Charlotte Smith- Collected Poetical Works

by Charlotte Smith

  ‘Why not absolutely so. — I think he did not say that. But I understood that you was by no means averse to his informing me of his attachment, and was willing, if my consent was obtained, to become his wife. Perhaps he has no very great advantages; yet considering your situation, which is, you know, entirely dependent, I really think you do perfectly right in designing to accept of the establishment he offers you.’

  ‘To become the wife of Maloney! — to accept of the establishment he offers me! I am humbled, I am lost indeed! No, my Lord! unhappy as I am, I can claim nothing, it is true; but if the support of an unfortunate orphan, thrown by Providence into your care, is too troublesome, suffer me to be myself a servant; and believe I have a mind, which tho’ it will not recoil from any situation where I can earn my bread by honest labour, is infinitely superior to any advantages such a man as Maloney can offer me!’

  She wept too much to be able to proceed; and sat, overwhelmed with grief and mortification, while Lord Montreville continued to speak.

  ‘Why distress yourself in this manner, Miss Mowbray? I cannot see any thing which ought to offend you, if Maloney has misrepresented the matter, and if he has not, your extraordinary emotion must look like a consciousness of having altered your mind.

  ‘Your motive for doing so cannot be mistaken; but let me speak to you explicitly. — To Mr. Delamere, my son, the heir to a title and estate which makes him a desirable match for the daughters of the first houses in the kingdom, you can have no pretensions; therefore never do yourself so much prejudice as to let your mind glance that way.

  ‘Maloney tells me he has some property, and still better expectations. He is established here in an excellent place; and should he marry you, it shall be still more advantageous. You are (I am sorry to be obliged to repeat it) without any dependance, but on my favour. You will therefore do wisely to embrace a situation in which that favour may be most effectually exerted on your behalf.

  ‘As you have undoubtedly encouraged Maloney, the aversion you now pretend towards him, is artifice or coquetry. Consider before you decide, consider thoroughly what is your situation and what your expectations; and recollect, that as my son now means to be very frequently at Mowbray Castle, you cannot remain with propriety but as the wife of Maloney.’

  ‘Neither as the wife of Maloney, nor as Emmeline Mowbray, will I stay, my Lord, another day!’ answered she, assuming more spirit than she had yet shewn. ‘I wished for an interview to entreat your Lordship would allow me to go to some place less improper for my abode than Mowbray Castle has long been.’

  ‘And whither would you go, Miss Mowbray?’

  ‘On that, my Lord, I wished to consult you. But since it is perhaps a matter unworthy your attention; since it seems to signify little what becomes of me; I must determine to hazard going to Mrs. Watkins’s, who will probably give me an asylum at least ‘till I can find some one who will receive me, or some means of providing for myself the necessaries of life.’

  ‘You then positively reject the overtures of Maloney?’

  ‘Positively, my Lord — and for ever! I beg it may not be mentioned to me again!’

  ‘And who is Mrs. Watkins?’

  ‘The sister of Mrs. Carey, my Lord.’

  ‘Where does she live?’

  ‘At Swansea in Glamorganshire; where she is accustomed to take in boarders. She would, I believe, receive me.’

  After a moment’s consideration, Lord Montreville said, ‘that perhaps may do, since you absolutely refuse the other plan; I would have you therefore prepare to go thither; but I must insist on no more morning interviews with Mr. Delamere, and that whither you are going may be kept unknown to him. But tell me,’ continued he, ‘what I am to say to poor Maloney?’

  ‘That you are astonished at his insolence in daring to lift his eyes to a person bearing the name of Mowbray; and shocked at his falsehood in presuming to assert that I ever encouraged his impertinent pretensions!’

  This effort of spirit exhausted all the courage Emmeline had been able to raise. She arose, and attempted to reach the door; but overcome by the violence of her agitation, was obliged to sit down in a chair near it.

  She could no longer restrain the tears which were extorted from her by the mortifying scene she had passed through: and her deep sighs, which seemed ready to burst her heart, excited the compassion of Lord Montreville; who, where his ambition was not in question, was not void of humanity. The violent and artless sorrow of a beautiful young woman, whose fate seemed to be in his power, affected him.

  He took her hand with kindness, and told her ‘he was sorry to have said any thing that appeared harsh.’

  His Lordship added, ‘that he would have her write to Mrs. Watkins; that a servant should be sent with the letter; and that on condition of her concealing her abode from Delamere, she should be supplied with an annual income equal to all her wants.’

  Then hearing Delamere’s gun, which he always discharged before he entered the house, he hastened Emmeline away, desiring she would remain in her own apartment; where every thing necessary should be sent to her.

  CHAPTER V

  Delamere and Fitz-Edward soon after entered the parlour where Lord Montreville remained. He received his son with a coldness to which, tho’ little accustomed to it, Delamere paid no attention.

  Despotic as this beloved son had always been in the family, he felt not the least apprehension that he had really offended his father; or feeling it, knew that his displeasure would be so short liv’d that it was not worth any concern.

  ‘Here, Fitz-Edward,’ said he— ‘here is my father angry with me for making love to my cousin Emmy. Faith, Sir,’ (turning to Lord Montreville,) ‘I think I have the most reason to be angry at being brought into such dangerous company; tho’ your Lordship well knows how devilishly susceptible I am, and that ever since I was ten years old I have been dying for some nymph or other.’

  ‘I know that you are a strange inconsiderate boy,’ answered Lord Montreville, very gravely;— ‘but I must beg, Frederic, to hear no more idle raillery on the subject of Miss Mowbray.’

  To this, Delamere gave some slight answer; and the discourse was led by his Lordship to some other topic.

  Fitz-Edward, who was about five years older than Delamere, concealed, under the appearance of candour and non-chalance, the libertinism of his character. He had entered very young into the army; the younger son of an Irish peer; and had contracted his loose morals by being thrown too early into the world; for his heart was not originally bad.

  With a very handsome person, he had the most insinuating manners, and an address so truly that of a man of fashion, as immediately prejudiced in his favour those by whom he wished to be thought well of. Where he desired to please, he seldom failed of pleasing extremely; and his conversation was, in the general commerce of the world, elegant and attractive.

  Delamere was very fond of his company; and Lord Montreville encouraged the intimacy: for of whatever fashionable vices Fitz-Edward was guilty, he contrived, by a sort of sentimental hypocrisy, to prevent their being known to, or at least offensive to those, whose good opinion it was his interest to cultivate.

  Delamere was of a character very opposite. Accustomed from his infancy to the most boundless indulgences, he never formed a wish, the gratification of which he expected to be denied: and if such a disappointment happened, he gave way to an impetuosity of disposition that he had never been taught to restrain, and which gave an appearance of ferocity to a temper not otherwise bad.

  He was generous, candid, and humane; and possessed many other good qualities, but the defects of his education had obscured them.

  Lady Montreville, who beheld in her only son the last male heir of a very ancient and illustrious house, and who hoped to see all its glories revive in him, could never be prevailed upon to part with him. He had therefore a tutor in the house; and his parents themselves accompanied him abroad. And the weakness of Lady Montreville in regard to her son, encreased rather than dim
inished with his encreasing years.

  Her fondness was gratified in seeing the perfections of his person, (which was a very fine one) while to the imperfections of his temper she was entirely blind.

  His father was equally fond of him; and looked up to the accumulated titles and united fortunes of his own and his wife’s families, as the point where all his ambitious views would attain their consummation.

  To watch over the conduct of this only son, seemed now to be the sole business of his Lordship’s life: and ‘till now, he had no reason to fear that his solicitude for his final establishment would be attended with so little effect. Except a few youthful indiscretions, which were overlooked or forgiven, Delamere had shewn no inclinations that seemed inimical to his father’s views; and Lord Montreville hoped that his present passion for Emmeline would be forgotten as easily as many other transient attachments which his youth, and warmth of temper, had led him into.

  At dinner, Delamere enquired ‘whether his charming cousin was always to remain a prisoner in her own room?’

  To which Lord Montreville answered, ‘that it had been her custom; and as there was no lady with them, it was better she should continue it.’

  He then changed the discourse; and contrived to keep Delamere in sight the whole afternoon; and by that means prevented any further enquiries after Emmeline; who now, entirely confined to her turret, impatiently awaited the return of the messenger who had been sent to Swansea.

  Delamere, in the mean time, had lingered frequently about the housekeeper’s room, in hopes of seeing Emmeline; but she never appeared.

  He applied to Mrs. Garnet for intelligence of her: but she had received orders from Lord Montreville not to satisfy his enquiries. He employed his servants therefore to discover where she was usually to be found, and by their means was at length informed in what part of the castle her apartment lay; and that there was a design actually on foot to send her away, but whither he could not learn.

  The answer brought from Mrs. Watkins, by the man who had been sent to Swansea, expressed her readiness to take the boarder offered her.

  This intelligence Lord Montreville communicated himself to Emmeline; who received it with such artless satisfaction, that his Lordship, who had before doubted whether some degree of coquetry was not concealed under the apparent ingenuous innocence of his niece, now believed he had judged too hastily.

  It remained to be considered how she could be conveyed from Mowbray Castle without the knowledge of Delamere. She was herself ignorant of every thing beyond its walls, and could therefore be of no use in the consultation. His Lordship had, however, entrusted Fitz-Edward with his uneasiness about Delamere; at which the former only laughed; and said he by no means believed that any serious consequences were to be apprehended: that it was mere badinage; of which he was sure Delamere would think no more after they left Mowbray Castle; and that it was not a matter which his Lordship should allow to make him uneasy.

  Lord Montreville however, who thought he could not too soon remedy his own indiscretion in introducing Emmeline to his son, determined to embrace the opportunity of putting an end to any future correspondence between them: he therefore insisted on a promise of secresy from Fitz-Edward; and had recourse to Headly, who from a frequent residence among the great was the most accommodating and obsequious of their servants.

  As he was about to leave the castle in a few days, he offered his services to convey Miss Mowbray from thence, in a chaise of which he was master. This proposal was eagerly accepted by Lord Montreville. And enjoining Mr. Headly also to secresy, it was fixed that their journey should begin the next morning save one.

  Emmeline had notice of this arrangement, which she received with the liveliest joy. She immediately set about such preparations as were necessary for her journey, in which she employed that and the remaining day; which had been destined by Lord Montreville to visit another estate that he possessed, at the distance of about twelve miles; whither Delamere and the whole party accompanied him.

  Delamere had discovered, by his servants, that to remove Emmeline was in agitation; and he determined to see her again in spite of his father’s precaution (which in fact only served to encrease his desire of declaring his sentiments); but he had no idea that she was to depart so soon, and therefore was content to go with his father, at his particular request.

  It was late in the evening preceding that on which Emmeline was to leave the castle, before they returned to it; and she was still busied in providing for her journey; in doing which, she was obliged to open one of the caskets left her by Mrs. Carey. It contained miniatures of her father and her mother, which had been drawn at Paris before her birth; and several letters written by Mrs. Mowbray, her grandmother, to her mother, in consequence of the fatal step she had taken in quitting the protection of that lady, who had brought her up, to accompany Mr. Mowbray abroad.

  These, Emmeline had never yet seen; nor had she now courage entirely to peruse them. The little she read, however, filled her heart with the most painful sensations and her eyes with tears.

  While she was employed in her little arrangements, time passed insensibly away. She heard the hollow sound of shutting the great doors at the other end of the castle, as was usual before the servants retired for the night: but attentive only to what was at present her greatest concern, (making room for some favourite books in the box she meant to take with her,) she heeded not the hour.

  A total silence had long reigned in the castle, and her almost extinguished candle told her it was time to take some repose, when, as she was preparing to do so, she thought she heard a rustling, and indistinct footsteps in the passage near her room.

  She started — listened — but all was again profoundly silent; and she supposed it had been only one of those unaccountable noises which she had been used to hear along the dreary avenues of the castle. She began anew to unpin her hair, when a second time the same noise in the passage alarmed her. She listened again; and while she continued attentive, the great clock struck two.

  Amazed to find it so late, her terror encreased; yet she endeavoured to reason herself out of it, and to believe that it was the effect of fancy: she heard it no more; and had almost determined to go out into the passage to satisfy herself that her fears were groundless, when just as she approached the door, the whispers were renewed; she saw the lock move, and heard a violent push against it.

  The door, however, was locked. Which was no sooner perceived by the assailant, than a violent effort with his foot forced the rusty decayed work to give way, and Mr. Delamere burst into the room!

  Emmeline was infinitely too much terrified to speak: nor could her trembling limbs support her. She sat down; — the colour forsook her cheeks; — and she was not sensible that Delamere had thrown himself at her feet, and was pouring forth the most vehement and incoherent expressions that frantic passion could dictate.

  Recovering her recollection, she beheld Delamere kneeling before her, holding her hands in his; and Millefleur standing behind him with a candle. She attempted to speak; but the words died away on her lips: while Delamere, shocked at the situation into which he had thrown her, protested that he meant her not the smallest offence; but that having learnt, by means of his valet, that she was to go the next morning, and that his father intended to keep him ignorant of her future destiny, he could not bear to reflect that he might lose her for ever; and had therefore taken the only means in his power to speak to her, in hopes of engaging her pity, for which he would hazard every thing.

  ‘Leave me, Sir! leave me!’ said Emmeline, in a voice scarcely articulate. ‘Leave me instantly, or I will alarm the house!’

  ‘That is almost impossible!’ replied Delamere; ‘but I will not terrify you more than I have done already. No, Emmeline, I wish not to alarm you, and will quit you instantly if you will tell me that wheresoever you are, you will permit me to see you; and will remember me with pity and regard! My father shall not — cannot controul my conduct; nor shall all the power o
n earth prevent my following you, if you will yourself permit me. Tell me, Emmeline, — tell me you will not forget me!’

  ‘As what, Sir, should I remember you, but as my persecutor? as one who has injured me beyond reparation by your wild and cruel conduct; and who has now dared to insult me by a most unparallelled outrage. — Leave me, Sir! I repeat to you that you must instantly quit the room!’

  She arose, and walked with tottering steps to the end of it. Delamere followed her. She turned; and came towards the door, which was still open, and then recollected, that as she knew the passages of the castle, which she was convinced neither Delamere or his servant did, she might possibly escape, and find Lord Montreville’s room, which she knew to be at the end of the East gallery.

  Delamere was a few steps behind her when she reached the door; which hastily throwing quite open, she ran lightly thro’ the passage, which was very long and dark.

  He pursued her, imploring her to hear him but a moment; and the Frenchman as hastily followed his master with the candle. But at the end of the passage, a flight of broken steps led to a brick hall, which opened to other stair-cases and galleries.

  A gust of wind blew out the candle; and Emmeline, gliding down the steps, turned to the right, and opening a heavy nailed door, which led by a narrow stairs to the East gallery, she let it fall after her.

  Delamere, now in total darkness, tried in vain to follow the sound. He listened — but no longer heard the footsteps of the trembling fugitive; and cursing his fate, and the stupidity of Millefleur, he endeavoured to find his way back to Emmeline’s room, where he thought a candle was still burning. But his attempt was vain. He walked round the hall only to puzzle himself; for the door by which he had entered it, he could not regain.

  In the mean time Emmeline, breathless with fear, had reached the gallery, and feeling her way ‘till she came as she supposed to the door of the room where Lord Montreville slept, she tapped lightly at it.