This occasioned an explanation, in the course of which, Madame Duval, to her utter amazement, heard that M. Du Bois had never left London during her absence! nor did Mr Branghton believe that he had ever been to the Tower, or met with any kind of accident.
Almost instantly, the whole truth of the transaction seemed to rush upon her mind, and her wrath was inconceivably violent. She asked me a thousand questions in a breath, but, fortunately, was too vehement to attend to my embarrassment, which must, otherwise, have betrayed my knowledge of the deceit. Revenge was her first wish, and she vowed she would go the next morning to Justice Fielding, and enquire what punishment she might lawfully inflict upon the Captain for his assault.
I believe we were an hour in Bishopsgate-Street, before poor Madame Duval could allow any thing to be mentioned but her own story; at length, however, Mr Branghton told her, that M. Du Bois, and all his own family, were waiting for her at his house. A hackney-coach was then called, and we proceeded to Snow Hill.
Mr Branghton’s house is small and inconvenient, though his shop, which takes in all the ground floor, is large and commodious. I believe I told you before that he is a silver-smith.
We were conducted up two pair of stairs, for the diningroom, Mr Branghton told us, was let. His two daughters, their brother, M. Du Bois, and a young man, were at tea. They had waited some time for Madame Duval, but I found they had not any expectation that I should accompany her; and the young ladies, I believe, were rather more surprised than pleased when I made my appearance; for they seemed hurt that I should see their apartment. Indeed I would willingly have saved them that pain, had it been in my power.
The first person who saw me was M. Du Bois: ‘Ah, mon Dieu!’ exclaimed he, ‘voilà Mademoiselle!’
‘Goodness,’ cried young Branghton, ‘if there is n’t Miss!’
‘Lord, so there is,’ said Miss Polly; ‘well, I’m sure I should never have dreamed of Miss’s coming.’
‘Nor I neither, I’m sure,’ cried Miss Branghton, ‘or else I would not have been in this room to see her; I’m quite ashamed about it, – only not thinking of seeing any body but my aunt – however, Tom, it’s all your fault, for you know very well I wanted to borrow Mr Smith’s room, only you were so grumpy you would not let me.’
‘Lord, what signifies?’ said the brother, ‘I dare be sworn Miss has been up two pair of stairs before now; – Ha’n’t you, Miss?’
I begged that I might not give them the least disturbance, and assured them that I had not any choice in regard to what room we sat in.
‘Well,’ said Miss Polly, ‘when you come next, Miss, we’ll have Mr Smith’s room; and it’s a very pretty one, and only up one pair of stairs, and nicely furnished, and every thing.’
‘To say the truth,’ said Miss Branghton, ‘I thought that my cousin would not, upon any account, have come to town in the summer-time; for it’s not at all the fashion, – so, to be sure, thinks I, she’ll stay till September, when the play-houses open.’
This was my reception, which I believe you will not call a very cordial one. Madame Duval, who, after having severely reprimanded M. Du Bois for his negligence, was just entering upon the story of her misfortunes, now wholly engaged the company.
M. Du Bois listened to her with a look of the utmost horror, repeatedly lifting up his eyes and hands, and exclaiming, ‘O ciel! quel barbare!’* The young ladies gave her the most earnest attention; but their brother, and the young man, kept a broad grin upon their faces during the whole recital. She was, however, too much engaged to observe them: but, when she mentioned having been tied in a ditch, young Branghton, no longer able to constrain himself, burst into a loud laugh, declaring that he had never heard any thing so funny in his life! His laugh was heartily re-echoed by his friend; the Miss Branghtons could not resist the example; and poor Madame Duval, to her extreme amazement, was absolutely overpowered and stopped by the violence of their mirth.
For some minutes the room seemed quite in an uproar; the rage of Madame Duval, the astonishment of M. Du Bois, and the angry interrogatories of Mr Branghton, on one side; the convulsive tittering of the sisters, and the loud laughs of the young men, on the other, occasioned such noise, passion, and confusion, that had any one stopped an instant on the stairs, he must have concluded himself in Bedlam. At length, however, the father brought them to order; and, half laughing, half frightened, they made Madame Duval some very awkward apologies. But she would not be prevailed upon to continue her narrative, till they had protested they were laughing at the Captain, and not at her. Appeased by this, she resumed her story; which, by the help of stuffing handkerchiefs into their mouths, the young people heard with tolerable decency.
Every body agreed, that the ill usage the Captain had given her was actionable, and Mr Branghton said he was sure she might recover what damages she pleased, since she had been put in fear of her life.
She then, with great delight, declared, that she would lose no time in satisfying her revenge, and vowed she would not be contented with less than half his fortune: ‘For though,’ said she, ‘I don’t put no value upon the money, because, Dieu merci, I ha’n’t no want of it, yet I don’t wish for nothing so much as to punish that fellow; for, I’m sure, whatever’s the cause of it, he owes me a great grudge, and I know no more what it’s for than you do, but he’s always been doing me one spite or other, ever since I knew him.’
Soon after tea, Miss Branghton took an opportunity to tell me, in a whisper, that the young man I saw was a lover of her sister’s, that his name was Brown, and that he was a haberdasher, with many other particulars of his circumstances and family; and then she declared her utter aversion to the thoughts of such a match; but added, that her sister had no manner of spirit or ambition, though, for her part, she would ten times rather die an old maid, than marry any person but a gentleman. ‘And, for that matter,’ added she, ‘I believe Polly herself don’t care much for him, only she’s in such a hurry, because, I suppose, she’s a mind to be married before me; however, she’s very welcome, for, I’m sure, I don’t care a pin’s point whether I ever marry at all; – it’s all one to me.’
Some time after this, Miss Polly contrived to tell her story. She assured me, with much tittering, that her sister was in a great fright, lest she should be married first, ‘So I make her believe that I will,’ continued she, ‘for I love dearly to plague her a little; though, I declare, I don’t intend to have Mr Brown in reality; I’m sure I don’t like him half well enough, – do you, Miss?’
‘It is not possible for me to judge of his merits,’ said I, ‘as I am entirely a stranger to him.’
‘But, what do you think of him, Miss?’
‘Why, really, I – I don’t know – ’
‘But do you think him handsome? Some people reckon him to have a good pretty person, – but, I’m sure, for my part, I think he’s monstrous ugly: – don’t you, Miss?’
‘I am no judge, – but I think his person is very – very well.’
‘Very well! – Why, pray, Miss,’ in a tone of vexation, ‘what fault can you find with it?’
‘O, none at all!’
‘I’m sure you must be very ill-natured if you could. Now there’s Biddy says she thinks nothing of him, – but I know it’s all out of spite. You must know, Miss, it makes her as mad as can be, that I should have a lover before her, but she’s so proud that nobody will court her, and I often tell her she’ll die an old maid. But, the thing is, she has taken it into her head, to have a liking for Mr Smith, as lodges on the first floor; but, Lord, he’ll never have her, for he’s quite a fine gentleman; and besides, Mr Brown heard him say, one day, that he’d never marry as long as he lived, for he’d no opinion of matrimony.’
‘And did you tell your sister this?’
‘O, to be sure, I told her directly; but she did not mind me; however, if she will be a fool, she must.’
This extreme want of affection, and good-nature, increased the distaste I already felt for these un
amiable sisters; and a confidence so entirely unsolicited and unnecessary, manifested equally their folly and their want of decency.
I was very glad when the time for our departing arrived. Mr Branghton said our lodgings were in Holborn, that we might be near his house, and neighbourly. He accompanied us to them himself.
Our rooms are large, and not inconvenient; our landlord is a hosier. I am sure I have a thousand reasons to rejoice that I am so little known; for my present situation is, in every respect, very unenviable; and I would not, for the world, be seen by any acquaintance of Mrs Mirvan.
This morning Madame Duval, attended by all the Branghtons, actually went to a Justice in the neighbourhood, to report the Captain’s ill usage of her. I had great difficulty in excusing myself from being of the party, which would have given me very serious concern. Indeed, I was extremely anxious, though at home, till I heard the result of the application; for I dread to think of the uneasiness which such an affair would occasion the amiable Mrs Mirvan. But, fortunately, Madame Duval has received very little encouragement to proceed in her design, for she has been informed that, as she neither heard the voice, nor saw the face of the person suspected, she will find it difficult to cast him upon conjecture, and will have but little probability of gaining her cause, unless she can procure witnesses of the transaction. Mr Branghton, therefore, who has considered all the circumstances of the affair, is of opinion, that the law-suit will not only be expensive, but tedious and hazardous, and has advised against it. Madame Duval, though very unwillingly, has acquiesced in his decision; but vows that if ever she is so affronted again, she will be revenged, even if she ruins herself. I am extremely glad that this ridiculous adventure seems now likely to end without more serious consequences.
Adieu, my dearest Sir. My direction is at Mr Dawkins’s, a hosier in High Holborn.
Letter Ten
Evelina to Miss Mirvan
June 7th
I have no words, my sweet friend, to express the thankfulness I feel for the unbounded kindness which you, your dear mother, and the much-honoured Lady Howard, have shewn me; and still less can I find language to tell you with what reluctance I parted from such dear and generous friends, whose goodness reflects, at once, so much honour on their own hearts, and on her to whom it has been so liberally bestowed. But I will not repeat what I have already written to the kind Mrs Mirvan; I will remember your admonitions, and confine to my own breast that gratitude with which you have filled it, and teach my pen to dwell upon subjects less painful to my generous correspondent.
O Maria, London now seems no longer the same place where I lately enjoyed so much happiness; every thing is new and strange to me; even the town itself has not the same aspect: – my situation so altered! my home so different! – my companions so changed! – But you well know my averseness to this journey.
Indeed, to me, London now seems a desart; that gay and busy appearance it so lately wore, is now succeeded by a look of gloom, fatigue, and lassitude; the air seems stagnant, the heat is intense, the dust intolerable, and the inhabitants illiterate and under-bred. At least, such is the face of things in the part of the town where I at present reside.
Tell me, my dear Maria, do you never re-trace in your memory the time we passed here when together? to mine, it recurs for ever! And yet, I think I rather recollect a dream, or some visionary fancy, than a reality. – That I should ever have been known to Lord Orville, – that I should have spoken to – have danced with him, – seems now a romantic illusion: and that elegant politeness, that flattering attention, that high-bred delicacy, which so much distinguished him above all other men, and which struck us with such admiration, I now re-trace the remembrance of, rather as belonging to an object of ideal perfection, formed by my own imagination, than to a being of the same race and nature as those with whom I at present converse.
I have no news for you, my dear Miss Mirvan; for all that I could venture to say of Madame Duval, I have already written to your sweet mother; and as to adventures, I have none to record. Situated as I now am, I heartily hope I shall not meet with any; my wish is to remain quiet and unnoticed.
Adieu! excuse the gravity of this letter, and believe me,
Your most sincerely
affectionate and obliged
EVELINA ANVILLE
Letter Eleven
Evelina to the Rev. Mr Villars
Holborn, June 9
Yesterday morning, we received an invitation to dine and spend the day at Mr Branghton’s; and M. Du Bois, who was also invited, called to conduct us to Snow Hill.
Young Branghton received us at the door, and the first words he spoke were, ‘Do you know, Sisters a’n’t dressed yet?’
Then, hurrying us into the house, he said to me, ‘Come, Miss, you shall go up stairs and catch ’em, – I dare say they’re at the glass.’
He would have taken my hand, but I declined this civility, and begged to follow Madame Duval. Mr Branghton then appeared, and led the way himself. We went, as before, up two pair of stairs; but the moment the father opened the door, the daughters both gave a loud scream. We all stopped, and then Miss Branghton called out, ‘Lord, Papa, what do you bring the company up here for? why, Polly and I a’n’t half dressed.’
‘More shame for you,’ answered he, ‘here’s your aunt, and cousin, and M. Du Bois, all waiting, and ne’er a room to take them to.’
‘Who’d have thought of their coming so soon?’ cried she: ‘I’m sure for my part I thought Miss was used to nothing but quality hours.’
‘Why, I sha’n’t be ready this half-hour yet,’ said Miss Polly; ‘can’t they stay in the shop, till we’re dressed?’
Mr Branghton was very angry, and scolded them violently; however, we were obliged to descend, and stools were procured for us in the shop, where we found the brother, who was highly delighted, he said, that his sisters had been catched; and he thought proper to entertain me with a long account of their tediousness, and the many quarrels they all had together.
When, at length, these ladies were equipped to their satisfaction, they made their appearance; but before any conversation was suffered to pass between them and us, they had a long and most disagreeable dialogue with their father, to whose reprimands, though so justly incurred, they replied with the utmost pertness and rudeness, while their brother, all the time, laughed aloud.
The moment they perceived this, they were so much provoked, that, instead of making any apologies to Madame Duval, they next began a quarrel with him. ‘Tom, what do you laugh for? I wonder what business you have to be always a-laughing when Papa scolds us.’
‘Then what business have you to be such a while getting on your cloaths? You’re never ready, you know well enough.’
‘Lord, Sir, I wonder what that’s to you! I wish you’d mind your own affairs, and not trouble yourself about ours. How should a boy like you know any thing?’
‘A boy, indeed! not such a boy, neither; I’ll warrant you’ll be glad to be as young, when you come to be old maids.’
This sort of dialogue we were amused with till dinner was ready, when we again mounted up two pair of stairs.
In our way, Miss Polly told me that her sister had asked Mr Smith for his room to dine in, but he had refused to lend it; ‘because,’ she said, ‘one day it happened to be a little greased: however, we shall have it to drink tea in, and then, perhaps, you may see him, and I assure you he’s quite like one of the quality, and dresses as fine, and goes to balls and dances, and every thing quite in taste; – and besides, Miss, he keeps a foot-boy of his own, too.’
The dinner was ill-served, ill-cooked, and ill-managed. The maid who waited had so often to go down stairs for something that was forgotten, that the Branghtons were perpetually obliged to rise from table themselves, to get plates, knives and forks, bread or beer. Had they been without pretensions, all this would have seemed of no consequence; but they aimed at appearing to advantage, and even fancied they succeeded. However, the most disagreeable
part of our fare was, that the whole family continually disputed whose turn it was to rise, and whose to be allowed to sit still.
When this meal was over, Madame Duval, ever eager to discourse upon her travels, entered into an argument with Mr Branghton, and in broken English, M. Du Bois, concerning the French nation: and Miss Polly, then addressing herself to me, said, ‘Don’t you think, Miss, it’s very dull sitting up stairs here? we’d better go down to shop, and then we shall see the people go by.’
‘Lord, Poll,’ said the brother, ‘you’re always wanting to be staring and gaping; and I’m sure you need n’t be so fond of shewing yourself, for you’re ugly enough to frighten a horse.’
‘Ugly, indeed! I wonder which is best, you or me. But, I tell you what, Tom, you’ve no need to give yourself such airs, for if you do, I’ll tell Miss of you know what – ’
‘Who cares if you do? you may tell what you will; I don’t mind – ’
‘Indeed,’ cried I, ‘I do not desire to hear any secrets.’
‘O, but I’m resolved I’ll tell you, because Tom’s so very spiteful. You must know, Miss, t’other night – ’
‘Poll,’ cried the brother, ‘if you tell of that, Miss shall know all about your meeting young Brown, – you know when! – So I’ll be quits with you, one way or another.’
Miss Polly coloured, and again proposed our going down stairs till Mr Smith’s room was ready for our reception.
‘Aye, so we will,’ said Miss Branghton; ‘I’ll assure you, Cousin, we have some very genteel people pass by our shop sometimes. Polly and I always go and sit there, when we’ve cleaned ourselves.’
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