Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth

by Maria Edgeworth

  Better satisfied with herself after this refusal of the earl, and in better spirits than she had been for some months, she flattered herself with the hopes that Frederick would call upon her again before he left Cheltenham; he would then know that Lord Bradstone was no longer her lover.

  She fell asleep full of these imaginations — dreamed of Frederick and Elmour Grove — but this was only a dream. The next day — and the next — and the next — passed without her seeing or hearing any thing of Frederick; and the fourth day, as she rode by the house where the Elmours had lodged, she saw put up in the parlour window an advertisement of “Lodgings to be let.” She was now convinced that Frederick had left Cheltenham — left it without thinking of her or of Lord Bradstone. The young Lady Bradstones observed that she scarcely spoke a word during the remainder of her morning’s ride. At night she was attacked with a feverish complaint: the image of the beautiful person whom she had seen in the coach that passed while she was walking with Frederick, was now continually before her eyes. She had made all the inquiries she could, to find out who that young lady might be; but this point could not be ascertained, because, though she described the lady accurately, she was not equally exact about the description of the carriage. The arms and livery had totally escaped her observation. The different conjectures that had been made by the various people to whom she had applied, and the voices in which their answers were given, ran in her head all this feverish night.

  “Perhaps it was Lady Susanna Quin — very likely it was Lady Mary Lowther — very possibly Miss Grant; you know she goes about with old Mrs. Grant in a yellow coach — but there are so many yellow coaches — the arms or the livery would settle the point at once.” These words, the arms and the livery would settle the point at once, she repeated to herself perpetually, though without annexing any ideas to the words. In short, she was very feverish all night; and in the morning, though she endeavoured to rise, she was obliged to lie down again. She was confined to her bed for about a week: Lady Bradstone sent for the best physicians; and the young ladies, in the intervals of dressing and going out, whenever they could remember it, came into Miss Turnbull’s room to “hope she found herself better.” It was obvious to her that no one person in the house cared a straw about her, and she was oppressed with the sense of being an encumbrance to the whole family. Whilst she was alone she formed many projects for her future life, which she resolved to execute as soon as she should recover. She determined immediately to go down to her own house in the country, and to write to Ellen a recantation of all her fine lady errors. She composed, whilst she lay on her feverish pillow, twenty letters to her former friend, each of them more eloquent and magnanimous than the other: but in proportion as her fever left her, the activity of her imagination abated, and with it her eloquence and magnanimity. Her mind, naturally weak, and now enfeebled by disease, became quite passive, and received and yielded to the impressions made by external circumstances. New trains of ideas, perfectly different from those which had occupied her mind during her fever, and in the days preceding her illness, were excited during her convalescence. She lay listening to, or rather hearing, the conversation of the young Lady Bradstones. They used to come into her room at night, and stay for some time whilst they had their hair curled, and talked over the events of the day — whom they had met — what dresses they had worn — what matches were on the tapis, &c. They happened one night to amuse themselves with reading an old newspaper, in which they came to an account of a splendid masquerade, which had been given the preceding winter in London by a rich heiress.

  “Lord! what charming entertainments Miss Turnbull might give if she pleased. Why, do you know, she is richer than this woman,” whispered Lady Bab; “and she is of age now, you know. If I were she, I’m sure I’d have a house of my own, and the finest I could get in London. Now such a house as my aunt Pierrepoint’s — and servants — and carriages — and I would make myself of some consequence.”

  This speech was not lost upon our heroine; and the whisper in which it was spoken increased its effect. The next day, as Lady Bab was sitting at the foot of Almeria’s bed, she asked for a description of “my aunt Pierrepoint’s house.” It was given to her con amore, and a character of “my aunt Pierrepoint” was added gratis. “She is the most charming amiable woman in the world — quite a different sort of person from mamma. She has lived all her life about court, and she is connected with all the great people, and a prodigious favourite at court — and she is of such consequence! — You cannot imagine of what consequence she is!”

  Lady Gabriella then continued the conversation, by telling Miss Turnbull a great secret, that her aunt Pierrepoint and her mother were not on the best terms in the world: “for mamma’s so violent, you know, about politics, and quite on a contrary side to my aunt. Mamma never goes to court; and, between you and me, they say she would not be received. Now that is a shocking thing for us; but the most provoking part of the business is, that mamma won’t let my aunt Pierrepoint present us. Why, when she cannot or will not go to the drawing-room herself, what could be more proper, you know, than to let us be presented by Lady Pierrepoint? — Lady Pierrepoint, you know, who is such a prodigious favourite, and knows every thing in the world that’s proper at court, and every where: it really is monstrous of mamma! Now if you were in our places, should not you be quite provoked? By-the-bye, you never were presented at court yourself, were you?”

  “Never,” said Almeria, with a sudden feeling of mortification.

  “No, you could not — of course you could not, living with mamma as you do; for I am sure she would quarrel with an angel for just only talking of going to court. Lord! if I was as rich as you, what beautiful birthday dresses I would have!”

  These and similar conversations wrought powerfully upon the weak mind of our poor heroine. She rose from her bed after her illness wondering what had become of her passion for Frederick Elmour: certainly she was now able to console herself for his loss, by the hopes of being presented at court, and of being dressed with uncommon splendour. She was surprised at this change in her own mind; but she justified it to herself by the reflection, that it would show an unbecoming want of spirit to retain any remains of regard for one who had treated her with so much coldness and indifference, and who in all probability was attached to another woman. Pride and resentment succeeded to tenderness; and she resolved to show Frederick and Ellen that she could be happy her own way. It is remarkable that her friendship for the sister always increased or decreased with her love for her brother. Ambition, as it has often been observed, is a passion that frequently succeeds to love, though love seldom follows ambition. Almeria, who had now recovered her strength, was one morning sitting in her own room, meditating arrangements for the next winter’s campaign, when she was roused by the voices of Lady Bab and Lady Kitty at her room door.

  “Miss Turnbull! Miss Turnbull! come! come! — Here’s the king and queen and all the royal family, and my aunt Pierrepoint — come quick to our dressing-room windows, or they will be out of sight.”

  The fair hoydens seized her between them, and dragged her away.

  “Mamma says it’s horribly vulgar to run to the windows, but never mind that. There’s my aunt Pierrepoint’s coach — is not it handsome? — Oh! everything about her is so handsome! — you know she has lived all her life at court.”

  The eulogiums of these young ladies, and the sight of Lady Pierrepoint’s entry in to Cheltenham in the wake of royalty, and the huzzas of the mob, and the curiosity of all ranks who crowded the public walks in the evening, to see the illustrious guest, contributed to raise our heroine’s enthusiasm. She was rather surprised afterwards to observe that Lady Pierrepoint passed her sister and nieces, on the public walk, without taking the slightest notice of them; her head was turned indeed quite another way when she passed, and she was in smiling conversation with one of her own party.

  Lady Gabriella whispered, “My aunt Pierrepoint cannot know us now, because we are with mamma
.”

  Miss Turnbull now, for the first time, saw Lady Bradstone in a situation in which she was neglected; this served to accelerate the decline and fall of her ladyship’s power over her mind. She began to consider her not as a person by whom she had been brought into notice in the circles of fashion, but as one by whom she was prevented from rising to a higher orbit. Lady Bradstone went to see her sister the day after her arrival, but she was not at home. Some days afterwards Lady Pierrepoint returned her visit: she came in a sedan chair, because she did not wish that her carriage should be seen standing at Lady Bradstone’s door. It was incumbent upon her to take every possible precaution to prevent the suspicion of her being biassed by sisterly affection; her sister and she were unfortunately of such different opinions in politics, and her sister’s politics were so much disapproved of, where Lady Pierrepoint most wished for approbation, that she could not, consistently with her principles or interest, countenance them, by appearing in public with one so obnoxious.

  Miss Turn bull observed, with the most minute attention, every word and gesture of Lady Pierrepoint. At first view, her ladyship appeared all smiling ease and affability; but in all her motions, even in those of her face, there was something that resembled a puppet — her very smiles, and the turns of her eyes, seemed to be governed by unseen wires. Upon still closer observation, however, there was reason to suspect that this puppet might be regulated by a mind within, of some sort or other; for it could not only answer questions by a voice of its own, and apparently without being prompted, but moreover it seemed to hesitate, and to take time for thought, before it hazarded any reply. Lady Pierrepoint spoke always as if she thought her words would be repeated, and must lead to consequences; and there was an air of vast circumspection and mystery about her, which appeared sublime or ridiculous according to the light in which it was considered. To our heroine it appeared sublime. Her ladyship’s conversation, if a set of unmeaning phrases be deserving of that name, at length turned upon the concern she felt that it had not been in her power to procure an increase of pension for a certain Mrs. Vickars. “Such a respectable character! — the widow of a distant relation of the Pierrepoints.” There was no probability, after all the interest and influence she had used, she said, that Mrs. Vickars could ever be gratified in the line she had attempted; that therefore it was her ladyship’s advice to her to look out for some situation of an eligible description, which might relieve her from the distressing apprehension of appearing burdensome or importunate.

  As well as her ladyship’s meaning could be made out, cleared from the superfluity of words with which it was covered, she wished to get rid of this poor widow, and to fasten her as an humble companion upon any body who would be troubled with such a respectable character! Miss Turnbull foresaw the possibility of obliging her ladyship by means of Mrs. Vickars: for as she proposed to purchase a house in town, it would be convenient to her to have some companion; and this lady, who was of a certain age, and who had always lived in the best company, would be well suited to serve as her chaperon. To do our heroine justice, considering that she was unpractised in manoeuvring with court ladies, she conducted her scheme with a degree of address worthy of her object. Through the medium of Lady Bab and Lady Gabriella, she opened a correspondence with Lady Pierrepoint. Mrs. Vickars was introduced to Miss Turnbull — liked her prodigiously; and Lady Pierrepoint was most happy in the prospect of her relation’s being so eligibly situated. In proportion as Miss Turnbull advanced in the good graces of Lady Pierrepoint, she receded from Lady Bradstone. This lady’s indignation, which had been excited against Almeria by her not siding with her against her daughters, now rose to the highest pitch, when she perceived what was going on. No crime could in her eyes be greater than that of seceding from her party. Her violence in party matters was heightened by the desire to contrast herself with her sister Pierrepoint’s courtly policy. Lady Bradstone, all the time, knew and cared very little about politics, except so far as they afforded her opportunities for the display of spirit and eloquence. She had a fine flow of words, and loved to engage in argument, especially as she had often been told by gentlemen that her enthusiasm became her extremely, and that, even if a man could resist the force of her arguments, he must yield to the fire of her eyes. It happened that Miss Turnbull was present one day when Lady Bradstone had been unusually warm in a political argument, and Lady Pierrepoint as cool and guarded as her sister was eager. Almeria was appealed to, and gave judgment in favour of Lady Pierrepoint, who happened to be in the right. Regardless of right or wrong, Lady Bradstone became more and more vehement, whilst Lady Pierrepoint sat in all the composed superiority of silence, maintaining the most edifying meekness of countenance imaginable, as if it were incumbent on her to be, or at least to seem, penitent for a sister’s perversity. She sighed deeply when the tirade was finished, and fixed her eyes upon her beautiful niece Gabriella. Lady Gabriella immediately filled up the pause by declaring that she knew nothing of politics and hoped she never should, for that she did not know of what use they were to women, except to prevent them from going to court.

  Lady Bradstone expressed high indignation at perceiving that her daughters thought more of dancing at a birthnight ball than of the good of the nation.

  Mrs. Vickars, who was present, now interposed a word as mediatrix, observing, that it was natural for the young ladies at their age: and Miss Turnbull, catching or imitating something of the tone of Lady Pierrepoint, ventured to add, that “it was a pity that Lady Bradstone’s daughters did not enjoy all the advantages of their high rank, and that she really wished Lady Bradstone could be prevailed upon to enter into conciliatory measures.”

  On hearing this speech, Lady Bradstone, no longer able to restrain her anger within the bounds of politeness, exclaimed, “I am not surprised at receiving such advice from you, Miss Turnbull; but I own I am astonished at hearing such sentiments from my daughters. High sentiments are to be expected from high birth.”

  How Lady Bradstone contrived to make her aristocratic pride of birth agree with her democratic principles, it may be difficult to explain; but fortunately the idea of preserving consistency never disturbed her self-complacency. Besides, to keep her ladyship in countenance, there are so many examples of persons who live as royalists and talk as republicans.

  Almeria could not brook the affront implied by Lady Bradstone’s last speech; and matters were now brought to a crisis: she resolved not to remain longer in a house where she was exposed to such insults. She was of “age, and, thank Heaven! independent.”

  Lady Bradstone made no opposition to her determination; but congratulated her upon the prospect of becoming independent.

  “I agree with you, Miss Turnbull, in thanking Heaven for making me independent. Independence of mind, of course,” added she, “I value above independence of purse.”

  Whatever vexation our heroine might feel from this speech, and from the perfect indifference with which Lady Bradstone parted from her, was compensated by the belief that she had by her conduct this evening ingratiated herself with Lady Pierrepoint. She was confirmed in this opinion by Mrs. Vickars, who said that her ladyship afterwards spoke of Miss Turnbull as a very judicious and safe young person, whom she should not scruple to protect. She was even so condescending as to interest herself about the house in town, which Miss Turnbull talked of purchasing: she knew that a noble friend of hers, who was going on a foreign embassy, had thoughts of parting with his house; and it would certainly suit Miss Turnbull, if she could compass the purchase. Almeria felt herself highly honoured by her ladyship’s taking a concern in any of her affairs; and she begged of Mrs. Vickars to say, that “expense was no object to her.” She consequently paid a few hundred guineas more than the value of the house, for the honour of Lady Pierrepoint’s interference. Her ladyship saw into the weakness of our heroine’s character, and determined to make advantage of it. It was a maxim of hers, that there is no person so insignificant, but some advantage may be made of them; and she had
acted upon this principle through life, sometimes so as to excite in the minds of the ignorant a high admiration of her affability. It is said, that when Lady Pierrepoint was asked why she married, she replied, “To increase my consequence, and strengthen my connexions.”

  Perhaps this speech was made for her by some malicious wit; but it is certain that she never upon any occasion of her life neglected an opportunity of acting upon this principle. She was anxious with this view to have as many dependents as possible: and she well knew that those who were ambitious of a curtsy from her at the playhouse, or a whisper at the opera, were as effectually her dependents as the mendicants at her door, who are in want of a shilling. The poor may be held in the iron fetters of necessity, but the rich are dragged behind the car of fashion by the golden chains of vanity.

  The summer in the life of a fine lady is a season comparatively of so little consequence, that the judicious historian may pass over some months of it without their being missed in the records of time. He hastens to the busy and important season of winter.

  Our heroine took possession of her magnificent house in town: and Mrs. Vickars was established as arbitratrix elegantiarum.

  This lady deemed herself a judge in the last appeal of every thing that became a person of fashion; and her claim to infallibility upon those points was established by her being fourth cousin to Lady Pierrepoint. Almeria soon discovered in her companion an inordinate love of power, and an irritability of temper, which misfortunes and ill health had increased to such a degree that it required more than the patience of a female Job to live with her upon good terms. Martyrs in the cause of vanity certainly exhibit wonderful, if not admirable, fortitude, in the midst of the absurd and extravagant torments which they inflict upon themselves. Our heroine endured for a whole season, without any outward complaint, but with many an inward groan, the penance which she had imposed upon herself: the extent of it can be comprehended only by those who have been doomed to live with a thoroughly ill-tempered woman. The reward was surely proportioned to the sufferings. Miss Turnbull received a smile, or a nod, or something like a curtsy from Lady Pierrepoint, whenever she met her in public; her ladyship’s cards were occasionally left at the Yorkshire heiress’s door; and she sometimes honoured Miss Turnbull’s crowded rooms, by crowding them still more with her august presence. There was further reason to hope, that her ladyship might be induced to present Almeria at court before the next birthday. All these advantages were to be attributed to Mrs. Vickars, for she was the connecting link between two beings of inferior and superior order. We forbear to describe, or even to enumerate, the variety of balls, suppers, dinners, déjeunés, galas, and masquerades, which Miss Turnbull gave to the fashionable world during this winter. The generous public forget these things the week after they are over; and the consequence they bestow endures no longer than the track of a triumphal chariot.