‘My Lord,’ cried Mrs Selwyn, advancing to us, ‘you don’t consider, that the better Miss Anville looks, the more striking is the contrast with your Lordship; therefore, for your own sake, I would advise you not to hold her.’
‘Egad, my Lord,’ cried Mr Coverley, ‘I don’t see what right you have to the best old, and the best young woman too, in the same day.’
‘Best young woman!’ repeated Mr Lovel; ‘’pon honour, Jack, you have made a most unfortunate speech; however, if Lady Louisa can pardon you, – and her Ladyship is all goodness, – I am sure nobody else can, for you have committed an outrageous solecism in good manners.’
‘And pray, Sir,’ said Mrs Selwyn, ‘under what denomination may your own speech pass?’
Mr Lovel, turning another way, affected not to hear her: and Mr Coverley, bowing to Lady Louisa, said, ‘Her Ladyship is well acquainted with my devotion, – but egad, I don’t know how it is, – I had always an unlucky turn at an epigram, and never could resist a smart play upon words in my life.’
‘Pray, my Lord,’ cried I, ‘let go my hand! pray, Mrs Selwyn, speak for me.’
‘My Lord,’ said Mrs Selwyn, ‘in detaining Miss Anville any longer, you only lose time, for we are already as well convinced of your valour and your strength as if you were to hold her an age.’
‘My Lord,’ said Mrs Beaumont, ‘I must beg leave to interfere; I know not if Lady Louisa can pardon you, but, as this young Lady is at my house, I do not chuse to have her made uneasy.’
‘I pardon him!’ cried Lady Louisa, ‘I declare I am monstrous glad to get rid of him.’
‘Egad, my Lord,’ cried Mr Coverley, ‘while you are grasping at a shadow, you’ll lose a substance; you’d best make your peace while you can.’
‘Pray, Mr Coverley, be quiet,’ said Lady Louisa, peevishly, ‘for I declare I won’t speak to him. Brother,’ (taking hold of Lord Orville’s arm) ‘will you walk in with me?’
‘Would to Heaven,’ cried I, frightened to see how much Lord Merton was in liquor, ‘that I, too, had a brother! – and then I should not be exposed to such treatment!’
Lord Orville, instantly quitting Lady Louisa, said, ‘Will Miss Anville allow me the honour of taking that title?’ and then, without waiting for any answer, he disengaged me from Lord Merton, and, handing me to Lady Louisa, ‘Let me,’ added he, ‘take equal care of both my sisters;’ and then, desiring her to take hold of one arm, and begging me to make use of the other, we reached the house in a moment. Lord Merton, disordered as he was, attempted not to stop us.
As soon as we entered the house I withdrew my arm, and courtsied my thanks, for my heart was too full for speech. Lady Louisa, evidently hurt at her brother’s condescension, and piqued extremely by Lord Merton’s behaviour, silently drew away her’s, and biting her lips, with a look of infinite vexation, walked sullenly up the hall.
Lord Orville asked her if she would not go into the parlour?
‘No,’ answered she, haughtily; ‘I leave you and your new sister together;’ and then she walked up stairs.
I was quite confounded at the pride and rudeness of this speech. Lord Orville himself seemed thunderstruck; I turned from him, and went into the parlour; he followed me, saying, ‘Must I, now, apologize to Miss Anville for the liberty of my interference? – or ought I to apologize that I did not, as I wished, interfere sooner?’
‘O my Lord,’ cried I, with an emotion I could not repress, ‘it is from you alone I meet with any respect, – all others treat me with impertinence or contempt!’
I am sorry I had not more command of myself, as he had reason, just then, to suppose I particularly meant his sister; which, I am sure, must very much hurt him.
‘Good Heaven,’ cried he, ‘that so much sweetness and merit can fail to excite the love and admiration so justly their due! I cannot, – I dare not express to you half the indignation I feel at this moment!’
‘I am sorry, my Lord,’ said I, more calmly, ‘to have raised it; but yet, – in a situation that calls for protection, to meet only with mortifications, – indeed, I am but ill formed to bear them!’
‘My dear Miss Anville,’ cried he, warmly, ‘allow me to be your friend; think of me as if I were indeed your brother, and let me entreat you to accept my best services, if there is any thing in which I can be so happy as to shew my regard, – my respect for you!’
Before I had time to speak, the rest of the party entered the parlour, and, as I did not wish to see any thing more of Lord Merton, at least before he had slept, I determined to leave it. Lord Orville, seeing my design, said, as I passed him, ‘Will you go?’ ‘Had not I best, my Lord?’ said I. ‘I am afraid,’ said he, smiling, ‘since I must now speak as your brother, I am afraid you had; – you see you may trust me, since I can advise against my own interest.’
I then left the room, and have been writing ever since. And methinks I can never lament the rudeness of Lord Merton, as it has more than ever confirmed to me the esteem of Lord Orville.
Letter Eight
Evelina in continuation
Sept. 30
Oh Sir, what a strange incident have I to recite! what a field of conjecture to open!
Yesterday evening, we all went to an assembly. Lord Orville presented tickets to the whole family, and did me the honour, to the no small surprise of all here, I believe, to dance with me. But every day abounds in fresh instances of his condescending politeness, and he now takes every opportunity of calling me his friend, and his sister.
Lord Merton offered a ticket to Lady Louisa; but she was so much incensed against him, that she refused it with the utmost disdain; neither could he prevail upon her to dance with him; she sat still the whole evening, and deigned not to look at, or speak to him. To me, her behaviour is almost the same, for she is cold, distant, and haughty, and her eyes express the greatest contempt. But for Lord Orville, how miserable would my residence here make me!
We were joined, in the ball-room, by Mr Coverley, Mr Lovel, and Lord Merton, who looked as if he was doing penance, and sat all the evening next to Lady Louisa, vainly endeavouring to appease her anger.
Lord Orville began the minuets; he danced with a young Lady who seemed to engage the general attention, as she had not been seen here before. She is pretty, and looks mild and good-humoured.
‘Pray, Mr Lovel,’ said Lady Louisa, ‘who is that?’
‘Miss Belmont,’ answered he, ‘the young heiress; she came to the Wells yesterday.’
Struck with the name, I involuntarily repeated it, but nobody heard me.
‘What is her family?’ said Mrs Beaumont.
‘Have you not heard of her, Ma’am?’ cried he, ‘she is only daughter and heiress of Sir John Belmont.’
Good Heaven, how did I start! the name struck my ear like a thunder-bolt. Mrs Selwyn, who immediately looked at me, said, ‘Be calm, my dear, and we will learn the truth of all this.’
Till then, I had never imagined her to be acquainted with my story; but she has since told me, that she knew my unhappy mother, and was well informed of the whole affair.
She asked Mr Lovel a multitude of questions, and I gathered from his answers, that this young Lady was just come from abroad, with Sir John Belmont, who was now in London; that she was under the care of his sister, Mrs Paterson; and that she would inherit a considerable estate.
I cannot express the strange feelings with which I was agitated during this recital. What, my dearest Sir, can it possibly mean? Did you ever hear of any after-marriage? – or must I suppose, that, while the lawful child is rejected, another is adopted? – I know not what to think! I am bewildered with a contrariety of ideas!
When we came home, Mrs Selwyn passed more than an hour in my room, conversing upon this subject. She says that I ought instantly to go to town, find out my father, and have the affair cleared up. She assures me I have too strong a resemblance to my dear, though unknown mother, to allow of the least hesitation in my being owned, when once I am seen. For my part, I h
ave no wish but to act by your direction.
I cannot give any account of the evening; so disturbed, so occupied am I by this subject, that I can think of no other. I have entreated Mrs Selwyn to observe the strictest secrecy, and she has promised that she will. Indeed, she has too much sense to be idly communicative.
Lord Orville took notice of my being absent and silent, but I ventured not to entrust him with the cause. Fortunately, he was not of the party at the time Mr Lovel made the discovery.
Mrs Selwyn says that if you approve my going to town, she will herself accompany me. I had a thousand times rather ask the protection of Mrs Mirvan, but, after this offer, that will not be possible.
Adieu, my dearest Sir. I am sure you will write immediately, and I shall be all impatience till your letter arrives.
Letter Nine
Evelina in continuation
Oct. 1st
Good God, my dear Sir, what a wonderful tale have I again to relate! even yet, I am not recovered from my extreme surprise.
Yesterday morning, as soon as I had finished my hasty letter, I was summoned to attend a walking party to the Hotwells. It consisted only of Mrs Selwyn and Lord Orville. The latter walked by my side all the way, and his conversation dissipated my uneasiness, and insensibly restored my serenity.
At the Pump-room, I saw Mr Macartney; I courtsied to him twice ere he would speak to me. When he did, I began to apologize for having disappointed him; but I did not find it very easy to excuse myself, as Lord Orville’s eyes, with an expression of anxiety that distressed me, turned from him to me, and me to him, every word I spoke. Convinced, however, that I had really trifled with Mr Macartney, I scrupled not to beg his pardon. He was then, not merely appeased, but even grateful.
He requested me to see him to-morrow: but I had not the folly to be again guilty of an indiscretion which had, already, caused me so much uneasiness; and therefore, I told him, frankly, that it was not in my power, at present, to see him, but by accident; and, to prevent his being offended, I hinted to him the reason I could not receive him as I wished to do.
When I had satisfied both him and myself upon this subject, I turned to Lord Orville, and saw, with concern, the gravity of his countenance; I would have spoken to him, but knew not how; I believe, however, he read my thoughts, for, in a little time, with a sort of serious smile, he said, ‘Does not Mr Macartney complain of his disappointment?’
‘Not much, my Lord.’
‘And how have you appeased him?’ Finding I hesitated what to answer, ‘Am I not your brother,’ continued he, ‘and must I not enquire into your affairs?’
‘Certainly, my Lord,’ said I, laughing, ‘I only wish it were better worth your Lordship’s while.’
‘Let me, then, make immediate use of my privilege. When shall you see Mr Macartney again?’
‘Indeed, my Lord, I can’t tell.’
‘But, – do you know that I shall not suffer my sister to make a private appointment?’
‘Pray, my Lord,’ cried I, earnestly, ‘use that word no more! Indeed you shock me extremely.’
‘That would I not do for the world,’ cried he; ‘yet you know not how warmly, how deeply I am interested, not only in all your concerns, but in all your actions.’
This speech, – the most particular one Lord Orville had ever made to me, ended our conversation at that time; for I was too much struck by it to make any answer.
Soon after, Mr Macartney, in a low voice, entreated me not to deny him the gratification of returning the money. While he was speaking, the young Lady I saw yesterday at the assembly, with the large party, entered the Pump-room. Mr Macartney turned as pale as death, his voice faltered, and he seemed not to know what he said. I was myself almost equally disturbed, by the crowd of confused ideas that occurred to me. Good Heaven, thought I, why should he be thus agitated? – is it possible this can be the young Lady he loved? –
In a few minutes, we quitted the Pump-room, and though I twice wished Mr Macartney good morning, he was so absent he did not hear me.
We did not immediately return to Clifton, as Mrs Selwyn had business at a pamphlet-shop. While she was looking at some new poems, Lord Orville again asked me when I should see Mr Macartney?
‘Indeed, my Lord,’ cried I, ‘I know not, but I would give the universe for a few moments conversation with him!’ I spoke this with a simple sincerity, and was not aware of the force of my own words.
‘The universe!’ repeated he, ‘Good God, Miss Anville, do you say this to me?’
‘I would say it,’ returned I, ‘to any body, my Lord.’
‘I beg your pardon,’ said he, in a voice that shewed him ill pleased, ‘I am answered!’
‘My Lord,’ cried I, ‘you must not judge hardly of me. I spoke inadvertently; but if you knew the painful suspense I suffer at this moment, you would not be surprised at what I have said.’
‘And would a meeting with Mr Macartney relieve you from that suspense?’
‘Yes, my Lord, two words might be sufficient.’
‘Would to Heaven,’ cried he, after a short pause, ‘that I were worthy to know their import!’
‘Worthy, my Lord! – O, if that were all, your Lordship could ask nothing I should not be ready to answer! If I were but at liberty to speak, I should be proud of your Lordship’s enquiries; but indeed I am not, I have not any right to communicate the affairs of Mr Macartney, – your Lordship cannot suppose I have.’
‘I will own to you,’ answered he, ‘I know not what to suppose; yet there seems a frankness even in your mystery, – and such an air of openness in your countenance, that I am willing to hope – ’ He stopped a moment, and then added, ‘This meeting, you say, is essential to your repose?’
‘I did not say that, my Lord; but yet I have the most important reasons for wishing to speak to him.’
He paused a few minutes, and then said, with warmth, ‘Yes, you shall speak to him! – I will myself assist you! – Miss Anville, I am sure, cannot form a wish against propriety, I will ask no questions, I will rely upon her own purity, and uninformed, blindfold as I am, I will serve her with all my power!’ And then he went into the shop, leaving me so strangely affected by his generous behaviour, that I almost wished to follow him with my thanks.
When Mrs Selwyn had transacted her affairs, we returned home.
The moment dinner was over, Lord Orville went out, and did not come back till just as we were summoned to supper. This is the longest time he has spent from the house since I have been at Clifton, and you cannot imagine, my dear Sir, how much I missed him. I scarce knew before how infinitely I am indebted to him alone for the happiness I have enjoyed since I have been at Mrs Beaumont’s.
As I generally go down stairs last, he came to me the moment the ladies had passed by, and said, ‘Shall you be at home to-morrow morning?’
‘I believe so, my Lord.’
‘And will you, then, receive a visitor for me?’
‘For you, my Lord!’
‘Yes; – I have made acquaintance with Mr Macartney, and he has promised to call upon me to-morrow about three o’clock.’
And then, taking my hand, he led me down stairs.
O Sir! – was there ever such another man as Lord Orville? – Yes, one other now resides at Berry Hill!
This morning there has been a great deal of company here, but at the time appointed by Lord Orville, doubtless with that consideration, the parlour is almost always empty, as every body is dressing.
Mrs Beaumont, however, was not gone up stairs, when Mr Macartney sent in his name.
Lord Orville immediately said, ‘Beg the favour of him to walk in. You see, Madam, that I consider myself as at home.’
‘I hope so,’ answered Mrs Beaumont, ‘or I should be very uneasy.’
Mr Macartney then entered. I believe we both felt very conscious to whom the visit was paid: but Lord Orville received him as his own guest, and not merely entertained him as such while Mrs Beaumont remained in the room, but f
or some time after she had left it: a delicacy that saved me from the embarrassment I should have felt, had he immediately quitted us.
In a few minutes, however, he gave Mr Macartney a book, – for I, too, by way of pretence for continuing in the room, pretended to be reading, – and begged he would be so good as to look it over, while he answered a note, which he would dispatch in a few minutes, and return to him.
When he was gone, we both parted with our books, and Mr Macartney, again producing the paper with the money, besought me to accept it.
‘Pray,’ said I, still declining, it, ‘did you know the young lady who came into the Pump-room yesterday morning?’
‘Know her!’ repeated he, changing colour, ‘Oh, but too well!’
‘Indeed!’
‘Why, Madam, do you ask?’
‘I must beseech you to satisfy me further upon this subject; pray tell me who she is.’
‘Inviolably as I meant to keep my secret, I can refuse you, Madam, nothing; – that lady – is the daughter of Sir John Belmont! – of my father!’
‘Gracious Heaven!’ cried I, involuntarily laying my hand on his arm, ‘you are then – ’, my brother, I would have said, but my voice failed me, and I burst into tears.
‘Oh, Madam,’ cried he, ‘what does this mean? – What can thus distress you?’
I could not answer, but held out my hand to him. He seemed greatly surprised, and talked in high terms of my condescension.
‘Spare yourself,’ cried I, wiping my eyes, ‘spare yourself this mistake, – you have a right to all I can do for you; the similarity of our circumstances – ’
We were then interrupted by the entrance of Mrs Selwyn; and Mr Macartney, finding no probability of our being left alone, was obliged to take leave, though I believe, very reluctantly, while in such suspence.
Mrs Selwyn then, by dint of interrogatories, drew from me the state of this affair. She is so penetrating, that there is no possibility of evading to give her satisfaction.
Is not this a strange event? Good Heaven, how little did I think that the visits I so unwillingly paid at Mr Branghton’s would have introduced me to so near a relation! I will never again regret the time I spent in town this summer: a circumstance so fortunate will always make me think of it with pleasure.
Evelina Page 37
