“I have determined, in order to be near Dr. W —— , without residing immediately in London, to take an house at Hampstead, and my upholsterer informs me he has found one that answers my description. Mr. Vyvian has, in his cold way, assented to my engaging it, taking care, however, to let me understand, at the same time, that he thought my not being well or able to live in London was a mere whim, and that the air of Hampstead was not at all better than at his house in Park Lane, or even so good. Till now I did not know he had taken an house in Park Lane, instead of that in Brook Street; but, alas! my dear old friend, there are many other reasons, besides the difference of the air, that will make me adhere to my intention of going to Hampstead. It is an unpleasant circumstance surely to be a cypher in one’s own house, and such I am become; now that my son, my dear Charles, is gone, I feel that there is nobody here that is at all attentive to me. The Miss Vyvians, young as they are, are introduced into the world by their father, or their father’s friends: the countenance of a mother seems not necessary to them; they are fumed, I believe, with spirits to enjoy all the pleasures of gay life, and seem to fear, from me, that interruption which certainly it is not my intention to give them. The eldest, though not yet sixteen, her father thinks of marrying to a man of high rank, with whom she got acquainted while she was with her father’s sister in Yorkshire. He has not, however, the title to which he is to succeed; but his uncle, whose heir he is, is old and without children, and having some political connection, I know not what, with Mr. Vyvian, it is by them that this union is proposed, while the mother of the young man, who had an immense fortune in her own disposal, has hitherto shown a disinclination to the match, in the persuasion that my daughter is still a Catholic. I have learned these particulars from persons who are in their confidence, which I am not, and I easily comprehend that his intended connection adds a strong reason to many others why the father and the daughter would be quite as well pleased if we saw no more of each other, during the winter, than we have done for these two last summers. Do not, however, grieve for me, my dear Catharine; you know my sufferings, and you know how I am enabled to bear them. From Mr. Vyvian why should I expect kindness? I am thankful that my lot is not yet more bitter than it is. It would be a great pleasure to me, should your affairs allow you to settle in the neigh bourhood where I have determined, for the present, to fix my residence. I am, as you well know, no great judge of such matters; but, I believe, from all the inquiries I have been able to make, that you would not, in point of economy, find the difference so great between living near London and in a country town as you may perhaps imagine; at least not to a family, which would not, I imagine, enter much into the card-playing societies of the village, but would live a good deal retired, though, considering your two unmarried daughters, you could not, perhaps, be quite such a recluse as I shall be, who, except my nephew Montalbert, whose stay, however, in England will not be long, shall probably live for weeks together without seeing any body but my confessor.”
“The rest of the letter, (said Mrs. Lessington, as she put it into her pocket), is of condolence, and so forth, on Mr. Lessington’s death.”
“And is there no other mention of me in it?” said Rosalie.
“No, not any other, (answered her mother coldly); but what, does that make you sigh?”
“Indeed it does, Ma’am, (answered she); for how can I help lamenting that Mrs. Vyvian, who used to love me so, seems, and indeed has long seemed, entirely to forget me.”
“O, when she sees you again, she will recollect her former partiality for you. You know that my friend is so wrapped up in a particular set of notions, and such an enthusiast in her religion, that she thinks it a very wrong thing to be much attached to any body, and endeavours to wean herself from all affections that may prevent her giving up her whole heart to God; and really, considering the way in which her family treat her, I really think it is extremely fortunate that her tender heart and weak spirits have taken that turn; otherwise to be treated, poor dear woman, as she is, to have such a husband, and such children, would certainly break her heart.”
“Though her daughters, (said Rosalie gravely), are certainly very unlike what she could with them, I believe her son is dutiful and affectionate — I never saw any thing wrong in him.”
“You never saw, (repeated her mother) — I dare say — it is very becoming in you, to be sure, Rosalie, to enter on his defense. I wish I may be mistaken, but I am much afraid that her son will no more contribute to her happiness than her daughters: however, the boy is gone now, thank God, and at least will not give her the sort of uneasiness she would have felt, could she have known of his behaviour while he was here.”
“What behaviour, dear Madam?” said Rosalie, who wished to know the extent of her mother’s suspicions.
“What behaviour — why, did he not talk a great deal of nonsense to you? —
Did he not pretend to make love to you?”
“No, upon my word, (answered she); he said a great many civil things, and foolish things, if you please to call them so, but nothing that was at all like making love to me.”
Mrs. Lessington then put an end to the conversation, by saying, that as he was now gone abroad for some years, it did not much signify what boyish nonsense he had talked, since it had gone no further; and Rosalie left her, well pleased to find from what she had said that her intention of removing her family to Hampstead was confirmed by this letter from her old friend, and that she meant almost immediately to put it in execution.
In a fortnight afterwards, all their arrangements being made, they departed for ever from a part of the country where Mrs. Lessington had resided about seven and twenty years, or rather from her native country, for she was born not far from Holmwood House. She left it, however, with much less regret than people usually feel on quitting a spot to which they have long been habituated. Miss Maria — or, to speak more properly, Miss Lessington, for she was now the eldest unmarried sister, was pleased with a change which offered her a prospect of seeing London, where she had never been for more than two or three days.
The Abbé Hayward, dismissed by Mr. Vyvian from Holmwood, had now left that venerable edifice to servants. The way of the Lessington family to the next post-town lay through the park; as Rosalie passed this scene of her former happiness, a thousand mournful thoughts crowded on her recollection, but she consoled herself with the thoughts of being soon near Mrs. Vyvian, and that she was going where, since Charles Vyvian would no longer be there to alarm the vigilance of her mother, she hoped to be allowed the innocent pleasure of conversing with Montalbert, without the necessity of contrivances that she felt to be unworthy of both.
CHAPTER 8
MRS. Vyvian arrived at the house she had taken at Hampstead a few days after the family of Mrs. Lessington had become inhabitants of that village. The description of the first meeting between her and her old friend may be given best in Rosalie’s own words to Montalbert; whom, it was agreed, should not appear immediately on their arrival. “At length I have seen her, my friend — this dear Mrs. Vyvian — so nearly related to you, and therefore dear to me — the first and best friend of my childhood; for I never recollect having received so many proofs of affection from my mother as from her......Ah! Montalbert, how is she changed since I saw her last; yet it is but a little while, not yet two years; but trouble, as she said with a melancholy yet sweet smile, makes greater havoc in the constitution than time. I do not know, Montalbert, whether it is her being so nearly related to you, or the memory of her past kindness, or both, but to me there is an attraction about Mrs. Vyvian that I never was conscious of in any other person. The eminent beauty she once possessed is gone, and its ruins only remain, but the delicacy, the faded loveliness of her whole form, is, perhaps, more interesting than the most animated bloom of youth and health. She had not spirits for the first two days after her arrival to receive us all. My mother only was admitted to see her. Yesterday, however, my sister and I were allowed to attend her at an early hour of
the afternoon. Maria was going to the play with a family who live here, who are distantly related to the husband of one of my sisters, and who imagined, and perhaps not without reason, that to make parties for us to visit public places is the first kindness they can show to some of the family. Only Maria, however, accepted this invitation, for I had hopes of passing the evening with Mrs. Vyvian; a pleasure I would not have exchanged for the most brilliant spectacle that London offers.
“How can Mr. Vyvian treat this charming woman with coldness, even with cruelty, as I am afraid he does, though my mother says she never complains? — How is it possible that her daughters can neglect her? — Were I her daughter, I think it would be the greatest happiness of my life to watch her very wishes before she could express them, and to relieve that languor which always seems to hang over her spirits, and cloud the brilliancy of an understanding naturally so good. But I have heard, Montalbert, she was compelled to resign the man to whom she was attached, and to marry Mr. Vyvian, who, though he knew her reluctance, was determined to persevere. Strange that there can be found a human being so selfish as to act thus, and then treat with cruelty the victim whom he has thus forced into his power. I hope I shall never again see this man, for I feel such an antipathy to him that it would really be painful to me. As to the young ladies, I find they are frequently to visit their mother, but I shall avoid them as much as possible, for they are so much changed since we played together as children of the same family, that there is no longer any affection probably between us — I shall be despised as the daughter of a country curate; and though, I hope, I am not proud, I do not love to be despised......Ah! Montalbert, it is your partiality that has, perhaps, taught me to feel this sensation more than I ought to do. The little rustic thinks that she is preferred by Montalbert, and forgets her humility.
“I thank you, most sincerely thank you, for your forbearance. Believe me, a little self-denial now will greatly accelerate the security with which we may see each other hereafter. My mother has so little idea of your having any partiality to me, that she seems quite easy now Charles Vyvian is gone, and, except that she still thinks I have done extremely wrong in refusing to encourage the addresses of Hughson, she seldom dwells on what is passed. From present appearances, my dear friend, it seems as if we should be fortunate enough to pass a few tranquil and pleasant hours in the society of each other before you go to Italy; alas! they will be but transient — for yesterday, Mrs. Vyvian, in speaking of my drawing, and recommending to my mother to procure me a good master, she said, ‘When my nephew, Montalbert, goes back, as he must now do very soon, since I find his mother is become very impatient at his long stay, he shall send over some chalks and crayons, for Rosalie, much better than can be found in London.’ — If either of them had looked at me, at that moment, they would have remarked, that I did not hear with indifference the name of Montalbert, but fortunately I escaped observation, and soon recovered myself.
“It is long, very long, since any circumstance has given me such pleasure as being restored to my beloved benefactress, yet she says little to me; she makes no professions of that kindness towards me, which, I believe, has not been lessened even by our long separation; but there is an affection in her manner which I cannot describe. She is civiller to my sister than to me; but she addresses her as Miss Lessington, while she calls me Rosalie. I recollect that it is her name, and it seems in her mouth to have peculiar charms.
“I have passed, perhaps, too much time since I left her in reflecting how happy I might be, could I be related to this dear woman without opposition from the more near relations of Montalbert. You have often told me, that you love her as a mother, though only the half sister of your father. The sweetness of her manners, even that weak health, and that air of pensive sorrow, which her own children, at least her daughters, seem to consider as the effect of bigotry or unsociable humour, make her to me an object of tenderer attention. O Montalbert! what delight it would be to me to soothe the hours which are embittered by matrimonial discord, and, I fear, by filial neglect.
“Yet, while I think thus, perhaps I am continuing a correspondence with you, that may be displeasing to her, that may add to her solicitude, and deprive her of the satisfaction of seeing her nephew married to a woman of equal rank and of his own church. This reflection is extremely bitter to me, and it occurs the oftener, because I see with what alarm she thinks of her son’s making any other alliance than what his father would choose for him; though it is very certain that ambition only will govern him, and that, in regard to religion, she cannot, if Mr. Vyvian dictates, be gratified.
“I shall hardly hear from you, Montalbert, again, before you will be here. As now I expect you, I shall not, I think, betray myself when we meet. — Till then, my dear friend, farewell!”
That she was totally destitute of fortune gave not a moment’s concern to Rosalie; dependent wholly on her mother, and likely, in case of her death, to be left wholly destitute on the world, since the share she had of Mr. Lessington’s fortune was to go to her other children at her decease, she felt not the least uneasiness as to pecuniary circumstances, but, with easy faith of youth, trusted that the attachment of her lover would save her from every distress, and that before she should be deprived of her surviving parent, whose life was apparently a very good one, she should be the wife of Montalbert.
He now saw her almost every day, for as he had always been attentive to Mrs. Vyvian, there was nothing remarkable in his frequent visits to her; nor was it strange that he should renew his slight acquaintance with her friends.
Miss Lessington, whose acquaintance increased every day, had continual invitations to stay at the houses of some of them for several nights together. Rosalie failed not sometimes to receive the same kind of complements, but she generally declined them, saying, that she could not leave her mother alone: but, in fact, she had no wish to mix in those societies, or to enter into those public amusements, which gave so much pleasure to her sister. While Maria, apprehensive of the superior elegance of Rosalie, showed a visible disinclination to her joining the these parties, and gradually discouraged her friends from giving these invitations, by observing, that her sister was of a very reserved turn; that she had formed connections in a very different sphere of life from the rest of her family; and that it was merely giving her the trouble to find excuses, to invite her to scenes or society for which she had a decided repugnance.
In a very short time, therefore, the attornies and brokers wives, to whom Mr. Blagham had introduced the family, forbore to attempt engaging a young woman who they imagined gave herself airs, and was extremely proud and reserved. —— Miss Lessington was left in undisturbed possession of all the admiration the set of men that belonged to these “worshipful societies” had to bestow, and Rosalie at liberty to pass her time in company much more agreeable to her.
Her mother, less refined, and loving cards rather too much, was not equally difficult as to her companions; though she had really as much affection for Mrs. Vyvian as she was capable of feeling for any body, she could not help being sometimes sensible of a want of variety. Her friend’s piety and estrangement from the world made her, as good Mrs. Lessington sometimes thought, rather respectable than amusing, and instead of such long visits from her confessor, Mrs. Lessington secretly wished for another, that they might make up a rubber. Insensibly she became acquainted with some “mighty agreeable people” in the village, who never played high, but were happy to make a little snug party just to pass away the long evenings. One of these parties introduced a second, a second a third, till Mrs. Lessington could hardly spare one in a week to pass with her friend Mrs. Vyvian, who, when Rosalie was with her, seemed, however, to be scarce sensible of the absence of her mother.
But from that unfortunate prepossession received early in life, that to deny herself the most innocent gratifications were sacrifices acceptable to Heaven, Mrs. Vyvian frequently abstained from indulging herself with the cheerful conversation of Rosalie, who then, as her mother
was so frequently out, and now went occasionally to London for two or three days among her own and her eldest daughter’s friends, was left at home, and the visits of Montalbert were uninterrupted, and without inquiry. To be continually in presence of a beloved object, to see or suppose that his attachment every moment becomes stronger, to listen to arguments to which the heart yields but too ready an assent, was a situation of all others the most dangerous for a young woman who had not seen her nineteenth year. Montalbert, besides the advantages of a very handsome person, had the most insinuating manners and the most interesting address: he was naturally eloquent — love rendered his eloquence doubly formidable; and Rosalie had nothing to oppose to his earnest entreaties for a secret marriage, but the arms with which he had himself furnished her — the fear of discovery on the part of his mother, which he owned would injure, indeed ruin, his future prospects in life. This he still acknowledged, but averred that it was impossible his mother, who resided in Naples, should know that he was married in England. Rosalie represented, that if Mrs. Vyvian knew it, it must inevitably be known to her. Montalbert insisted that there was no necessity of Mrs. Vyvian’s knowing any thing about it. Rosalie entreated that he would first go to Italy, without risking the displeasure of a parent on whom he depended. Montalbert declared, he should be wretched to leave her; that he did not know how to acquire resolution enough to absent himself, leaving her, perhaps, exposed to the persecution of other lovers, which it distracted him only to think of, while he passed the miserable hours in which he should be absent from her, in anxiety, in torture, which, if she was once securely his, would be infinitely less insupportable.
Charlotte Smith- Collected Poetical Works Page 215
