After they had left her Joseph acquainted Bertha, that a chaise would be there early the next morning, and desired she might have breakfast ready for the lady.
Matilda had but little rest; her journey, the circumstance of such an awkward situation, as a self-introduction amongst entire strangers, to one so little accustomed to company as she was, gave her much pain; yet on the other hand, she ought to consider that in her unfriended, unprotected state, an asylum, such as was now offered to her, must be desirable and advantageous; and that as in this life we seldom meet with pleasure or happiness, without some alloy, she ought to be thankful for the good, and submit to temporary inconveniences without murmuring. She arose early; her heart was depressed when she reflected on the uncertain fate of the lady to whose kindness she was indebted for her present hopes and expectations: "Ah!" cried she, "heaven bless you, dearest lady, wherever you are, and may Providence one day restore you to felicity and your friends." She quitted the apartment with a flood of tears, and coming, found the breakfast ready, and soon after a chaise at the gate; Joseph conveyed her portmantua and box to the carriage; Albert stared a little at the latter, but said nothing.
She shook hands with the worthy couple, tears running down their cheeks at parting with so gentle a lady, she having liberally rewarded their kindness, and previously concerted a correspondence with Joseph, if any thing new occurred at the castle, and receiving advice from him how to manage at the post-houses about carriages and horses.
A few days after her departure, Joseph went to the neighbouring town, to procure a few necessaries, and, proud of his present, went upon the horse, instead of his old friend the ass. Whilst he was there, a gentleman came up to him, and, viewing the beast very attentively, asked him if the horse was his. Joseph answered in the affirmative. "Will you sell it?" demanded he. "No, Sir," replied the other, "I cannot sell it." "How long have you had it?" "Some time," said Joseph, roughly, and rode off, not liking the stranger's curiosity. He was however followed at a distance, and had scarcely put the horse into the stable, and entered the kitchen, before a knocking at the door was heard, and Joseph saw the same gentleman who was so inquisitive, with another, who had the appearance of a servant, enter the room. "Do not be alarmed," said the stranger, "I want to ask you a few questions, which, if you answer truly, no harm shall happen to you, else you must look to the consequence; tell me from whom you had the horse I saw you ride, and how long it has been in your possession? At your peril answer me with truth." Before Joseph could recollect himself to answer this demand Bertha fell on her knees, "O, Sir, do not hurt my poor husband, and I will tell you all." "Be quiet, wife," said Joseph, "I will answer for myself. I had the horse from a man, a friend of mine." "What was his name?" "Sir, I humbly think that is no concern of yours." "Villain!" cried the gentleman, "tell me this instant, or I will send you and your wife to prison, for the horse was stolen from me." "O, the Lord be gracious unto us," exclaimed Bertha, "the man's name was Albert, Sir; we are innocent indeed we are." "I believe it," said the other, very mildly; "you look like an honest woman, and I will reward you handsomely, if you speak truth. William, take care of the man, I will go into another room with this good woman." "Bertha!" cried Joseph, the stranger led her away into the parlour, she crying and begging no harm might happen to Joseph. He quieted her fears on that head, and then asked if Albert was in the house. "No, indeed, Sir," answered she; "he went away four days ago, in a chaise with the young lady." "Ah!" cried he, "that is the very thing I wished to know; and where are they gone, my friend?" "Alack, Sir, I believe they be gone to Parish, or some place like that." "The devil!" exclaimed he, "to Paris. Well, and are they to return here?" "O, no, Sir," returned Bertha; "no such good luck to us, for to be sure she was as generous as an empress."
He then returned to the kitchen, where Joseph sat very sullen; "I tell you what, friend, I believe you may be innocent; but the lady you have had here is my niece, who has eloped from my care, and seduced my servant to steal the horse you rode today, and go off with her; I am now in search of her, and if I can find her, and she will return, I shall receive her with kindness and joy, and forgive every thing; therefore, if you can tell me where she is, you will do her a great piece of service, I assure you; some wicked person has persuaded her to run away." "Sir," said Joseph, firmly, "I heard the lady say she was going to travel, - it was not my business to be impertinent and ask questions." "But you know where she is." "I do not, Sir," answered he, "I cannot tell where she is, nor the places she is going to travel through." "You know she is gone to Paris?" "Yes, Sir; but I heard her say she should not stay there, but travel further; and this is all I know. As to the horse, if you can prove it yours, give me a receipt, and you may take it." "No, my friend," replied the gentleman, "keep it for your use, but if you should ever hear from, or see Albert or the lady, and will let me know, I will give you a hundred crowns." "O, the goodness," cried Bertha, "bless your honour, you shall surely know." "What say you," said he, turning to Joseph. "I say, Sir, money would not tempt me to do a wrong thing, but as you say it will be for the young lady's advantage, to do her service I will obey you."
The gentleman appeared satisfied, and writing his address, whilst he desired Joseph to get a little wine and water for him, he whispered to Bertha, "Get every thing you can out of your husband, and I will make your fortune; my man shall call again tomorrow." Having drank his wine, he took a civil leave, and, giving Bertha two crowns, rode off.
"Lord!" cried she, when he was gone, what luck attends us! what a kind gentleman; how sorry I am he didn't come before the poor lady went away." "So am not I," answered Joseph; "I don't like him at all; he has a smooth speech to be sure, but if he was good, neither madam nor Albert would have run away I dare say: however I shan't ride the horse any more, "till I know to whom he does belong." Bertha tried every way to find if he knew where the lady was gone, but he evaded all her questions, and though he loved his old woman dearly, yet he knew she could not be entrusted with a secret; not that she would discover from ill-nature, but from a garrulity natural to old age, and a desire of obliging any one who wanted information from her.
Joseph, in the early part of his life, had obtained a tolerable education, and had better expectations, but the wars had carried off his friends and little possessions; he was glad therefore, in a humble state, to earn his bread, and be contented with the situation Providence had ordained for him; but his sentiments were above his condition, and he prized his word, and kept it when pledged with much more exactness than a fine gentleman does his honour, when given to a favourite lady, or a humble tradesman: Joseph therefore persevered in his integrity, but thought there would be no harm in writing what had passed that day to the young lady, and take her directions how to conduct himself, for he had a perfect reliance on her truth, and thought only ill treatment could have induced her to quit an uncle's house, without a friend to help her.
The following day the gentleman's servant made his appearance, but to little purpose for though Joseph was in the garden, Bertha had gained no information; but she told all she did know of the lady's coming there, the ghosts disturbing her the first night, her subsequent courage, her kindness and sudden resolution to leave them, and that she heard her say something about going to travel to Parish, but she knew no more, and she was sure Joseph knew no more than she - how should he? he never spoke twenty words to the lady. He asked who was the owner of the castle, she told his name, and with a present of another crown he took leave. Bertha looked at the money, "Ah!" said she what a pity now I can't tell where she is; a hundred of these would make one happy for life."
A very few days after this the old couple were at dinner, when they heard the trampling of horses; they hastily opened the door, and beheld, to their great astonishment a carriage with three attendants, and in the carriage Joseph saw his master, Count Wolfenbach: struck with wonder, he forgot to tender his services, but stood staring at him until he alighted. Being conducted into the parlour, one of the horsemen wi
th him, "Friend Joseph," said he, "I have sold this estate, and next month another family will take possession of it." "Good Lord!" cried Joseph, "what will become of me and Bertha?" "Don't be uneasy, friend Joseph, I shall take care of you; I have another estate in Suabia, a fine house and gardens, in perfect order Bertha and you shall have the care of it, with a servant under her to keep it clean, and a man under you to work in the gardens - what say you to that?" "I am much obliged to your Lordship " answered the honest man; 'tis rather late in life for me to travel, but I must obey your pleasure, and if you have not already got a man and woman there, I know a very industrious couple hard by, the only friends we have, who will be glad to go with us " "By all means," said the Count, eagerly, "but pray are you pretty quiet now; do the ghosts trouble you, as has been foolishly talked of?" "I am seldom disturbed, my Lord," answered Joseph; "I never saw nor heard any ghosts." "I believe not," said the Count; "the silly imagination of some people conjure up frightful fancies, and endeavor to impose them upon others as realities; but pray Joseph how soon can you leave this house? my man Peter will go with you to the other; you will find a much better habitation, and can take your friends with you." "In about a week, my Lord, I shall be ready." "Not sooner?" "I must speak to my friends; we must get our little domestic business put in order, and then we shall be fit to go comfortably, though 'tis a long journey for old folks, my Lord." "Nothing at all nothing at all," said his Lordship; "Peter will see you safe. We shall be with you next week use all the dispatch you can, for I have alterations to make in the house, before I give it up."
The Count and his attendants mounted their horses and rode off, leaving Joseph in great perplexity. Bertha, ignorant of the events which caused his uneasiness, was well pleased to change her abode for a better one, and was in a violent hurry to call on Pierre and Jaqueline, but Joseph requested she would wait another day, "till he had considered the matter. He well knew, that if the Count visited the other wing, he must be sensible that it had been lately inhabited. If he was innocent of his conjectures, and unconcerned in the late transactions he would judge unfavourably of Joseph; if, on the contrary, he had any hand in carrying off the lady and murdering her attendant, the removal of the body would convince him some person must have been there; his suspicions would naturally fall on himself, and perhaps he might be sacrificed also. These considerations greatly distressed Joseph; every way he saw perplexity and vexation, and was afraid to throw himself into the Count's power, though he saw no chance of avoiding it. He had been every day to the other apartments, except the preceding one, and found every thing tranquil; but now that the Count was in the neighbourhood, he was afraid to go: yet he thought the only way to avoid suspicion, or impending evils, would be to replace the body on the bed, at all events.
Endeavouring to derive courage from necessity, he trembling ventured to the private passage, but, to his surprise and horror, the lamps were all extinguished; he knew they must have been put out, otherwise they would have lasted that day; he therefore hastily turned back, and regained the house. After a little deliberation he went up the staircase, and opening every apartment very softly till he came to the door which led to the gallery of the other wing, he found it fastened on the other side. This circumstance confirmed his fears: he listened some time, and plainly heard voices, but could distinguish nothing; he then retreated with the same care, locking up all the doors on the outside, for whether it was the Count and his servant, or a set of banditti, he thought his situation equally dangerous.
Poor Joseph could not communicate his fears to Bertha, and therefore his uneasiness passed off for indisposition, but he had a sleepless night.
The next morning he went to the post town, and, to his great joy, received a letter from Matilda. She was safe at Paris; and the Marquis and his Lady, under the greatest apprehensions for their sister; convinced she would never return to the castle, should she be alive, and grateful to their old friend Joseph, offered him and his wife an asylum at their house, thinking they might one day or other be sacrificed to the Count's revenge.
Scarcely had he read this letter, when he saw Peter, the Count's servant, coming towards him; he had the paper still in his hand, "So, Joseph, you have been at the post, I see." "Yes," answered he, with as much ease as he could assume; "I hear now and then from a sister of mine, who is in service at Paris: but is my Lord here in this town, Peter?" "Yes," replied he, "his Lordship is settling some business with his tenants." "Well," said Joseph, "next week we shall be ready to go, Peter." "Very well," cried the other, with a smile, and they parted.
On Joseph's return to his house, he began to consider of his removal; he was sure he could not depend on the Count, but how to get away without his knowledge was the difficulty; after much deliberation, he took his resolution and going to Bertha, told her the Lady Matilda was in Paris, and had sent for them to live with her. She was out of her wits with joy: "O," cried she, "that will be a thousand times better than living in the Count's house; yes, yes, let's go, the sooner the better, say I." "But," said Joseph, "you must not say a word to the Count, or any body, for the world." She promised secrecy, and they began to contrive about taking away their little matters, and setting off in a day or two. That night Joseph thought to get some rest, though his fears still remained, and kept him waking for some hours: about midnight he dropped asleep, but was soon awakened by a great smoke and a terrible smell of fire. He hastily got up, and opening the door, the flames burst in upon him; he ran to the bed and called Bertha to follow him; she jumped out, as he thought, for that purpose: he got into the court, and saw the other wing also on fire, and presently the building he came out of fell in. He called Bertha; alas! she was smothered in the ruins. The whole building was now in flames. He ran to the stable, got the horse, and riding through the wood as fast as possible, a contrary way from the town, he stopped not till he came to the foot of a mountain; with difficulty he crept off his horse, and threw himself on the ground. "Bertha! my dear Bertha, I have lost thee for ever; I am now a poor forlorn creature, without a friend in the world: why did I fly, - why did I not perish in the fire with my wife? What a coward I am! O, that cursed Count, this is all his doings; I expected he would seek my death, but poor Bertha, she was unconscious of offence to the barbarian, yet she is gone, and I am left desolate who ought to have been the sufferer." Exhausted by grief and lassitude the wretched old man lay almost motionless for some hours when Providence conducted a carriage that way, with a lady and gentleman in it, and two attendants on horseback. Seeing the horse grazing and an elderly man lying on the ground, the gentleman stopped the carriage, and sent a servant to him: he explained his situation in a brief manner, which when the domestic informed his master of, he ordered he should be brought and put into the carriage, and the horse led on by the servant to their seat.
We will now return to Matilda, who with her faithful Albert, arrived at Paris without meeting any accident. They soon found the Hotel de Melfont, and Matilda writing a short billet to the Marchioness, reposed herself a little after the fatigue of her journey.
In less than three hours the Marchioness arrived in her carriage, and entered the room with that delight in her countenance which plainly testified the pleasure she expected to receive in the company of her young friend; she flew towards her, and embraced her with a warmth that affected the grateful heart of Matilda to tears. "Welcome, a thousand times welcome, my dear Miss Weimar; the friend of my poor sister must be the friend of my heart! Charming girl!" said she, gazing on her, "that countenance needs no recommendation; what do I not owe my Victoria. Matilda, in returning her caresses, involuntarily started and repeated Victoria! "Yes, my love, that is my sister's name; you know her only as the unhappy Countess of Wolfenbach, I suppose: but let me see your faithful Albert, to whom I hear you are greatly indebted." "I am indeed madam," replied Matilda, "my whole life at present is and must be a state of obligation." "Dismiss that idea, my dear Miss Weimar, and feel that you have the power of obliging in your society those
whose study it will be to convince you how grateful they are for the favour you confer on them." Matilda bowed and kissed the hand of the Marchioness, with an expression in her eyes that spoke volumes to the heart. Albert now entered the room; My good friend, said the Lady, "I hope you are well; I wished to see you, to thank you for your services to this young lady. I humbly thank your ladyship cried Albert, "but I have only done my duty, and when you know my mistress you will think so, for she deserves all the world should serve her." "I doubt it not," replied the Lady, "and after my first care to render your mistress happy, my second shall be to make the remainder of your days comfortable." Neither Matilda nor Albert could refrain from tears. Come, come," said the Marchioness, "let us be gone; my carriage waits; the Marquis is impatient to see you, and I have a thousand questions to ask about my dear sister." All! thought Matilda, how shall I unfold the dismal tale - how must I wound a bosom so tender and affectionate! This reflection threw her into a melancholy reverie, as the carriage drove off The Marchioness observed it, and taking her hand, "We are not strangers, my dear Miss Weimar; I have only been to meet my younger sister and introduce her to my husband, already prepared to love her." Matilda, overcome by a reception so kind, cried out, whilst sobs spoke the genuine feelings of her heart, "Dear madam, you oppress me with your generosity and goodness: O that I may be found, on further knowledge, to deserve your good opinion." "I am persuaded of it," replied the other, "and if you please," added she, with a smile, "here ends the chapter of favours, obligations, and such kind of stuff, as I have an utter aversion to." By this time they were arrived at the hotel, and the Marchioness led her young friend to the saloon, where the Marquis sat expecting them. "Here, my Lord, permit me to introduce to you my younger sister; I bespeak your affection for her, and think you will find no difficulty in bestowing it." "You judge right, my beloved Charlotte: your sister claims a double share of my esteem from her own merit, legible in her countenance and your introduction." Having saluted and led her to a chair: "I am charmed," added he, "that our dear Victoria has procured us such a delightful companion; she must have sacrificed a great deal to give us pleasure, in losing your society." Matilda unable any longer to repress her feelings, burst into tears. Both were alarmed; the Marchioness, taking her hand, Dear Miss Weimar, you have something in your spirits; tell me, pray tell me, did you leave my sister well? you have, I think, avoided mentioning her " "Ah! madam," she replied, "I am very unfortunate that my introduction to you must occasion pain and sorrow; yet I trust the dear lady will be the care of Providence, though alas! I know not where she is. Not know where she is?" exclaimed the Marchioness, "good heavens! has she then left the castle?" Matilda then entered into a detail of every event that had happened at the castle, the death of the attendant, and the absence of the Countess. Perceiving the agitation and distress of her auditors, she added, "I have little doubt of the poor Lady's safety, from a persuasion that if any ill was intended towards her, they would have destroyed her, as well as the servant." "You judge very properly, my dear Miss Weimar: be comforted, my Charlotte; your friend's observation is founded on truth and reason; I hope, e'er long we shall hear from the injured sufferer, or else," said he, raising his voice, "by heavens! neither oaths nor promises shall prevent me from publicly calling on the Count to produce her." This threat alarmed his Lady, and suspended her grief. "Tell me, my sweet girl, are you in her confidence - do you know my sister's story?" "Indeed, madam, I do not; Joseph, whom I have mentioned, is the only one acquainted with her woes, and he is bound by oath not to reveal them without her leave; unfortunately I postponed a recital which otherwise might have been a clue to trace her now." "Dear unhappy sister!" cried the Marchioness, "how severe has been your punishment! Another time, my beloved Miss Weimar, I will acquaint you with all I know relative to her situation: I trust heaven will protect her, and therefore I will not sadden your heart now, nor give you only sighs and tears for your reception, when we wish to make you cheerful and happy." With a deep sigh, which she endeavoured, though in vain, to repress, she conducted Matilda to the apartments appropriated for her, and embracing her, "You are dearer to me than ever; the child of misfortune, as you just now styled yourself, and the friend of my sister, has entire possession of my heart; love me but half as well as I feel inclined to do you, and I shall be very happy." Matilda replied in the most affectionate and grateful terms. The Marchioness insisted upon her taking a few hours rest, previous to their meeting at supper.
The Complete Northanger Horrid Novel Collection (9 Books of Gothic Romance and Horror) Page 5
