Charlotte Smith- Collected Poetical Works

by Charlotte Smith

  ‘You will by this means make it difficult for Bellozane to overtake you, if he should attempt it; and when he sees you have actually fled from Delamere, he will be little disposed to quarrel with him, and will perhaps go home. As to Delamere, his sister and I must manage him as well as we can; which will be the easier, as he is, within this half hour, gone to bed in a violent access of fever. Indeed, in the perturbation of mind he now suffers, there is no probability of his speedy amendment; for as fast as he regains strength, his violent passions throw his frame again into disorder. — But perhaps when he knows you are actually in England, he may try to acquire, by keeping himself quiet, that share of health which alone can enable him to follow you.’

  Emmeline, eagerly embracing this advice, which she found had the concurrence of Lady Westhaven, prepared instantly for her departure; and embracing tenderly her two excellent friends, who hoped soon to follow her, and who had desired her to come to them to reside as soon as they were settled in London, where they had no house at present, she got into a chaise, with Madelon, and attended by Le Limosin, who was proudly elated at being thus ‘l’homme de confience’ to Mademoiselle Mowbray, she left Besançon; her heart deeply impressed with a sense of Delamere’s sufferings, and with an earnest wish for the restoration of his peace.

  Tho’ Godolphin had been gone four days, and went post, so that she knew he must be at Paris long before her, she could not, as she proceeded on her journey, help fancying that some accident might have stopped him, and that she might overtake him. She knew not whether she hoped or feared such an encounter. But the disappointed air with which she left every post house where she had occasion to stop for horses, plainly evinced that she rather desired than dreaded it. She felt all the absurdity and ridicule of expecting to see him; yet still she looked out after him; and he was the object she sought when she cast her eyes round her at the several stages.

  Without overtaking him, or being herself overtaken by Bellozane, she arrived in safety and in the usual time at Paris, and immediately went on to St. Germains; Le Limosin being so well acquainted with travelling, that she had no trouble nor alarm during her journey.

  When she got to St. Germains, she was received with transport by Mrs. Stafford and her family. She found her about to depart, in two days, for England, where there was a prospect of settling her husband’s affairs; and she had undertaken to go alone over, in hopes of adjusting them for his speedy return; while he had agreed to remain with the children ‘till he heard the success of her endeavours. Great was the satisfaction of Mrs. Stafford to find that Emmeline would accompany her to England; with yet more pleasure did she peruse those documents which convinced her that her fair friend went to claim, with an absolute certainty of success, her large paternal fortune.

  Lord Westhaven had given her a long letter to the Marquis of Montreville, to whom he desired she would immediately address herself; and he had also written to an eminent lawyer, his friend, into whose hands he directed her immediately to put the papers that related to her birth, and by no means to trust them with any other person.

  With money, also, Lord Westhaven had amply furnished her; and she proposed taking lodgings in London, ‘till she could settle her affairs with Lord Montreville; and then to go to Mowbray Castle.

  On the second day after her reaching St. Germains, she began her journey to Calais with Mrs. Stafford, attended by Le Limosin and Madelon. When they arrived there, they heard that a passage boat would sail about nine o’clock in the evening; but on sending Le Limosin to speak to the master, they learned that there were already more cabin passengers than there was room to accommodate, and that therefore two ladies might find it inconvenient.

  As the evening, however, was calm, and the wind favourable, and as the two fair travellers were impatient to be in England, they determined to go on board. It was near ten o’clock before the vessel got under way; and before two they were assured they should be at Dover. They therefore hesitated not to pass that time in chairs on the deck, wrapped in their cloaks; and would have preferred doing so, to the heat and closeness of the cabin, had there been room for them in it.

  By eleven o’clock, every thing insensibly grew quiet on board. The passengers were gone to their beds, the vessel moved calmly, and with very little wind, over a gently swelling sea; and the silence was only broken by the waves rising against it’s side, or by the steersman, who now and then spoke to another sailor, that slowly traversed the deck with measured pace.

  The night was dark; a declining moon only broke thro’ the heavy clouds of the horizon with a feeble and distant light. There was a solemnity in the scene at once melancholy and pleasing. Mrs. Stafford and Emmeline both felt it. They were silent; and each lost in her own reflections; nor did they attend to a slight interruption of the stillness that reigned on board, made by a passenger who came from below, muffled in a great coat. He spoke in a low voice to the man at the helm, and then sat down on the gunwale, with his back towards the ladies; after which all was again quiet.

  In a few minutes a deep sigh was uttered by this passenger; and then, after a short pause, the two friends were astonished to hear, in a voice, low, but extremely expressive, these lines, addressed to Night.

  SONNET

  I love thee, mournful sober-suited Night, When the faint Moon, yet lingering in her wane And veil’d in clouds, with pale uncertain light Hangs o’er the waters of the restless main.

  In deep depression sunk, the enfeebled mind Will to the deaf, cold elements complain, And tell the embosom’d grief, however vain, To sullen surges and the viewless wind.

  Tho’ no repose on thy dark breast I find, I still enjoy thee — chearless as thou art; For in thy quiet gloom, the exhausted heart, Is calm, tho’ wretched; hopeless, yet resign’d. While, to the winds and waves, it’s sorrows given, May reach — tho’ lost on earth — the ear of heaven!

  ‘Surely,’ said Mrs. Stafford in a whisper, ‘it is a voice I know.’

  ‘Surely,’ repeated the heart of Emmeline, for she could not speak, ‘it is the voice of Godolphin!’

  ‘Do you,’ reassumed Mrs. Stafford— ‘do you not recollect the voice?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Emmeline. ‘I think — I believe — I rather fancy it is — Mr. Godolphin.’

  ‘Shall I speak to him?’ asked Mrs. Stafford, ‘or are you disposed to hear more poetry? He has no notion who are his auditors.’

  ‘As you please,’ said Emmeline.

  Again the person sighed, and repeated with more warmth —

  ‘And reach, tho’ lost on earth — the ear of heaven!’

  ‘Yes — if she is happy, they will indeed be heard! Ah! that cruel if — if she is happy! and can I bear to doubt it, yet leave her to the experiment!’

  There now remained no doubt but that the stranger was Godolphin; and Emmeline as little hesitated to believe herself the subject of his thoughts and of his Muse.

  ‘Why do you not speak to him, Emmeline?’ said Mrs. Stafford archly.

  ‘I cannot, indeed.’

  ‘I must speak then, myself;’ and raising her voice, she said— ‘Mr. Godolphin, is it not?’

  ‘Who is so good as to recollect me?’ cried he, rising and looking round him. It was very dark; but he could just distinguish that two ladies were there.

  Mrs. Stafford gave him her hand, saying— ‘Have you then forgotten your friends?’

  He snatched her hand, and carried it to his lips.

  ‘There is another hand for you,’ said she, pointing to Emmeline— ‘but you must be at the trouble of taking it.’

  ‘That I shall be most delighted to do. But who is it? Surely it cannot be Miss Mowbray, that allows me such happiness?’

  ‘Have you, in one little week,’ said the faultering Emmeline, ‘occasion to ask that question?’

  ‘Not now I hear that voice,’ answered Godolphin in the most animated tone— ‘Not when I hold this lovely hand. But whence comes it that I find you, Madam, here? or how does it happen that you have l
eft my brother and sister, and the happy Delamere?’ He seemed to have recollected, after his first transport at meeting her, that he was thus warmly addressing her who was probably only going to England to prepare for her union with his rival.

  ‘Do not be so unreasonable,’ said Mrs. Stafford, ‘as to expect Miss Mowbray should answer all these questions. But find a seat; and let us hear some account of yourself. You have also to make your peace with me for not seeing me in your way.’

  Godolphin threw himself on the deck at their feet.

  ‘I find a seat here,’ said he, ‘which I should prefer to a throne. As to an account of myself, it is soon given. I met a friend, whose company induced me to come to Calais rather than travel thro’ Normandy; and the haste he was in made it impossible for me to stop him. Miss Mowbray had refused to give me any commission for you; and I had nothing to say to you that would have given you any pleasure. I was, therefore, unwilling to trouble you merely with a passing enquiry.’

  ‘But whence comes it that you sail only to-night, if your friend was so much hurried?’

  ‘He went four days ago; but I — I was kept — I was detained at Calais.’

  Emmeline felt a strange curiosity to know what could have detained him; but dared not ask such a question.

  They then talked of Lord and Lady Westhaven.

  ‘Lord Delamere is, I conclude, much better?’ said Godolphin.

  ‘When I took leave of Lord and Lady Westhaven,’ coldly answered Emmeline, ‘I did not think him much better than when we first saw him. His servant said he was almost as ill as when you, Sir, with friendship so uncommon, attended him.’

  ‘Call it not uncommon, Madam! — It was an office I would have performed, not only for any Englishman in another country, but I hope for any human being in any country, who had needed it. Should I then allow you to suppose there was any great merit in my rendering a slight service to the brother of Lady Westhaven; and who is besides dear to one to whom I owe obligations so infinite.’

  The stress he laid on these words left Emmeline no doubt of his meaning. She was, however, vexed and half angry that he persisted in believing her so entirely attached to Delamere; and, for the first time she had ventured to think steadily on the subject, meditated how to undeceive him. Yet when she reflected on the character of Delamere; and remembered that his father would now claim an authority to controul her actions — that one would think himself at liberty to call any man to an account who addressed her, and the other to refuse his consent to any other marriage than that which would be now so advantageous to the family — she saw only inquietude to herself, and hazard to the life so dear to her, should she suffer the passion of Godolphin openly to be avowed.

  ‘Is it not remarkable,’ said Mrs. Stafford, ‘that you should voluntarily have conducted us to France, and by chance escort us home?’

  ‘Yes,’ answered Godolphin.— ‘And a chance so fortunate for me I should think portended some good, was I sanguine, and had I any faith in omens.’

  ‘Are you going immediately to London?’

  ‘Immediately.’

  ‘And from thence to East Cliff?’

  ‘I believe I shall be obliged to stay in town a week or ten days. — But my continuance there shall be longer, if you or Miss Mowbray will employ me.’

  The night now grew cold; and the dew fell so heavily, that Mrs. Stafford expressed her apprehensions that Emmeline would find some ill effects from it, and advised her to go down.

  ‘Oh! no,’ said Godolphin, with uncommon anxiety in his manner— ‘do not go down. There are so many passengers in the cabin, and it is so close, that you will find it extremely disagreeable. It will not now be half an hour before we see the lights of Dover; and we shall presently be on shore.’

  Emmeline, who really apprehended little from cold, acquiesced; and they continued to converse on general topics ‘till they landed.

  Godolphin saw them on shore immediately, and attended them to the inn. He then told them he must go back to see after the baggage, and left them hastily. They ordered a slight refreshment; and when it was brought in, Emmeline said— ‘Shall we not wait for Mr. Godolphin?’

  ‘The Gentleman is come in, Madam,’ said the waiter, ‘with another lady, and is assisting her up stairs. Would you please I should call him?’

  Emmeline felt, without knowing the nature of the sensation, involuntary curiosity and involuntary uneasiness.

  ‘No, do not call him,’ said Mrs. Stafford— ‘I suppose he will be here immediately. But send the French servant to us.’

  Le Limosin attending, she gave him some requisite orders, and then again enquired for Captain Godolphin.

  Le Limosin answered, that he was gone to assist a lady to her room, who had been very ill during the passage.

  ‘Of which nation is she, Le Limosin?’

  ‘I am ignorant of that, Madam, as I have not heard her speak. Monsieur Le Capitaine is very sorry for her, and has attended her the whole way, only the little time he was upon deck.’

  ‘Is she a young lady?’ enquired Mrs. Stafford.

  ‘Yes, very young and pretty.’

  The curiosity of Mrs. Stafford was now, in spite of herself, awakened. And the long stay Godolphin made, gave to Emmeline such acute uneasiness, as she had never felt before. It is extraordinary surely, said she to herself, that he should be thus anxious about an acquaintance made in a pacquet boat.

  She grew more and more disturbed at his absence; and was hardly able to conceal her vexation from Mrs. Stafford, while she was ashamed of discovering it even to herself. In about ten minutes, which had appeared to her above an hour, Godolphin came in; apologised, without accounting, for his stay, and while they made all together a slight repast, enquired how they intended to proceed to London and at what time.

  On hearing that they thought of setting out about noon, in a chaise, he proposed their taking a post coach; ‘and then,’ added he, ‘you may suffer me to occupy the fourth place.’ To this Mrs. Stafford willingly agreed; and Emmeline, glad to find that at least he did not intend waiting on his pacquet boat acquaintance to London, retired with somewhat less uneasiness than she had felt on her first hearing that he had brought such an acquaintance on shore.

  After a few hours sleep, the fair travellers arose to continue their journey. They heard that Mr. Godolphin had long left his room, and was at breakfast with the lady whom he had been so careful of the preceding morning. At this intelligence Emmeline felt all her anxiety revive; and when he came into the room where they were to speak to them, hardly could she command herself to answer him without betraying her emotion.

  ‘Miss Mowbray is fatigued with her voyage,’ said he, tenderly approaching her— ‘The night air I am afraid has affected her health?’

  ‘No, Sir;’ coldly and faintly answered Emmeline.

  ‘How is the young lady you was so good as to assist on shore, Sir?’ said Mrs. Stafford. ‘I understand she was ill.’

  Godolphin blushed; and replied, with some little embarrassment, ‘she is better, Madam, I thank you.’

  ‘So,’ thought Emmeline, ‘he makes then no mystery of having an interest in this lady.’

  ‘Are you acquainted with her?’ enquired Mrs. Stafford.

  ‘Yes.’

  Politeness would not admit of another question: yet it was impossible to help wishing to ask it. Godolphin, however, turned the discourse, and soon afterwards went out. Emmeline felt ready to cry, yet knew not for what, and dreaded to ask herself whether she had not admitted into her heart the tormenting passion of jealousy.

  ‘Why should I be displeased,’ said she. ‘Why should I be unhappy? Mr. Godolphin believes me attached to Delamere, and has ceased to think of me; wherefore should I lament that he thinks of another; or what right have I to enquire into his actions — what right have I to blame them?’

  The post coach was now ready. Emmeline, attended by Madelon, Mrs. Stafford, and Godolphin, got into it, and a lively and animated conversation was carried
on between the two latter. Emmeline, in the approaching interview with her uncle, and in the wretchedness of Delamere, which she never ceased to lament, had employment enough for her thoughts; but in spite of herself they flew perpetually from those subjects to the acquaintance which Captain Godolphin had brought with him from Calais.

  CHAPTER VIII

  When they arrived at Canterbury, the ladies were shewn into a parlour, where Godolphin did not join them for near half an hour. Emmeline had accounted for her lowness of spirits by her dread of meeting her uncle on such terms as they were likely to meet; but Mrs. Stafford knew the human heart too well to be ignorant that there was another and a concealed source of that melancholy which overwhelmed her. It was in vain she had attempted to dissemble. It was, to her friend, evident, that her compassion, her good wishes, were Delamere’s, but that her heart was wholly Godolphin’s, and was now pierced with the poignant thorns of new-born jealousy and anxious mistrust.

  While they waited together the return of Godolphin, Mrs. Stafford said— ‘I fancy that post chaise that passed us about half an hour ago, contained Mr. Godolphin’s acquaintance.’

  ‘Did it? Why do you think so?’

  ‘Because he looked after it so earnestly; and there seemed to be only a young woman in it.’

  ‘I did not observe it indeed,’ replied Emmeline, with the appearance of carelessness.

  ‘I should like to see her nearer,’ continued Mrs. Stafford, with some archness— ‘By the glympse I had of her she appeared to be very handsome.’

  ‘Do you think she is a French woman?’ enquired Emmeline, still affecting great indifference.

  ‘No, she appeared to be English. But if you please I will enquire of him?’

  ‘I beg you will not,’ in an half angry tone, answered Emmeline— ‘I am sure it is very immaterial.’