Delamere tried to appease her by protestations of inviolable respect, of eternal esteem, and unalterable love. But there was something of triumph even in his humblest entreaties, that served but to encrease the anger Emmeline felt; and she told him that the only way to convince her he had for her those sentiments he pretended, was to carry her back immediately to Mrs. Ashwood’s, or rather to Lord Montreville, there to acknowledge the attempt he had made, and that it’s failure had been solely owing to her determined adherence to her word.
Delamere, presuming on his ascendancy over her, attempted to interest her passions rather than tranquillize her reason. He represented to her how great would be her triumph when he presented her as his wife to the imperious Lady Montreville, who had treated her with so much unmerited scorn, and set her above the haughty Fanny Delamere, who had insulted her with fancied superiority.
But Emmeline had in her breast none of those passions that find their gratification in humbling an enemy. Too generous for revenge; too gentle for premeditated resentment; she saw these circumstances in a very different light, and felt that she should be rather mortified than elated by being forced into a family who wished to reject her.
Sir Richard Crofts, the object of Delamere’s hatred and detestation, was the subject of those acrimonious reflections that his respect for his father and mother prevented his throwing on them. The influence of this man had, he said, made Lord Montreville deaf to the voice of nature, and forgetful of his own honour; while he was plunged into the dark and discreditable labyrinth of political intrigue, and acquired an habit of subterfuge and duplicity unworthy a nobleman, a gentleman, or a man.
Emmeline cared nothing about Sir Richard Crofts, and could not enter into the bitterness of his resentment towards him. Nothing he had yet been able to urge had shaken her resolution not to become his wife, even tho’ he should oblige her to go with him into Scotland.
The ruder passions of anger and resentment had no influence over her mind. While he argued with warmth, or ran into reproaches, Emmeline found she had nothing to fear. But tho’ he could not rouse her pride, or awaken her dislike against his family, but rather found them recoil on himself; he hoped in that sensibility of temper and that softness of heart to which he owed all the attention she had ever shewn him, he should find a sure resource. In her pity, an advocate for his fault — in her love, an inducement not only to forgive but to reward him.
And when he pleaded for compassion and forgiveness, the heart of Emmeline felt itself no longer invulnerable. But against this dangerous attack she endeavoured to fortify that sensible heart, by considering the probable event of her yielding to it.
‘If I marry Delamere contrary to the consent of his family, who shall assure me that his violent and haughty spirit will bear without anguish and regret, that inferior and confined fortune to which his father’s displeasure will condemn him? His love, too ardent perhaps to last, will decline; while the inconveniences of a narrow fortune will encrease; and I, who shall be the cause of these inconveniences, shall also be the victim. He will lament the infatuation which has estranged him from his family, and thrown him, for some years at least, out of the rank in which he has been used to appear; and recovered from the delirium of love, will behold with coldness, perhaps with hatred, her to whom he will impute his distresses. To whom can I then appeal? Not to my own heart, for it will condemn me for suffering myself to be precipitated into a measure against my judgment; nor to his family, who may answer, “thy folly be upon thine own head;” and I have no father, no brother to console and receive me, if he should drive me from him as impetuously as now he would force me to be his. I shall be deprived even of the melancholy consolation of knowing I have not deserved the neglect which I fear I shall never be able to bear. But if my steady refusal now, induces him to return, it is possible that Lord Montreville, convinced at once of my adherence to the promise given him, and of the improbability of Delamere’s desisting, may consent to receive me into his family; or if the inveterate prejudice of his wife still prevents his doing so, I shall surely regain his confidence and esteem. He will not refuse to consider me as his brother’s daughter, and as such, he will enable me to pass my days in easy competence with Mrs. Stafford; a prospect infinitely preferable in my eyes to the splendid visions offered me by Delamere, if they cannot be realized but at the expence of truth and integrity.’
Confirmed in her determination by reflections like these, Emmeline was able to hear, without betraying any symptoms of the emotion she felt, the animated and passionate protestations of her lover. She assumed all the coldness and reserve which his headlong and inconsiderate attempt deserved. She told him that his want of respect and consideration had forfeited all the claim he might otherwise have had to her regard and esteem; that she certainly would quit him the moment she was able; and that tho’ she might not be fortunate enough to do so before they reached Scotland, yet it would not be in his power to compel her to be his wife.
Delamere for some time imputed this language to sudden resentment; and again by the humblest submissions sought to obtain her forgiveness and to excite her pity. But having nearly exhausted her spirits by what she had already said, she gave very little reply to his entreaties. Her silence was however more expressive than her words. She took from him her hand, as often as he attempted to hold it, and would not suffer him to wipe away the tears that fell from her eyes; while to his arguments and persuasions she coldly answered, when she answered at all, ‘that she was determined:’ and they arrived at Barnet before he had obtained the smallest concession in his favour.
Delamere had undertaken this enterprize rather in despair, than from any hope of it’s success, since he did not believe Emmeline would come out to him when he requested it; and had she been either alone, or only with Mrs. Ashwood, she certainly had not done it. Chance had befriended him in collecting a room full of company, and still more in sending Rochely among them. His abrupt approach while she read Delamere’s note, had hurried her out of her usual presence of mind; and Fitz-Edward, whom mere accident had brought to Mrs. Ashwood’s house, and whom she had taken with her in hopes of his influencing Delamere to return to his father, had contributed to her involuntary error.
CHAPTER V
Delamere had taken no precaution to secure horses on the road; and it was not till after waiting some hours that he procured four from Barnet. When they arrived there, it was past one o’clock; and Emmeline, who had gone thro’ a very fatigueing day, and was now overcome with the terror and alarm of being thus hastily snatched away, could hardly sit up. She was without an hat; and having no change of cloaths, urged the inconvenience she must endure by being forced to go a long journey so situated. She wished to have stopped at the first stage; but Delamere thought, that in her present temper to hesitate was to lose her. He consented however to go for a moment into the house, where, while he gave a servant orders to go on to Hatfield to bespeak four horses, she drank a glass of water; and then Delamere intreating her to return to the chaise, she complied, for there was nobody visible at the inn but the maid and ostler; and she saw no likelihood of any assistance, had she applied for it.
They hastened with great expedition to Stevenage; but before they reached that place, Emmeline, who had ceased either to remonstrate or complain, was so entirely overwhelmed and exhausted, that she could no longer support herself.
His fears for her health now exceeded his fears for losing her, and he determined to stop for some hours; but when she made an effort to leave the chaise she was unable, and he was obliged to lift her out of it. He then ordered the female servants to be called up, recommended her to their care, and entreated her to go to bed for some hours.
Long darkness and excessive weeping had almost deprived her of sight; her whole frame was sinking under the fatigue she had undergone both of body and mind; and unable to struggle longer against it, she lay down in her cloaths, desiring one of the maids to sit by her.
Delamere came to the door of the room
to enquire how she did. The woman told him what she had requested; and desiring they would obey her in every thing, and keep her as quiet as possible, he went not to repose himself, but to write to Fitz-Edward.
‘Dear George,
‘While my angelic Emmeline sleeps, I, who am too happy to sleep myself, write to desire you will go to Berkley-Square and keep the good folks there from exposing themselves, or making a great bustle about what has happened, which they will soon know. As my Lord has long been prepossessed with the idea of a Scottish jaunt, it is very likely he may attempt to pursue us. Say what you will to put such plans out of his head. I shall be in London again, in a very short time. Farewell, dear George.
Your’s, ever,
F. D.’
Emmeline in the mean time fell into a sleep, but it was broken and interrupted. Her spirits had been so thoroughly discomposed, that rest was driven from her. She dozed a moment; then suddenly started up, forgot where she was, and looked wildly round the room. An half-formed recollection of the events of the preceding day then seemed to recur, and she besought the maid who sat by her to go to Mr. Delamere and tell him she must be directly carried to Mrs. Stafford’s; and having said this, and sighed deeply, she sunk again into short insensibility.
Thus past the remainder of the night; and before seven in the morning Delamere was at the door, impatient to know how she had rested.
The maid admitted him, and told him, in a low voice, that the Lady was in a quieter sleep than she had been the whole night. He softly approached the bed, and started in terror when he saw how ill she looked. Her cheek, robbed of it’s bloom, rested on her arm, which appeared more bloodless than her cheek; her hair, which had been dressed without powder, had escaped from the form in which it had been adjusted, and half concealed her face in disordered luxuriance; her lips were pale, and her respiration short and laborious. He stood gazing on her a moment, and then, shocked at these symptoms of indisposition, his rapid imagination immediately magnified them all. He concluded she was dying; and in an agony of fear, which deprived him of every other idea, he took up in breathless apprehension her other hand, which lay on the quilt. It was hot, and dry; and her pulse seemed rather to flutter, than to beat against his pressure.
His moving her hand awakened her. She opened her eyes; but they had lost their lustre, and were turned mournfully towards him.
‘Delamere,’ said she, in a low and tremulous voice, ‘Delamere, why is all this? I believe you have destroyed me; my head is so extremely painful. Oh! Delamere — this is cruel! — very cruel!’
‘Let me go for advice,’ cried he, eagerly. ‘Wretch that I am, what will now become of me!’
He ran down stairs; and Emmeline making an effort to recover her recollection, tried to sit up; but her head was so giddy and confused that it was not till after several attempts she left the bed, even with the assistance of the servant. She then drank a glass of water; and desiring to have more air, would have gone to the window, but could only reach a chair near it, where she sat down, and throwing her arm on a table, rested her head upon it.
In a few moments Delamere returned up stairs. His wild looks, and quick, half-formed questions, explained what passed in his mind.
She told him faintly she was better.
‘Shall I bring up a gentleman to see you who I am assured is able in his profession? I fear you are very ill.’
She answered, ‘no!’
‘Pray suffer him to come; he will give you something to relieve your head.’
‘No!’
‘Do not, Emmeline — do not, I conjure you, refuse me this favour?’
He took her hand; but when he found how feverish she was, he started away, crying— ‘Oh! let him, let him come!’
He ran down stairs to fetch him, and returned instantly with the apothecary; a sensible, well-behaved man, of fifty, whose appearance indicated feeling and judgement. He approached Emmeline, who still sat with her head reclined on the table, and felt her pulse.
‘Here is too much fever indeed, Sir,’ said he; ‘the young lady has been greatly hurried.’
‘But what — what is to be done, Sir?’ said Delamere, eagerly interrupting him.
‘Quiet seems absolutely necessary. Pardon me, Sir; but unless I know your situation in regard to her, I cannot possibly advise.’
‘Sir,’ said Emmeline, who had been silent rather from inability to contend than from unconsciousness of what was passing round her— ‘if you could prevail with Mr. Delamere to restore me to my friends’ —
‘Come with me, Sir,’ cried Delamere; ‘let me speak to you in another room.’
When they were alone, he conjured Mr. Lawson to tell him what he thought of the lady?
‘Upon my word, Sir, she is in a very high fever, and it seems to be occasioned by extreme perturbation of spirits and great fatigue. Forgive, Sir, if I ask what particular circumstance has been the cause of the uneasiness under which she appears to labour? If it is any little love quarrel you cannot too soon adjust it.’
Delamere stopped his conjectures, by telling him who he was; and gave him in a few words the history of their expedition.
Mr. Lawson protested to him that if she was hurried on in her present state, it would be surprising if she survived the journey.
‘She shall stay here then,’ replied Delamere, ‘till she recovers her fatigue.’
‘But, Sir,’ enquired Mr. Lawson, ‘after what you have told me of your father, have you no apprehension of a pursuit?’
His terror at Emmeline’s immediate danger had obliterated for a moment every other fear. It now recurred with redoubled violence. He remembered that Rochely was at Mrs. Ashwood’s on the evening of Emmeline’s departure; and he knew that from him Sir Richard Crofts, and consequently Lord Montreville, would have immediate intelligence.
He struck his hands together, exclaiming, ‘She will be every way lost! — lost irretrievably! If my father overtakes us, she will return with him, and I shall see her no more!’
He now gave way to such unbounded passion, walking about the room, and striking his forehead, that Lawson began to believe his intellects were as much deranged as the frame of the fair sufferer he had left. For some moments he attended to nothing; but Mr. Lawson, accustomed to make allowances for the diseases of the mind as well as those of the body, did not lose his patience; and at length persuaded him to be calmer, by representing that he wasted in fruitless exclamation the time which might be employed in providing against the apprehended evil.
‘Good God! Sir,’ cried he at length, ‘what would you have me do?’
‘What I would earnestly recommend, Sir, is, that you quiet the young lady’s mind by telling her you will carry her whither she desires to go; and at present desist from this journey, which I really believe you cannot prosecute but at the hazard of her life; at present, farther agitation may, and probably will be fatal.’
‘And so you advise me to let her stay till my father comes to tear her from me for ever! or carry her back by the same road, where it is probable he will meet me? Impossible! impossible! — but is she really so very ill?’
‘Upon my life she is at this moment in a high fever. Why should I deceive you? Trust me, it would in my opinion be the height of inhumanity to carry her into Scotland in such a situation, if you love her’ ——
‘If I love her, Sir!’ cried Delamere, half frantic— ‘talk not of if I love her! Merciful heaven! — you have no idea, Mr. Lawson, of what I suffer at this moment!’
‘I have a perfect idea of your distress, Sir; and wish I knew how to relieve it. Give me a moment’s time to consider; if indeed the young lady could’ —
‘What, Sir? speak! — think of something!’
‘Why I was thinking, that if she is better in a few hours, it might be possible for you to take her to Hertford, where she may remain a day or two, till she is able to go farther. There you would be no longer in danger of pursuit; and if she should grow worse, which when her mind is easier I hope
will not happen, you will have excellent advice. Perhaps, when the hurry of her spirits subsides, she may, since this has happened, consent to pursue the journey to the North; or if not, you can from thence carry her to the friends she is so desirous of being with, and avoid the risk of meeting on the road those you are so anxious to shun.’
Tho’ Delamere could not think, without extreme reluctance, of relinquishing a scheme in which he had thought himself secure of success; yet, as there was no alternative but what would be so hazardous to the health of Emmeline, he was compelled to accede to any which had a probability of restoring it without putting her into the hands of his father.
Mr. Lawson told him it was only fifteen miles from Stevenage to Hertford— ‘But how,’ said he, ‘will you, Sir, prevent your father’s following you thither, if he should learn at this place that you are gone there?’
Delamere was wholly at a loss. But Mr. Lawson, who seemed to be sent by his good genius, said— ‘We must get you from hence immediately, if Miss Mowbray is able to go. You shall pass here as my visitors. You shall directly go to my house, and there be supplied with horses from another inn. This will at least make it more difficult to trace your route; and if any enquiry should be made of me, I shall know what to say.’
Delamere, catching at any thing that promised to secure Emmeline from the pursuit of Lord Montreville, went to her to enquire whether she was well enough to walk to Mr. Lawson’s house.
He found her trying to adjust her hair; but her hands trembled so much, it was with difficulty she could do it. He desired her to dismiss the maid who was in the room; then throwing himself on his knees before her, and taking her burning hands in his, he said— ‘Arbitress of my destiny — my Emmeline! thou for whom only I exist! be tranquil — I beseech you be tranquil! Since you determine to abide by your cruel resolution, I will not, I dare not persist in asking you to break it. No, Emmeline! I come only to entreat that you would quiet your too delicate mind; and dispose of me as you please. Since you cannot resolve to be mine now, I will learn to submit — I will try to bear any thing but the seeing you unhappy, or losing you entirely! Tell me only that you pardon what is past, and you shall go to Mrs. Stafford’s, or whithersoever you will.’
Complete Poetical Works of Charlotte Smith Page 47
