It was not difficult to obtain Belinda’s forgiveness.
“Indeed,” continued Lady Delacour, “you are too good; but then in my own justification I must say, that I have more things to make me ill-humoured than most people have. Now, my dear, that most obstinate of human beings, Lord Delacour, has reduced me to the most terrible situation — I have made Clarence Hervey buy a pair of horses for me, and I cannot make my Lord Delacour pay for them; but I forgot to tell you that I took your name — not in vain indeed — in this business. I told Clarence, that upon condition he would do this job for me, you would forgive him for all his sins, and — nay, my dear, why do you look as if I had stabbed you to the heart? — after all, I only drew upon your pretty mouth for a few smiles. Pray let me see whether it has actually forgotten how to smile.”
Belinda was too much vexed at this instant to understand raillery. She was inspired by anger with unwonted courage, and, losing all fear of Lady Delacour’s wit, she very seriously expostulated with her ladyship upon having thus used her name without her consent or knowledge. Belinda felt she was now in danger of being led into a situation which might be fatal to her reputation and her happiness; and she was the more surprised at her ladyship, when she recollected the history she had so lately heard of Harriot Freke and Colonel Lawless.
“You cannot but be sensible, Lady Delacour,” said Belinda, “that after the contempt I have heard Mr. Hervey express for match-making with Mrs. Stanhope’s nieces, I should degrade myself by any attempts to attract his attention. No wit, no eloquence, can change my opinion upon this subject — I cannot endure contempt.”
“Very likely — no doubt” — interrupted Lady Delacour; “but if you would only open your eyes, which heroines make it a principle never to do — or else there would be an end of the novel — if you would only open your eyes, you would see that this man is in love with you; and whilst you are afraid of his contempt, he is a hundred times more afraid of yours; and as long as you are each of you in such fear of you know not what, you must excuse me if I indulge myself in a little wholesome raillery.” — Belinda smiled.—”There now; one such smile as that for Clarence Hervey, and I’m out of debt and danger,” said Lady Delacour.
“O Lady Delacour, why, why will you try your power over me in this manner?” said Belinda. “You know that I ought not to be persuaded to do what I am conscious is wrong. But a few days ago you told me yourself that Mr. Hervey is — is not a marrying man; and a woman of your penetration must see that — that he only means to flirt with me. I am not a match for Mr. Hervey in any respect. He is a man of wit and gallantry — I am unpractised in the ways of the world. I was not educated by my aunt Stanhope — I have only been with her a few years — I wish I had never been with her in my life.”
“I’ll take care Mr. Hervey shall know that,” said Lady Delacour; “but in the mean time I do think any fair appraiser of delicate distresses would decide that I am, all the circumstances considered, more to be pitied at this present moment than you are: for the catastrophe of the business evidently is, that I must pay two hundred guineas for the horses somehow or other.”
“I can pay for them,” exclaimed Belinda, “and will with the greatest pleasure. I will not go to the birthnight — my dress is not bespoke. Will two hundred guineas pay for the horses? Oh, take the money — pay Mr. Hervey, dear Lady Delacour, and it will all be right.”
“You are a charming girl,” said Lady Delacour, embracing her; “but how can I answer for it to my conscience, or to your aunt Stanhope, if you don’t appear on the birthnight? That cannot be, my dear; besides, you know Mrs. Franks will send home your drawing-room dress to-day, and it would be so foolish to be presented for nothing — not to go to the birthnight afterwards. If you say a you must say b.”
“Then,” said Belinda, “I will not go to the drawing-room.”—”Not go, my dear! What! throw away fifty guineas for nothing! Really I never saw any one so lavish of her money, and so economic of her smiles.”
“Surely,” said Miss Portman, “it is better for me to throw away fifty guineas, poor as I am, than to hazard the happiness of my life. Your ladyship knows that if I say a to Mr. Hervey, I must say b. No, no, my dear Lady Delacour; here is the draught for two hundred guineas: pay Mr. Hervey, for Heaven’s sake, and there is an end of the business.”
“What a positive child it is! Well, then, it shall not be forced to say the a, b, c, of Cupid’s alphabet, to that terrible pedagogue, Clarence Hervey, till it pleases: but seriously, Miss Portman, I am concerned that you will make me take this draught: it is absolutely robbing you. But Lord Delacour’s the person you must blame — it is all his obstinacy: having once said he would not pay for the horses, he would see them and me and the whole human race expire before he would change his silly mind. — Next month I shall have it in my power, my dear, to repay you with a thousand thanks; and in a few months more we shall have another birthday, and a new star shall appear in the firmament of fashion, and it shall be called Belinda. In the mean time, my dear, upon second thoughts, perhaps we can get Mrs. Franks to dispose of your drawing-room dress to some person of taste, and you may keep your fifty guineas for the next occasion. I’ll see what can be done. — Adieu! a thousand thanks, silly child as you are.”
Mrs. Franks at first declared that it would be an impossibility to dispose of Miss Portman’s dress, though she would do any thing upon earth to oblige Lady Delacour; however, ten guineas made every thing possible. Belinda rejoiced at having, as she thought, extricated herself at so cheap a rate; and well pleased with her own conduct, she wrote to her aunt Stanhope, to inform her of as much of the transaction as she could disclose, without betraying Lady Delacour. “Her ladyship,” she said, “had immediate occasion for two hundred guineas, and to accommodate her with this sum she had given up the idea of going to court.”
The tenor of Miss Portman’s letter will be sufficiently apparent from Mrs. Stanhope’s answer.
MRS. STANHOPE TO MISS PORTMAN.
“Bath, June 2nd.
“I cannot but feel some astonishment, Belinda, at your very extraordinary conduct, and more extraordinary letter. What you can mean by principles and delicacy I own I don’t pretend to understand, when I see you not only forget the respect that is due to the opinions and advice of the aunt to whom you owe every thing; but you take upon yourself to lavish her money, without common honesty. I send you two hundred guineas, and desire you to go to court — you lend my two hundred guineas to Lady Delacour, and inform me that as you think yourself bound in honour to her ladyship, you cannot explain all the particulars to me, otherwise you are sure I should approve of the reasons which have influenced you. Mighty satisfactory, truly! And then, to mend the matter, you tell me that you do not think that in your situation in life it is necessary that you should go to court. Your opinions and mine, you add, differ in many points. Then I must say that you are as ungrateful as you are presumptuous; for I am not such a novice in the affairs of the world as to be ignorant that when a young lady professes to be of a different opinion from her friends, it is only a prelude to something worse. She begins by saying that she is determined to think for herself, and she is determined to act for herself — and then it is all over with her: and all the money, &c. that has been spent upon her education is so much dead loss to her friends.
“Now I look upon it that a young girl who has been brought up, and brought forward in the world as you have been by connexions, is bound to be guided implicitly by them in all her conduct. What should you think of a man who, after he had been brought into parliament by a friend, would go and vote against that friend’s opinions? You do not want sense, Belinda — you perfectly understand me; and consequently your errors I must impute to the defect of your heart, and not of your judgment. I see that, on account of the illness of the princess, the king’s birthday is put off for a fortnight. If you manage properly, and if (unknown to Lady —— , who certainly has not used you well in this business, and to whom therefore you owe no
peculiar delicacy) you make Lord —— sensible how much your aunt Stanhope is disappointed and displeased (as I most truly am) at your intention of missing this opportunity of appearing at court; it is ten to one but his lordship — who has not made it a point to refuse your request, I suppose — will pay you your two hundred guineas. You of course will make proper acknowledgments; but at the same time entreat that his lordship will not commit you with his lady, as she might be offended at your application to him. I understand from an intimate acquaintance of his, that you are a great favourite of his lordship; and though an obstinate, he is a good-natured man, and can have no fear of being governed by you; consequently he will do just as you would have him.
“Then you have an opportunity of representing the thing in the prettiest manner imaginable to Lady —— , as an instance of her lord’s consideration for her: so you will oblige all parties (a very desirable thing) without costing yourself one penny, and go to the birthnight after all: and this only by using a little address, without which nothing is to be done in this world.
“Yours affectionately (if you follow my advice),
“SELINA STANHOPE.”
Belinda, though she could not, consistently with what she thought right, follow the advice so artfully given to her in this epistle, was yet extremely concerned to find that she had incurred the displeasure of an aunt to whom she thought herself under obligations. She resolved to lay by as much as she possibly could, from the interest of her fortune, and to repay the two hundred guineas to Mrs. Stanhope. She was conscious that she had no right to lend this money to Lady Delacour, if her aunt had expressly desired that she should spend it only on her court-dress; but this had not distinctly been expressed when Mrs. Stanhope sent her niece the draft. That lady was in the habit of speaking and writing ambiguously, so that even those who knew her best were frequently in doubt how to interpret her words. Yet she was extremely displeased when her hints and her half-expressed wishes were not understood. Beside the concern she felt from the thoughts of having displeased her aunt, Belinda was both vexed and mortified to perceive that in Clarence Hervey’s manner towards her there was not the change which she had expected that her conduct would naturally produce.
One day she was surprised at his reproaching her for caprice in having given up her intentions of going to court. Lady Delacour’s embarrassment whilst Mr. Hervey spoke, Belinda attributed to her ladyship’s desire that Clarence should not know that she had been obliged to borrow the money to pay him for the horses. Belinda thought that this was a species of mean pride; but she made it a point to keep her ladyship’s secret — she therefore slightly answered Mr. Hervey, “that she wondered that a man who was so well acquainted with the female sex should be surprised at any instance of caprice from a woman.” The conversation then took another turn, and whilst they were talking of indifferent subjects, in came Lord Delacour’s man, Champfort, with Mrs. Stanhope’s draft for two hundred guineas, which the coachmaker’s man had just brought hack because Miss Portman had forgotten to endorse it. Belinda’s astonishment was almost as great at this instant as Lady Delacour’s confusion.
“Come this way, my dear, and we’ll find you a pen and ink. You need not wait, Champfort; but tell the man to wait for the draft — Miss Portman will endorse it immediately.” — And she took Belinda into another room.
“Good Heavens! Has not this money been paid to Mr. Hervey?” exclaimed Belinda.
“No, my dear; but I will take all the blame upon myself, or, which will do just as well for you, throw it all upon my better half. My Lord Delacour would not pay for my new carriage. The coachmaker, insolent animal, would not let it out of his yard without two hundred guineas in ready money. Now you know I had the horses, and what could I do with the horses without the carriage? Clarence Hervey, I knew, could wait for his money better than a poor devil of a coachmaker; so I paid the coachmaker, and a few months sooner or later can make no difference to Clarence, who rolls in gold, my dear — if that will be any comfort to you, as I hope it will.”
“Oh, what will he think of me!” said Belinda.
“Nay, what will he think of me, child!”
“Lady Delacour,” said Belinda, in a firmer tone than she had ever before spoken, “I must insist upon this draft being given to Mr. Hervey.”
“Absolutely impossible, my dear. — I cannot take it from the coachmaker; he has sent home the carriage: the thing’s done, and cannot be undone. But come, since I know nothing else will make you easy, I will take this mighty favour from Mr. Hervey entirely upon my own conscience: you cannot object to that, for you are not the keeper of my conscience. I will tell Clarence the whole business, and do you honour due, my dear: so endorse the check, whilst I go and sound both the praises of your dignity of mind, and simplicity of character, &c. &c. &c. &c.”
Her ladyship broke away from Belinda, returned to Clarence Hervey, and told the whole affair with that peculiar grace with which she knew how to make a good story of a bad one. Clarence was as favourable an auditor at this time as she could possibly have found; for no human being could value money less than he did, and all sense of her ladyship’s meanness was lost in his joy at discovering that Belinda was worthy of his esteem. Now he felt in its fullest extent all the power she had over his heart, and he was upon the point of declaring his attachment to her, when malheureusement Sir Philip Baddely and Mr. Rochfort announced themselves by the noise they made on the staircase. These were the young men who had spoken in such a contemptuous manner at Lady Singleton’s of the match-making Mrs. Stanhope and her nieces. Mr. Hervey was anxious that they should not penetrate into the state of his heart, and he concealed his emotion by instantly assuming that kind of rattling gaiety which always delighted his companions, who were ever in want of some one to set their stagnant ideas in motion. At last they insisted upon carrying Clarence away with them to taste some wines for Sir Philip Baddely.
CHAPTER VII. — THE SERPENTINE RIVER.
In his way to St. James’s street, where the wine-merchant lived, Sir Philip Baddely picked up several young men of his acquaintance, who were all eager to witness a trial of taste, of epicurean taste, between the baronet and Clarence Hervey. Amongst his other accomplishments our hero piqued himself upon the exquisite accuracy of his organs of taste. He neither loved wine, nor was he fond of eating; but at fine dinners, with young men who were real epicures, Hervey gave himself the airs of a connoisseur, and asserted superiority even in judging of wine and sauces. Having gained immortal honour at an entertainment by gravely protesting that some turtle would have been excellent if it had not been done a bubble too much, he presumed, elate as he was with the applauses of the company, to assert, that no man in England had a more correct taste than himself. — Sir Philip Baddely could not passively submit to this arrogance; he loudly proclaimed, that though he would not dispute Mr. Hervey’s judgment as far as eating was concerned, yet he would defy him as a connoisseur in wines, and he offered to submit the competition to any eminent wine-merchant in London, and to some common friend of acknowledged taste and experience. — Mr. Rochfort was chosen as the common friend of acknowledged taste and experience; and a fashionable wine-merchant was pitched upon to decide with him the merits of these candidates for bacchanalian fame. Sir Philip, who was just going to furnish his cellars, was a person of importance to the wine-merchant, who produced accordingly his choicest treasures. Sir Philip and Clarence tasted of all in their turns; Sir Philip with real, and Clarence with affected gravity; and they delivered their opinions of the positive and comparative merits of each. The wine-merchant evidently, as Mr. Hervey thought, leaned towards Sir Philip. “Upon my word, Sir Philip, you are right — that wine is the best I have — you certainly have a most discriminating taste,” said the complaisant wine-merchant.
“I’ll tell you what,” cried Sir Philip, “the thing is this: by Jove! now, there’s no possibility now — no possibility now, by Jove! of imposing upon me.”
“Then,” said Clarence Hervey
, “would you engage to tell the differences between these two wines ten times running, blind-fold?”
“Ten times! that’s nothing,” replied Sir Philip: “yes, fifty times, I would, by Jove!”
But when it came to the trial, Sir Philip had nothing left but oaths in his own favour. Clarence Hervey was victorious; and his sense of the importance of this victory was much increased by the fumes of the wine, which began to operate upon his brain. His triumph was, as he said it ought to be, bacchanalian: he laughed and sang with anacreontic spirit, and finished by declaring that he deserved to be crowned with vine-leaves.
“Dine with me, Clarence,” said Rochfort, “and we’ll crown you with three times three; and,” whispered he to Sir Philip, “we’ll have another trial after dinner.”
“But as it’s not near dinner-time yet — what shall we do with ourselves till dinner-time?” said Sir Philip, yawning pathetically.
Clarence not being used to drink in a morning, though all his companions were, was much affected by the wine, and Rochfort proposed that they should take a turn in the park to cool Hervey’s head. To Hyde-park they repaired; Sir Philip boasting, all the way they walked, of the superior strength of his head.
Clarence protested that his own was stronger than any man’s in England, and observed, that at this instant he walked better than any person in company, Sir Philip Baddely not excepted. Now Sir Philip Baddely was a noted pedestrian, and he immediately challenged our hero to walk with him for any money he pleased. “Done,” said Clarence, “for ten guineas — for any money you please:” and instantly they set out to walk, as Rochfort cried “one, two, three, and away; keep the path, and whichever reaches that elm tree first has it.”
Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth Page 23
