As soon as these gentlemen were all departed, Mrs. Stafford, who had already waited almost three hours, was introduced into the study; where, with many gracious bows and smiling apologies, Lord Montreville received her.
Sir Richard Crofts had that morning warmly represented to his Lordship the necessity of the Staffords’ going abroad and taking Emmeline with them. Lord Montreville knew that Delamere was returned, and was embroiled with Emmeline; he was therefore eager enough to follow advice which appeared so necessary, and to promote any plan which might prevent a renewal of the attachment. He enquired not into the cause of this estrangement, satisfied with it’s effect; and had secretly determined to give Mrs. Stafford no assistance in the endeavours she was using to keep her family from dispersion and distress.
But statesman as he was, he could not entirely forget that he once felt as other men; and he could not hear, without some emotion, the melancholy description that Mrs. Stafford gave of the impending ruin of her family and all it’s fearful consequences: which she did with so much clear simplicity, yet with so much proper dignity, that he found his resolution shaken; and recollecting that he had a conscience, was about to ask it by what right he assumed the power of rendering an innocent family wandering exiles, merely to save himself from a supposed possible inconvenience.
But while every lingering principle of goodness and generosity was rising in the bosom of his Lordship to assist the suit of Mrs. Stafford, a servant entered hastily and announced the Duke of N —— . His Grace of course waited not in the anti-room, but was immediately introduced.
Lord Montreville then civilly apologized to Mrs. Stafford for being unable to conclude the business; adding, that if she would see Sir Richard Crofts the next day, he would take care it should be settled to her satisfaction. She withdrew with a heavy heart; and feeling infinite reluctance in the proposed application to Sir Richard Crofts, she employed the whole afternoon in attempting to move, in favour of her husband, some of those friends who had formerly professed the most unbounded and disinterested friendship for him and his family.
Of many of these, the doors were shut against her; others affected the utmost concern, and lamented that their little power and limited fortunes did not allow them to assist in repairing the misfortunes they deplored: some told her how long they had foreseen Mr. Stafford’s embarrassments, and how destructive building and scheming were to a moderate fortune; while others made vague proffers of inadequate services, which on farther conversation she found they never intended to perform if unluckily she had accepted their offers. In all, she saw too plainly that they looked on Mr. Stafford’s affairs as desperate; and in their coldness and studied civility, already felt all the misery and mortification of reduced circumstances.
With encreased anguish, she was now compelled to go, on the following day, to Sir Richard Crofts; whom she knew only from Emmeline’s description.
He also, in imitation of his patron, had his anti-chamber filled with soliciting faces. She waited not quite so long, indeed, for an audience, but with infinitely less patience. At length, however, she was shewn into the apartment where Sir Richard transacted business.
Bloated prosperity was in his figure, supercilious scorn in his eyes: he rose half off his seat, and slightly inclined his head on her entrance.
‘Madam, your servant — please to sit down.’
‘I waited on you, Sir Richard, to—’
‘I beg your pardon, Madam. But as I am perfectly acquainted, and informed, and aware of the business, there is no occasion or necessity to give you the trouble to repeat, and dwell upon, and explain it. It is not, I find, convenient, or suitable, or commodious, for Mr. Stafford to pay to my son James, who has married his (Mr. Stafford’s) sister, that part, and proportion, and residue, of her fortune, which her father at his death gave, bequeathed, and left to her.’
‘It is not only inconvenient, Sir,’ answered Mrs. Stafford, ‘but impossible, I fear, for him to do it immediately; and this is what I wished to speak to you upon.’
‘I am aware, and informed, and apprized, Madam, of what you would say. I am sorry it is as you say so inconvenient, and impracticable, and impossible. However, Madam, my way in these cases is to go very plainly, and straitly, and directly to the point; therefore I will chalk out, and describe, and point out to you a line of conduct, which if you chuse to follow, and adopt, and pursue, it appears to me that all may be adjusted, settled, and put to rights.’
‘You will oblige me, Sir Richard, by doing so.’
‘Well then, it is this — As it appears, and is evident, and visible, that you have not the money in question, you must immediately sell, and dispose of, and make into money, your house and effects in Dorsetshire, and after paying, and satisfying, and discharging the debt to my son James, you must (as I understand your husband is besides deeply in debt,) withdraw, retire, and remove to France, or to Normandy, or Switzerland, or some cheap country, ‘till your affairs come round, and are retrieved, and accommodated and adjusted.’
‘This we might have done, Sir Richard, without troubling you with the present application.’
‘No, Madam, you might not. I assure you I have talked, and reasoned, and argued some time with Mr. James Crofts, before I could induce, and prevail upon, and dispose him to wait, and remain, and continue unpaid, until this arrangement and disposition could take place. He wants the money, Madam, for a particular purpose; and tho’ from my heart I grieve, and lament, and deplore the necessity of the measure, I do assure you, Madam, nothing else will give you any chance of winding up, compleating, and terminating the business before us. You will therefore, Madam, think, and consider, and reflect on it’s necessity, and give your final answer to my son James, who will wait for it only ‘till to-morrow morning.’
He then rang his bell; and saying he had an appointment with Lord Montreville, who must already have waited for him, he made a cold bow and hastened out of the room.
CHAPTER IX
Mrs. Stafford now saw that nothing remained but to follow her husband to a prison, or prevail on him to go to the Continent while she attempted anew to settle his affairs.
Obstinate even in despair, she had the utmost difficulty to convince him of the necessity of this measure; and would never, perhaps, have done it, if the more persuasive argument of a writ, taken out by James Crofts, had not driven him to embrace it rather than go into confinement.
Mrs. Stafford with difficulty procured money to furnish him for his journey, and saw him depart for Dover; while she herself returned to Emmeline, who had passed the three weeks of her absence in great uneasiness. No news had been received of Delamere; and she now believed, that of the promise he had forced from her he meant not to avail himself; yet did not relinquish it; but in proud and sullen resentment, disdained even to enquire whether he had justly harboured anger against her. She wished to have withdrawn a promise she could no longer think of without pain and regret; but she found Mrs. Stafford so unhappy, that she could not resolve to oppress her by complaints; and after some struggles with herself, determined to let the matter take it’s course.
Willingly, however, she consented to accompany her friend to France; where Mrs. Stafford, at her husband’s request, now determined to go with her family. She had found an opulent tradesman in a neighbouring town, who engaged, on receiving a mortgage on the estate, and ten per cent. interest, (which he so managed as to evade the appearance of usury,) to let her have the money to pay Mr. Crofts, and a farther sum for the support of her family: and having got a tenant for the house, and satisfied as many of the clamorous creditors as she could, she prepared, with a heavy heart, to quit her abode, with Emmeline and her infant family.
As it was necessary that little William should be sent to the Isle of Wight before their departure, Emmeline wrote to fix a day at the distance of a month, on which she desired Lady Adelina to send some careful person for him. But ten days before the expiration of that period, letters came from Mr. Stafford, in which he directed
his wife, who intended to embark at Brighthelmstone and land at Dieppe, to change her route, and sail from Southampton to Havre. He also desired her to hasten her journey: and as every thing was now put on the best footing the time would allow, Mrs. Stafford immediately complied; and with her own unfortunate family, Emmeline, and little William, (whom they now meant to carry themselves to Lady Adelina) they left Woodfield.
The pain of quitting, probably for ever, a favourite abode, which she feared would at length be torn from her children by the rapacity of the law, and the fatigue of travelling with infant children, under such circumstances, almost overcame the resolution and spirits of Mrs. Stafford. Emmeline, ever reasonable, gentle, and consoling, was her principal support; and on the evening of the second day they arrived at Southampton.
While Emmeline almost forgot in her attention to her friend her own uncertain and unpleasant state, Delamere remained in Norfolk, where he had hid himself from the enquiries of his father, and from the importunities of his mother, who was now, with her eldest daughter, settled again in Berkley Square. Here he nourished inveterate resentment against Fitz-Edward: and finding it impossible to forget Emmeline, he continued to think of her as much as ever, but with indignation, jealousy and rage.
He had, immediately on receiving, as he believed, a confirmation of all those suspicions with which the Crofts’ had so artfully inspired him, resolved to demand satisfaction of Fitz-Edward; and hearing on enquiry that he was in Ireland, but his return immediately expected, he waited with eager and restless uneasiness till the person whom he had commissioned to inform him of his return should send notice that he was again in London.
Week after week, however, passed away. He still heard, that tho’ expected hourly, Fitz-Edward arrived not. Time, far from softening the asperity with which his thoughts dwelt on this supposed rival, seemed only to irritate and inflame his resentment; and ingenious in tormenting himself, he now added new anguish to that which corroded his heart, by supposing that Emmeline, aware of the danger which threatened her lover from the vengeance of his injured friend, had written to him to prevent his return. This idea was confirmed, when the agent whom he employed to watch the return of Fitz-Edward at length informed him that he had obtained leave of absence from his regiment, now in England, and was to pass the remainder of the winter with Lord and Lady Clancarryl.
The fury of his passions seemed to be suspended, while with gloomy satisfaction he looked forward to a speedy retribution: but now, when no immediate prospect offered of meeting the author of his calamities, they tormented him with new violence. Emmeline and Fitz-Edward haunted his dreams; Emmeline and Fitz-Edward were ever present to his imagination; he figured to himself his happy rival possessed of the tenderness and attachment of that gentle and sensible heart. The anguish these images inflicted affected his health; and while every day, as it passed, brought nothing to alleviate his despair, he became more and more convinced that the happiness of his life was blasted for ever; and growing impatient of life itself, determined to go to Ireland and insist on an opportunity of losing it, or of taking that of the man who had made it an insupportable burthen.
He set out therefore, attended only by Millefleur, and gave Lord Montreville no notice of his intention ‘till he reached Holyhead; from thence he wrote to his Lordship to say that he had received an invitation to visit some friends at Dublin, and that he should continue about a month in Ireland. His pride prompted him to do this; least his father, on hearing of his absence, should suppose that he was weak enough to seek a reconciliation with Emmeline, whose name he now never mentioned, being persuaded that his Lordship knew how ill she had repaid an affection, which, tho’ he could not divest himself of, he was now ashamed to acknowledge.
Lord Montreville, happy to find he had really quitted her, was extremely glad of this seasonable journey; which, as the Crofts’ assured him Emmeline was on the point of leaving England, would, he thought, prevent his enquiring whither she was gone, and by introducing him into a new set of acquaintance, turn his thoughts to other objects and perfect his cure.
While Delamere then was travelling to Ireland in pursuit of Fitz-Edward, Mrs. Stafford and Emmeline left Southampton on a visit to Lady Adelina in the Isle of Wight; being desirous of delivering little William into the arms of his mother and his uncle. Tho’ it was now almost the end of January, they embarked in an open boat, with the servant who waited on the child; but being detained ‘till almost noon on account of the tide, it was evening before they reached a village on the shore, three miles beyond Cowes, where they were to land.
On arriving there, they found that the house of Captain Godolphin was situated two miles farther. Mrs. Stafford, ever attentive and considerate, was afraid that the sight of the child so unexpectedly, might overpower the spirits of Lady Adelina, and cause speculation among the servants which it was absolutely necessary to avoid. Emmeline therefore undertook to walk forward, attended by a boy in the village, who was to shew her the way, and apprize Lady Adelina of the visitor she was to expect.
Pleasure, in spite of herself, glowed in her bosom at the idea of again meeting Godolphin; tho’ she knew not that he had conceived for her the most pure and ardent passion that was ever inspired by a lovely and deserving object.
He had long since found that his heart was irrecoverably gone. But tho’ he struggled not against his passion, he loved too truly to indulge it at the expence of Emmeline; and had therefore determined to avoid her, and not to embitter her life with the painful conviction that their acquaintance had destroyed the happiness of his. For this reason he did not intend going himself to fetch his nephew from Woodbury Forest, but had given a careful servant directions to go thither in a few days after that when Emmeline herself prevented the necessity of the journey.
Her walk lay along the high rocks that bounded the coast; and it was almost dark before she entered a small lawn surrounded with a plantation, in which the house of Godolphin was situated. About half an acre of ground lay between it and the cliff, which was beat by the swelling waves of the channel. The ground on the other side rose more suddenly; and a wood which covered the hill behind it, seemed to embosom the house, and take off that look of bleakness and desolation which often renders a situation so near the sea unpleasant except in the warmest months of Summer. A sand walk lead round the lawn. Emmeline followed it, and it brought her close to the windows of a parlour. They were still open; she looked in; and saw, by the light of the fire, for there were no candles in the room, Godolphin sitting alone. He leaned on a book, which there was not light enough to read; scattered papers lay round him, and a pen and ink were on the table.
Emmeline could not forbear looking at him a moment before she approached the door. She could as little command her curiosity to know on what he was thus deeply thinking. The boy who was with her ran round to the kitchen, and sent up a servant to open the door; who immediately throwing open that of the parlour, said— ‘A lady, Sir!’
Godolphin starting from his reverie, arose, and unexpectedly beheld the subject of it.
His astonishment at this visit, was such as hardly left him the power to express the pleasure with which that astonishment was mingled. ‘Miss Mowbray!’ exclaimed he— ‘Is it indeed Miss Mowbray?’
For a moment he surveyed her in silent extasy, then congratulated himself upon his unhoped for good fortune; and answering her enquiries about Lady Adelina, he suddenly seemed to recollect the papers which lay on the table, hurried them into a drawer, and again returning to Emmeline, told her how happy he was to see her look so well. He thought indeed that he had never seen her so infinitely lovely. The sharpness of the air during her walk had heightened the glow of her complexion; her eyes betrayed, by their soft and timid glances, the partiality of which she was hardly yet conscious; she trembled, without knowing why; and could hardly recover her composure, while Godolphin, who would trust no other person to deliver the message, ran eagerly up stairs to acquaint Lady Adelina. ‘My sister,’ cried he, immediately
returning, ‘will be with you instantly; a slight pain in her head has kept her on the bed almost all day. But to what do we owe the happiness of seeing you here, when we thought you on the point of sailing for France by another route?’
Emmeline then hastily explained the change in their plan; adding, gravely— ‘You will have another visitor, who cannot fail of being welcome both to you and Lady Adelina. Mrs. Stafford stays with him at the village, while she desired me to come on to prepare you for his reception, and to know how you will have him introduced?’
‘As my child,’ answered Godolphin. ‘My servants are already prepared to expect such an addition to my family. Ever amiable, ever lovely Miss Mowbray!’ continued he, with looks that encreased her confusion— ‘what obligation does not our little boy — do we not all owe you?’
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