Uneasily ruminating on the painful uncertainty of her situation and the difficulties which every way surrounded her, she continued alone; till Lady Westhaven, alarmed at hearing she had been ill, sent her woman to enquire after and know if she might herself come to her? Emmeline, to relieve at once her friendly solicitude, arose and went to her apartment; where she made light of her sickness, and endeavoured to assume as much chearfulness as possible.— ‘Till she had seen Lord Westhaven, she determined not to mention to her Ladyship the discovery of the morning; feeling that there would be great indelicacy in eagerly divulging to her a secret by which she must tacitly accuse the Marquis of Montreville of having thus long detained from its legal owner the Mowbray estate; and of having brought up in indigence and obscurity, the daughter of his brother, while conscious of her claim to education and affluence.
Struggling therefore to subdue the remaining tumult of her spirits, she rejoined her friend. They passed the afternoon tranquilly with Mrs. St. Alpin; and about eleven o’clock the following morning, Lord Westhaven, the Baron, and the Chevalier, returned.
Emmeline took the earliest opportunity of telling Lord Westhaven that she wished to speak to him alone. There was no way of escaping from the Chevalier but by his Lordship’s openly declaring that he wanted a private conference with his fair cousin, whom he led into the garden. Bellozane, who hoped that his earnest solicitations had prevailed on Lord Westhaven to befriend his love, was glad to see them walk out together, while he watched them from a window.
Emmeline put into her pocket the two certificates and the memorandum written by her father. Without explanation or comment, she gave them, as soon as they were at a little distance from the house, to Lord Westhaven.
He read them twice over in silence; then looking with astonishment at Emmeline, he asked her from whence she had these papers?
‘They were enclosed, my Lord,’ answered she ‘in two little boxes or caskets which were left to me among other things by my father’s nurse; who becoming the housekeeper at Mowbray Castle, brought me up. They afterwards long remained at the house of Mrs. James Crofts, with whom you know I resided; on her removal after her marriage, they were sent, together with some of my cloaths, to Mrs. Stafford’s agent in London; from whence she lately received them; and having an opportunity of sending them to Geneva by a family travelling thither, she forwarded them to me, and I found them yesterday in the trunk brought by the messenger which you know the Baron sent thither on purpose.’
Again Lord Westhaven read the papers; and after pausing a moment said —
‘There is no doubt, there can be none, of the authenticity of these papers, nor of your consequent claim to the Mowbray estate. Surely,’ added he, again pausing— ‘surely it is most extraordinary that Lord Montreville should have suffered the true circumstances of your birth to remain thus long unexplained. Most cruel! most ungenerous! to possess himself of a property to which he must know he had no right! Your father’s memorandum says that he had forwarded a duplicate of it to Francis Williamson; do you know whether that person is yet living?’
‘He is dead, my Lord. He died in consequence of an accident at Mowbray Castle, where he was many years steward.’
‘He must however have had sufficient time to give Lord Montreville every information as to his master’s marriage, even if his Lordship knew it not, as he probably did, by other means. Yet from a man of honour — from Lord Montreville — such conduct is most unworthy. I can hardly conceive it possible that he should be guilty of such concealment.’
‘Surely, my Lord, it is possible,’ said the candid and ingenuous Emmeline— ‘surely it is possible that my uncle might, by some accident, (for which without knowing more we cannot account) have been kept in ignorance of my mother’s real situation. For your satisfaction and mine, before we say more on this subject, would it not be well to hear what Le Limosin, who was I suppose present both at my mother’s marriage and at my father’s death, has to relate?’
To this proposal Lord Westhaven agreed. The sal a compagnie was usually vacant at this time of the day. Thither they went together, and sent for Le Limosin; who loved talking so much that nothing was more easy than to make him tell all he remembered, and even minutely describe every scene at which he had been present.
‘Le Limosin,’ said Lord Westhaven, as soon as he came into the room, ‘I was much pleased and interested with the account you gave me when I first met you, of the English master whom you call Milor Mowbray. I know his family well. Tell me, does this picture resemble him?’
His Lordship shewed him a portrait of Mr. Mowbray which had been drawn at Paris.
Le Limosin looked a moment at it — the tears came into his eyes.
‘O oui — oui, mi Lor! — je me rappelle bien ce portrait! — Ah! quel resemblance! Quelques mois avant sa mort tel etoit mon pauvre maitre! Ah!’ added he, giving back, with a sigh, the picture to Lord Westhaven— ‘cela me fend le cœur!’
‘Now then,’ reassumed Lord Westhaven, ‘look, Le Limosin, at that.’ He put before him the resemblance of Emmeline’s mother, which had been painted at the same time.
‘Eh! pardi oui — voila — voila Madame! la charmante femme, dont la perte couta la vie a mon maitre. Helas! — je m’en souviens bien du jôur que je vis pour la premiere fois cette aimable dame. Elle n’avoit qu’environ quatorze a quinze ans. Ah! qu’elle etoit pour lors, gaï, espiegle, folatre, et si belle! — si belle!’
‘Tell me,’ said Lord Westhaven, ‘all you remember of her.’
‘I remember her, my Lord,’ said Le Limosin, speaking still in French, ‘I remember her from the first of my going to England with Milor Mowbray. She lived then with Madame Mowbray; and the servants told me, that being a distant relation and an orphan, Madame had taken her and intended to give her a fortune. Milor Mowbray, when he first returned from his travels, used to live for two or three months together with Madame his mother; but she was strict and severe, and used frequently to reproach him with his gaieties — il etoit un peu libertin Milor, comme sont a l’ordinaire les jeunes seigneurs de sa nation. He admired Mademoiselle Stavordale as a beautiful child, and used to romp with her; but as she grew older, Madame Mowbray was dissatisfied with him for taking so much notice of her, and would oblige her to live always up in Madame’s dressing room, so that my master could hardly ever see her. Madame, however, told my master one day, that tho’ Mademoiselle Stavordale had no fortune, she would not object to his marrying her in a year or two if he was then in the same mind. But my master was in his turn offended. He said he would not be dictated to, nor told whether he should marry or remain single. Madame etoit forte brusque — elle piquoit Monsieur par un reponse un peu vive — and they had a violent disagreement; in consequence of which he quitted her house, and only went now and then afterwards to see her quite in form. Some months afterwards he called me to him; and as I was dressing him he asked me if I had no female friend among his mother’s servants. ‘Baptiste,’ said he, ‘I cannot get the Demoiselle Stavordale out of my head. — J’aime a la folie cette fille mais pour le mariage,je ne suis pas trop sur, que je m’acquitterai bien, en promissant de l’aimer pour la vie. — Je veux aussi qu’elle m’aime sans que l’interet y’entre pour quelque chose. — Puisque Madame ma mere s’amuse a me guetter, je voudrois bien la tromper; je scais que tu est habile — ne pourra tu pas nous menager une petite tete a tete? ‘Milor, je faisois mon possible — et enfin — par la bonté et l’honeteté — d’une fille qui servoit Madame — je vins heureusement about — Quelque jours apres — Monsieur enleva la belle Stavordale tant en depit — qu’en amour.’
At this recital, Emmeline found herself cruelly hurt; but Lord Westhaven besought her to command herself, and Le Limosin went on.
‘To avoid the rage and reproaches of Madame Mowbray, which it was likely would be very loud, my master took Mademoiselle Stavordale immediately abroad. We landed at Dunkirk; but the young lady was so unhappy at the step she had taken, elle pleuroit, elle se desoloit,
elle s’abandonna a le desespoir — enfin, tant elle faisoit, that Monsieur sent for a priest, and they were married. Soon afterwards my lady was likely to bring Monsieur an heir. Ah! qu’ils etoient pour lors heureux. But their happiness was interrupted by the death of my master’s mother, Madame Mowbray, who had never forgiven him, and who disposed of all her money that was in her own power to his brother. My poor lady took this sadly to heart. She reproached herself with being the cause of my master’s losing such a fortune. He said he had yet enough; and tried to console my lady. Still, still it hung on her spirits; and she could not bear to think that Madame Mowbray, who had brought her up, and had been kind to her when she had no other friend, should have died in anger with her. I believe my master was sorry then that he had not reconciled himself with his mother, as my lady often begged and entreated that he would; but it was now too late; and he said his brother had used him unkindly, and had certainly helped to irritate his mother against him; and he would not write to him tho’ my lady often desired and prayed that he would. As she grew near her time, she was more and more out of spirits, and my master finding her uneasy because they had not been married by an English priest, had the ceremony performed again in the chapel of the English Ambassador. My master could not however make her forget her concern for the death of his mother; and she was always melancholy, as if she had foreseen how little a time she had herself to live. Alas! she brought my master a daughter, and died in three hours!’
‘If I were to live a thousand years,’ continued Le Limosin, ‘I should never forget my poor master’s distraction when he heard she was dead. It was with great difficulty that even with the assistance of his English servants I could prevent his destroying himself in the phrenzy of his grief. I dared not leave him a moment. He heard nothing we said to him; he heeded not the questions I asked him about the child; and at last I was forced to send an express to Mr. Oxenden, his friend, who was at some distance from Paris. He came; and by the help of another English gentleman they forced him out of the house while the body of my mistress was removed to be carried to England. He was so near madness, that his friends were afraid of his relapsing, even after he grew better, if they asked him many questions about it. So they gave me orders as to her funeral; and after about a fortnight he came back to the house where the child was, attended by his two friends.
‘It was an heart-piercing sight, Milor, to see him weep over the little baby as it lay in the arms of it’s nurse. After some time he called me, and told me that he should not be easy, unless he was sure his poor little girl would be taken proper care of; that he had no friend in France to whom he chose to entrust her; and therefore ordered me to go with the nurse to England, and directed Therése, my mistress’s fille de chambre, to go also, that the child might be well attended. He told me that he should perhaps quit Paris before I could get back; in which case he would leave directions where I should follow him. Then he kissed his little girl, and his two friends tore him away. I immediately proceeded to England as he directed, with the nurse, and Therése, and we carried the infant to the Chateau de Mowbray. The French nurse could speak no English, and could not be prevailed upon to stay above two days. Therése too longed to get back to France; and we immediately returned to Paris, where I found a letter from my master, ordering me to follow him into Italy.
‘At Milan, Milor, I rejoined him. He looked very ill; and complained of feeling himself indisposed. But still he went out; and I believe drank too much with his English friends. The third or fourth day after I got there he came home from a party which he had made out of town with them about ten o’clock in the morning, and told me he had a violent pain in his head. He went up into his room. “I am strangely disordered, Baptiste,” said he, as he put his hand to his temples— “perhaps it may go off; but if it should grow worse, as I am afraid it will, remember that you take those two little boxes in which I keep my papers, to England, and deliver them to my steward at Mowbray Castle. I have already written to him about my daughter.” Then almost shrieking with the acute pain which darted into his head, he cried— “I cannot talk, nor can I now write to my brother as I think I ought to do about my child. But send, send for a notary, and when I am a little easier I will dictate a will.”
‘Milor, I sent for the notary, But he waited all day in the anti-room to no purpose. My poor master was never again easy enough to see him — never again able to dictate a will. He grew more and more delirious, and continued to complain of his head, his head! Alas! he did not even know me, till about an hour before his death.’
Emmeline, whose tears had almost choaked her during the greatest part of this narration, now said to Lord Westhaven —
‘My Lord, do not let him repeat the scene of my father’s death; I am not now able to bear it.’
‘Well, Le Limosin,’ said his Lordship, ‘this young lady, who is the daughter of your master; the same whom you helped to carry, an infant, to Mowbray Castle, will soon have it in her power to reward your fidelity and attachment to her father.’
Le Limosin now threw himself on his knees in a transport of joy and acknowledgment. Lord Westhaven, fearing that his raptures might quite overcome the disturbed spirits of his fair mistress, desired her to give him her hand to kiss; which she did, and trying, but ineffectually, to smile thro’ her tears, was led by his Lordship into her own room. He told her that at present he wished to conceal from Lady Westhaven the discovery they had made. ‘For tho’ I am convinced,’ added he, ‘that for your sake she will rejoice in it, she will be hurt at the extraordinary conduct of her father, and harrass herself with conjectures about it and apologies for it, which I wish to spare her in her present state.’
Emmeline assured him she would observe a strict silence; and he left her to give to Le Limosin a charge of secresy. He then retired to his room, and wrote to Lord Montreville, stating the simple fact, and enclosing copies of the certificates; and after shewing his letter to Emmeline, sent it off to England.
Emmeline now went out to walk, in hopes of recovering her composure and being able to appear at dinner without betraying by her countenance that any thing extraordinary had been the subject of her conversation with Lord Westhaven. The Chevalier, however, was soon at her side. And still flattering himself that his Lordship had undertaken to plead his cause, he addressed her with all the confidence of a man sure of success.
Emmeline was very little disposed to listen to him; and with a greater appearance of chagrin and impatience than she had yet shewn, repeated to him her determination not to marry. He still declared himself sure of her relenting; and added, that unless she had designed finally to hear him favourably she would never have allowed him so repeatedly to press his attachment. This speech, which indirectly accused her of coquetry, encreased her vexation. But the persevering Chevalier was not to be repressed. He told her that he had projected a party of pleasure on the lake the next day, in which he intended to include a visit to the Rocks of Meillerie.
‘It is classic ground, Mademoiselle,’ said he, ‘and is fitted to love and despair. Ah! will you not there hear me? Will you still inhumanly smile; will you still look so gentle, while your heart is harder than the rocks we shall see — colder than the snow that crowns them! — an heart on which even the pen of fire which Rousseau held would make no impression!’
He held her hands during this rhapsody. She could not therefore immediately escape. But on the appearance of a servant, who announced the dinner’s being ready, she coldly disengaged herself and went into the house
CHAPTER III
The agitation she had undergone in the morning, affected both the spirits and the looks of Emmeline; and when, immediately after dinner, Bellozane proposed the party of pleasure he had projected for the next day, Lady Westhaven answered— ‘As for me I shall on my own account make no objection, but I cannot equally answer for our fair cousin. — Emmeline, my love, you seem ill. I cannot imagine, my Lord, what you have been saying to her?’
‘I have been advising her,�
� answered Lord Westhaven, ‘to go into a convent; and her looks are merely looks of penitence for all the mischief she has done. She determines to take the veil, and to do no more.’
Emmeline, tho’ hardly able to bear even this friendly raillery, turned it off with a melancholy smile. The party was agreed upon; the Baron went out to give orders for preparing the provisions they were to take with them, and the Chevalier to see that the boat was in a proper state for the expedition and give the boatmen notice.
Lady Westhaven then began talking of England, and expressed her astonishment at having heard nothing from thence for above six weeks. While Lord Westhaven was attempting to account for this failure of intelligence, which he saw gave his wife more concern than she expressed, a servant brought in several large pacquets of letters, which he said the messenger who was usually sent to the post town, had that moment brought in.
His Lordship, eagerly surveying the address of each, gave to Emmeline one for her; which opening, she found came from Mrs. Stafford, and enclosed another.
St. Germains, June 6.
‘My dearest Emmeline will forgive me if I write only a line in the envelope, to account for the long detention of the enclosed letter. It has, by some mistake of Mr. La Fosse, been kept at Rouen instead of being forwarded to St. Germains; and appears to have passed thro’ numberless hands. I hope you will get it safe; tho’ my being at Paris when it did arrive here has made it yet a week later. By the next post I shall write more fully, and therefore will now only tell you we are well, and that I am ever, with the truest attachment, your
C. Stafford.’
Emmeline now saw by the seal and the address that the second letter was from Lord Montreville. It appeared to have been written in great haste; and as she unfolded it, infinite was her amazement to find, instead of a remittance, which about this time she expected, the promise she had given Delamere, torn in two pieces and put into a blank paper.
Complete Poetical Works of Charlotte Smith Page 73
