissentient voice.
Can the same person, thought Ellis, be so innocent, yet so mischievous? so fraught with solid notions of right, yet so shallow in judgement, and knowledge of the world?
With a trembling hand, and revolting heart, she changed three of the notes, and discharged all the accounts at once; Mr Giles, eagerly and unbidden, having called up Miss Matson to take her share.
Ellis now deliberated, whether she might not free herself from every demand, by paying, also, Miss Bydel; but the reluctance with which she had already broken into the fearful deposit, soon fixed her to seal up the remaining notes entire.
The shock of this transaction, and the earnestness of her desire to replace money which she deemed it unjustifiable to employ, completed the conquest of her repugnance to public exhibition; and she commissioned Mr Giles to acquaint Miss Arbe, that she was ready to obey her commands.
This he undertook with the utmost pleasure; saying, ‘And it’s lucky enough your consenting to sing those songs, because my cousin, not dreaming of any objection on your part, had already authorised Mr Vinstreigle to put your name in his bills.’
‘My name?’ cried Ellis, starting and changing colour: but the next moment adding, ‘No, no! my name will not appear! — Yet should any one who has ever seen me....’
She shuddered; a nervous horrour took possession of her whole frame; but she soon forced herself to revive, and assume new courage, upon hearing Mr Giles, from the landing-place, again call Miss Matson; and bid all her young women, one by one, and the two maid-servants, hurry up stairs directly, with water and burnt feathers.
Ellis made every enquiry in her power, of who was at Brighthelmstone; and begged Mr Giles to procure her a list of the company. When she had read it, she became more tranquil, though not less sad.
Miss Arbe received the concession with infinite satisfaction; and introduced Ellis, as her protegée, to her new favourite; who professed himself charmed, that the presentation of so promising a subject, to the public, should be made at his benefit.
‘And now, Miss Ellis,’ said Miss Arbe, ‘you will very soon have more scholars than you can teach. If once you get a fame and a name, your embarrassments will be at an end; for all enquiries about who people are, and what they are, and those sort of niceties, will be over. We all learn of the celebrated, be they what they will. Nobody asks how they live, and those sort of things. What signifies? as Miss Sycamore says. We don’t visit them, to be sure, if t
here is any thing awkward about them. But that’s not the least in the way against their making whole oceans of riches.’
This was not a species of reasoning to offer consolation to Ellis; but she suppressed the disdain which it inspired; and dwelt only upon the hoped accomplishment of her views, through the private teaching which it promised.
In five days’ time, the benefit was to take place; and in three, Ellis was summoned to a rehearsal at the rooms.
She was putting on her hat, meaning to be particularly early in her attendance, that she might place herself in some obscure corner, before any company arrived; to avoid the pain of passing by those who knowing, might not notice, or noticing, might but mortify her; when one of the young work-women brought her intelligence, that a gentleman, just arrived in a post chaise, requested admittance.
‘A gentleman?’ she repeated, with anxiety:— ‘tell him, if you please, that I am engaged, and can see no company.’
The young woman soon returned.
‘The gentleman says, Ma’am, that he comes upon affairs of great importance, which he can communicate only to yourself.’
Ellis begged the young woman to request, that Miss Matson would desire him to leave his name and business in writing.
Miss Matson was gone to Lady Kendover’s, with some new patterns, just arrived from London.
The young woman, however, made the proposition, but without effect: the gentleman was in great haste, and would positively listen to no denial.
Strong and palpable affright, now seized Ellis; am I — Oh heaven! — she murmured to herself, pursued? — and then began, but checked an inquiry, whether there were any private door by which she could escape: yet, pressed by the necessity of appearing at the rehearsal, after painfully struggling for courage, she faintly articulated, ‘Let him come up stairs.’
The young woman descended, and Ellis remained in breathless suspense, till she heard some one tap at her door.
She could not pronounce, Who’s there? but she compelled herself to open it; though without lifting up her eyes, dreading to encounter the object that might meet them, till she was roused by the words, ‘Pardon my intrusion!’ and perceived Harleigh gently entering her apartment.
She started, — but it was not with terrour; she came forward, — but it was not to escape! The colour which had forsaken her cheeks, returned to them with a crimson glow; the fear which had averted her eyes, was changed into an expression of even extatic welcome; and, clasping her hands, with sudden, impulsive, irresistible surprise and joy, she cried, ‘Is it you? — Mr Harleigh! you!’
Surprise now was no longer her own, and her joy was participated in yet more strongly. Harleigh, who, though he had forced his way, was embarrassed and confused, expecting displeasure, and prepared for reproach; who had seen with horrour the dismay of her countenance; and attributed to the effect of his compulsatory entrance the terrified state in which he found her; Harleigh, at sight of this rapid transition from agony to delight; at the flattering ejaculation of ‘Is it you?’ and the sound of his own name, pronounced with an expression of even exquisite satisfaction; — Harleigh in a sudden trance of irrepressible rapture, made a nearly forcible effort to seize her hand, exclaiming, ‘Can you receive me, then, thus sweetly? Can you forgive an intrusion that—’ when Ellis recovering her self-command, drew back, and solemnly said, ‘Mr Harleigh, forbear! or I must quit the room!’
Harleigh reluctantly, yet instantly desisted; but the pleasure of so unhoped a reception still beat at his heart, though it no longer sparkled in her eyes: and though the enchanting animation of her manner, was altered into the most repressing gravity, the blushes which still tingled, still dyed her cheeks, betrayed that all within was not chilled, however all without might seem cold.
Checked, therefore, but not subdued, he warmly solicited a few minutes conversation; but, gaining firmness and force every instant, she told him that she had an appointment which admitted not of procrastination.
‘I know well your appointment,’ cried he, agitated in his turn, ‘too, too well!— ’Tis that fatal — or, rather, let me hope, that happy, that seasonable information, which I received last night, in a letter containing a bill of the concert, from Ireton, that has brought me hither; — that impelled me, uncontrollably, to break through your hard injunctions; that pointed out the accumulating dangers to all my views, and told me that every gleam of future expectation—’
Ellis interrupted him at this word: he entreated her pardon, but went on.
‘You cannot be offended at this effort: it is but the courage of despondence, I come to demand a final hearing!’
‘Since you know, Sir,’ cried she, with quickness, ‘my appointment, you must be sensible I am no longer mistress of my time. This is all I can say. I must be gone, — and you will not, I trust, — if I judge you rightly, — you will not compel me to leave you in my apartment.’
‘Yes! you judge me rightly! for the universe I would not cause you just offence! Trust me, then, more generously! be somewhat less suspicious, somewhat more open, and take not this desperate step, without hearkening to its objections, without weighing its consequences!’
She could enter, she said, into no discussion; and prepared to depart.
‘Impossible!’ cried he, with energy; ‘I cannot let you go! — I cannot, without a struggle, resign myself to irremediable despair!’
Ellis, recovered now from the impression caused by his first appearance, with a steady voice, and sedate air, said, ‘This is a language, Sir, — you know it well, — to which I cannot, must not listen. It is as useless, therefore, as it is painful, to renew it. I beseech you to believe in the sincerity of what I have already been obliged to say, and to spare yourself — to spare, shall I add, me? — all further oppressive conflicts.’
A sigh burst from her heart, but she strove to look unmoved.
‘If you are generous enough to share, even in the smallest degree,’ cried he, ‘the pain which you inflict; you will, at least, not refuse me this one satisfaction.... Is it for Elinor ... and for Elinor only ... that you deny me, thus, all confidence?’
‘Oh no, no, no!’ cried she, hastily: ‘if Miss Joddrel were not in existence,—’ she checked herself, and sighed more deeply; but, presently added, ‘Yet, surely, Miss Joddrel were cause sufficient!’
‘You fill me,’ he cried, ‘with new alarm, new disturbance! — I supplicate you, nevertheless, to forego your present plan; — and to shew some little consideration to what I have to offer.—’
She interrupted him. ‘I must be unequivocally, Sir, — for both our sakes, — understood. You must call for no consideration from me! I can give you none! You must let me pursue the path that my affairs, that my own perceptions, that my necessities point out to me, without interference, and without expecting from me the smallest reference to your opinions, or feelings. — Why, why,’ continued she, in a tone less firm, ‘why will you force from me such ungrateful words? — Why leave me no alternative between impropriety, or arrogance?’
‘Why, — let me rather ask, — why must I find you for ever thus impenetrable, thus incomprehensible? — I will not, however, waste your patience. I see your eagerness to be gone. — Yet, in defiance of all the rigour of your scruples, you must bear to hear me avow, in my total ignorance of their cause, that I feel it impossible utterly to renounce all distant hope of clearer prospects. — How, then, can I quietly submit to see you enter into a career of public life, subversive — perhaps — to me, of even any eventual amelioration?’
Ellis blushed deeply as she answered, ‘If I depended, Sir, upon you, — if you were responsible for my actions; or if your own fame, or name, or sentiments were involved in my conduct ... then you would do right, if such is your opinion, to stamp my project with the stigma of your disapprobation, and to warn me of the loss of your countenance: — but, till then, permit me to say, that the business which calls me away has the first claim to my time.’
She opened the door.
‘One moment,’ cried he, earnestly, ‘I conjure you! — The hurry of alarm, the certainty that delay would make every effort abortive; have precipitated me into the use of expressions that may have offended you. Forgive them, I entreat! and do not judge me to be so narrow minded; or so insensible to the enchantment of talents, and the witchery of genius; as not to feel as much respect for the character, where it is worthy, as admiration for the abilities, of those artists whose profession it is to give delight to the public. Had I first known you as a public performer, and seen you in the same situations which have shewn me your worth, I must have revered you as I do at this instant: I must have been devoted to you with the same unalterable attachment: but then, also, — if you would have indulged me with a hearing, — must I not have made it my first petition, that your accomplishments should be reserved for the resources of your leisure, and the happiness of your friends, at your own time, and your own choice? Would you have branded such a desire as pride? or would you not rather have allowed it to be called by that word, which your own every action, every speech, every look bring perpetually to mind, propriety?’
Ellis sighed: ‘Alas!’ she said, ‘my own repugnance to this measure makes me but too easily conceive the objections to which it may be liable! and if you, so singularly liberal, if even you—’
She stopt; but Harleigh, not less encouraged by a phrase thus begun, than if she had proceeded, warmly continued.
‘If then, in a case such as I have presumed to suppose, to have withdrawn you from the public would not have been wrong, how can it be faulty, upon the same principles, and with the same intentions, to endeavour, with all my might, to turn you aside from such a project? — I see you are preparing to tell me that I argue upon premises to which you have not concurred. Suffer me, nevertheless, to add a few words, in explanation of what else may seem presumption, or impertinence: I have hinted that this plan might cloud my dearest hopes; imagine not, thence, that my prejudices upon this subject are invincible: no! but I have Relations who have never deserved to forfeit my consideration; — and these — not won, like me, by the previous knowledge of your virtues.—’
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 296
