Complete Poetical Works of Charlotte Smith

by Charlotte Smith

  Rosalie saw that, from this unlucky arrangement, she should be deprived of the consolation she might derive from the advice and conversation of her best friend, when she most wanted such comforts. The aversion that Barbara Vyvian seemed to have to her was even greater than that of Mrs. Bosworth; and on recollecting several circumstances that had happened since the estrangement the sisters had shown towards her, Rosalie could not but imagine that they knew, or suspected, her near relationship to their mother......Ingenuous and liberal as her own heart was, she imagined not that it was possible for envy only, malignant hatred of superior excellence and beauty, to call forth the ill-humour and provoke the ill-offices of these young women, though she had already had a specimen of the effect of those odious passions in the behaviour of the Miss Lessingtons, whom she once thought her sisters.

  In this family she now seemed to be almost a stranger. The character of Mrs. Lessington, since the death of her husband, seemed totally changed; and her passion for cards, and for the society of the set of people among whom she now lived, absorbed almost every other feeling but her passion for money. To Rosalie she was not only become perfectly indifferent, but seemed wary of the task of affecting sentiments she did not feel; from the present situation of Mrs. Vyvian, it was probable she would never be able to increase the annual gift she had made as a consideration for adopting her daughter, and her former and long attachment to her, seemed, if not entirely forgotten, at least insufficient now to urge her to any exertions of friendship and attention. She seldom saw Mrs. Vyvian, and, when she did, her conversation related entirely to the people with whom the latter held no intercourse, and her visit appeared to be always a matter of ceremony rather than of choice. Though the solicitude in which Rosalie was left was infinitely the most pleasing circumstance of her present residence, yet she could not but imagine that the style in which she was treated in the family must occasion suspicions of the truth: the difficulties of concealing for a series of years such a secret, appeared the more wonderful the longer she thought of it; but, from these meditations on the extraordinary events Mrs. Vyvian had related to her, she recovered herself only to reflect on what was to be her future fate. Her mother had been abandoned by the man to whom she had sacrificed her honour and her peace; and though probably it was to preserve her life and his own that this separation had been submitted to, though it was certain that compulsion had at first been used to bring about this cruel separation, and that reason and a respect for the object of his unfortunate love had afterward prevented Mr. Ormsby from making any attempt to write to her, Rosalie could not think, without extreme pain, that even such an attachment was not proof against time and absence. Mrs. Vyvian had said, that she believed that though Mr. Ormsby still lived, he had forgotten her entirely; she added, that she most sincerely hoped he had; but, as she said this, her tears fell more abundantly, and her heart seemed to feel all the bitterness that attends the conviction of being forgotten by those we have fondly loved. Rosalie thought that nothing could ever induce her to even say, that she wished to be forgotten by Montalbert.

  It was now some weeks since she had heard from him. There had even been time for an answer to Mrs. Vyvian’s letter. Should he long delay answering it, what agonies of mind should she not be exposed to; she trembled to look forward to such a possiblitiy, and felt that it would be difficult for her to exist long under doubts of Montalbert’s affection.

  When she saw her mother in the morning, it was with increased concern she observed the deep dejection into which Mrs. Vyvian had sunk; the little strength which she had collected to enable her to relate to Rosalie what it was necessary she should know, was now exhausted, and, pale and languid, she appeared to sustain with difficulty the fatigue of leaving her bed to receive her daughters, who were to be with her at noon: the one to take leave of her again for some time, the other to become a resident in a house which offered scenes so different from those to which she had long been accustomed.

  As the sight of Rosalie seemed rather more deeply to affect than to relieve her mother, she shortened her visit, and returned to her usual home, where she passed the day entirely alone; Mrs. Lessington and her daughter being both in town, and not likely to return till the following morning.

  In the evening she sat down to write to Montalbert, and had nearly finished her letter, when a maid (for there were only two female servants in the house) came to tell her, that there was a person at the gate who desired to speak to her; who, upon her asking his business, answered that he could communicate it only to herself.

  As Rosalie had no acquaitance likely to make such a visit, nor any business to transact, and as so near London there is always danger of admitting strangers, she bid the servant tell him, she could speak to no person with whose name and purpose she was unacquainted. The girl stayed for some time, and then returned with a piece of paper, on which was written with a pencil, “Be not alarmed — it is Montalbert, who, compelled to return in secret, has been to Mrs. Vyvian’s, and finds persons with her before whom it is impossible for him to appear.”

  The mingled joy and surprise, not without some alloy of fear, with which Rosalie read this, may be easily imagined; but it would be more difficult to describe, in adequate terms, the transports of Montalbert on meeting after so long an absence, or with what tenderness and gratitude Rosalie learned the purpose of his journey. As soon as they were calm enough to converse upon it, he told her that as soon as he had received Mrs. Vyvian’s letter, he determined to come over himself to England at every hazard.— “It was not very easy, (said he), to prevail on my mother, who has, unluckily for me, projects in her head for establishing my fortune, which made her more unwilling to allow for my absence; but a young Sicilian nobleman, with whom I was brought up, and who is distantly related to my mother, was exactly at that period returning to Sicliy for a few months. I communicated my distress to him, and he managed the difficulty so well, that I obtained a short leave of absence, and am now supposed to be with him in Sicily. A thousand circumstances may happen to betray me; but I trust much to the friendship and prevoyance of my friend to guard against detection at present; and, for the future, I know my Rosalie will not shrink from any trial of that affection which makes the happiness of my existence — even though a greater sacrifice were required of her than to quit her present abode.”

  The answer that Rosalie gave to this was, that with him every place and every country would be equally pleasant to her. He then explained to her his views.— “Unable to live without you, (said he), I have never ceased, since I have been in Italy, to meditate on the means of conciliating my happiness, and the deference I owe my mother. That friend, of whom I have just been speaking, is now master of his fortune; he has offered me a small, but beautiful villa in Sicily, about seven miles from Messina, and not more than two and a half from the sea. There you may live, my Rosalie, unremarked and unquestioned; and there I can pass months with you, without incurring, on the part of my mother, any suspicion, or any other remonstrance, than must in every event arise from my refusal of the match she wishes to make for me: when, however, she finds I am determined, and loses her apprehensions to an English woman and a Protestant, I shall be left at liberty to wander about Italy occasionally as I used to do; and we may be happy at the present with each other, without risking the loss of that prosperity hereafter, in which it is the first wish of my heart to place you.”

  This plan appeared to Rosalie not only practicable, but delightful. The unfeigned pleasure with which she embraced it seemed to redouble the satisfaction with which Montalbert expatiated on their future prospects: he appeared, indeed, to have thought of every thing, and settled what should be said to persons in England, to account for her departure. It was to be given out, that Mrs. Vyvian had procured for her a situation in a foreign family of distinction, who were desirous of having a young Englishwoman as instructress to their daughters; an establishment, which, as Rosalie Lessington was left entirely without fortune, was extremely advantageous and desirab
le. — However improbable such an arrangement might appear to those who were acquainted with Italian customs and manners, Rosalie and Montalbert agreed, that there were none of that description among those who were likely to inquire of the Lessington family; she had appeared, indeed, so little in their societies, that it was probable she would soon be wholly forgotten.

  Mrs. Bosworth and Miss Vyvian were certainly more likely to inquire after her with more active malignity, and doubting any story that was at all unlikely to form conjectures to her disadvantage; but, as the journey of Montalbert, at this period, was unknown to them, as they had no communication with the Lessington famliy, and were both too proud to annex any consequence to Rosalie, except what she had derived from their fears of their brother’s or their mother’s too great affection for her, it was probable that when they saw her, and heard of her no more, they would cease to think about her.

  It was, however, a very inconvenient circumstance to them, that the presence of Barbara Vyvian prevented Montalbert’s seeing her mother, with whom it was so necessary for him to consult. As he could not stay more than a week in England, there was not a moment to lose. Many purchases were to be made for Rosalie, as well as many precautions to be taken; and it was proper that Mrs. Vyvian and Mrs. Lessington should meet to adjust several points relative to a person in whom both were interested.

  After some debate how to obtain admittance to Mrs. Vyvian, it was agreed that this could be done only by the means of Mr. Hayward. To him, therefore, Montalbert immediately wrote, engaging him to meet him at a tavern early the followig morning; then reluctantly, and not without her repeating her remonstrances on the impropriety of his staying any longer, he took leave of Rosalie, and retired for the night to the house, where, in pursuance of his appointment, Mr. Hayward came to him the next day at six o’clock.

  They together contrived so well, that Mrs. Lessington was admitted to the apartment of her friend without any suspicion on the part of Miss Vyvian; and in a few days every necessary arrangement was made, and Rosalie ready to depart.

  There were in England only two persons, of whom to take leave for so long a time, perhaps for ever, gave her severe pain. These were her real mother, for whom her affection seemed to be greater than if she had been accustomed always to consider her in that endearing relationship, and the eldest Mr. Lessington, from whom she had for so many years received instruction, and towards whom she had been used to look for future protection and regard. To him, however, she could have no opportunity of saying farewell, as he was gone into Wales with a young man of fortune, from whom he had expectations of preferment. Rosalie dared not even write to him, as Mrs. Lessington, for some reason or other, objected to it; she was compelled, therefore, to go without bidding him adieu.

  Her parting with her mother was attended with many tears on both sides; but each wished to shorten a painful scene, which it was not safe long to continue, as Rosalie and Montalbert were introduced into the house by stealth. This sad farewell being over, they got into a hackney coach with their baggage, and being set down at an inn in Holborn, a quarter of the town where Montalbert was little likely to be observed by any of his acquaintance, they there found his servant waiting with a post chaise according to his orders, and immediately proceeded on their way to Dover.

  CHAPTER 19

  THE fatigue of travelling, and the sufferings from sea-sickness, were rendered supportable to Rosalie by every care and attention which vigilant love could dictate. Having recovered from the latter, and wondered at the novelty which a French town presents to one who never before crossed the channel, the travellers proceeded, after a few days rest, to Paris, and from thence to Lyons. Rosalie, though delighted with her journey, and acquiring new ideas at every step, was impatient to proceed, because she dreaded nothing so much as that the mother of Montalbert should discover, by his protracted stay, that he had been to England; while he, more solicitous for the health of his lovely wife, than influenced by any other motive, regulated his journey rather by her convenience, than by the necessity of appearing in proper time for his supposed Sicilian voyage, leaving his friend, the Prince of —— , the care of keeping up appearances for him as well as he could.

  Had not apprehensions of what might happen to embitter his future felicity a little derogated from the enjoyment of the present, it would have been difficult to have found a happier being than Montalbert. While he pointed out to Rosalie the beauty of the country through which they were passing, every scene, every view, seemed to acquire new charms: the pleasure which the varied prospects of nature gave to her young and unadultrated heart, the desire of information she expressed, and the sense and solidity of her remarks, communicated to him delight more exquisite than that which he felt in contemplating the beauty of her form and face, which, he could not but observe, attracted universal admiration wherever she appeared, even in the haste of a journey, and under the few advantages of a travelling dress.

  In France, superior or even common beauty is generally much noticed, and almost at every post town Montalbert heard some observation on the loveliness of la jeune Anglias; or, if they remained in any city more than a day, had an attempt made by some gay young man or other to be introduced to his notice.

  From these sort of acquaintance, however, Montalbert shrank, with a sensibility unusual on such occasions to his natural character, which was open, unsuspicious, and sociable. He not unfrequently was sensible of something like jealousy, for which he failed not to reason with himself; but still his dislike of the adulation which he saw likely to be offered to his wife, wherever she appeared, conquered the sense he had of the absurdity of feeling such a sentiment in regard to her, who was all innocence and simplicity; who certainly lived but to please him, and was so unconscious of her personal attractions as not to have the least idea of the reasons which made him avoid every sort of society on the road. She imputed his shunning it, to the fear he had, lest he should be met by some of his former acquaintence, who might betray to his mother his present expedition. — There was, however, in this reserve of Montalbert’s less of personal jealousy than of another sentiment. The mind of Rosalie, unadultrated by the false refinements of modern education, and yet anew to the world, seemed, to her husband, capable of being adorned with all that lends grace to beauty, and gives perfection to genius. She had seen so little of society since her short residence near London, that the bloom of the mind (if such an expression may be allowed) had not been tarnished by any commerce with inferior society, or the common studies of a circulating library. Her natural understanding was excellent, and she had more judgement than generally attends on so much genius as she possessed; but hitherto this judgement had been unexercised, and this genius dormant.

  The little she had read was but ill-calculated to form the first, and the society she had been usually among, had allowed her little scope for the latter: but, at a very early period of her life she became conscious, that such sort of people as she was usually thrown among, people who only escape from dullness by flying to defamation, were extremely tiresome to her, though she saw that nobody else thought so, and suspected herself of being fastidious and perverse. The cold, and sometimes contemptuous treatment she had met with from her supposed sisters, the little real afection she had ever found from the persons whom she believed to be her parents, had rendered her timid and dissident. — As nobody but Mrs. Vyvian seemed to love her, she supposed that to none but Mrs. Vyvian she seemed worthy of affection. Since the explanation that had been given all the passages of her former life appeared in a new light, and she accounted for the indifference of her supposed, and the tenderness of her real, parent.

  This extraordinary discovery was a frequent topic of conversation between her and Montalbert as they pursued on their journey; and they often canvassed the circumstancs that would, if the narrative of Mrs. Vyvian had been less authenticated, have given rise to incredulity. — Montalbert, when he first heard it from Rosalie, had remarked these circumstances— “It is strange (said he) t
hat the account you have of your father’s present situation is so vague, so indistinct, that you have no clue to guide you even to the certainty of his existnece, none by which you can identify yourself to him. I can make every allowance for the singular circumstances in which Mrs. Vyvian was placed; for the timidity of her temper, and for the violence of my grandfather, whom I have always heard represented as a tyrant, who was not to be, would not be, contradicted. Still it appears equally unfortunate and strange, that she omitted to tell you whether he knew of your birth? whether the family of Ormsby were apprised of it?”

  In answer to these remarks, the justice of which she however acknowledged, Rosalie bade him recollect, how much of all the circumstances most interesting to her might be unknown, even to Mrs. Vyvian herself.

  “When I remember (said she) the countenance and manner of my mother, when she recalled those scenes in which she suffered so cruelly; when I think how little capable she was, even at this distance of time, of dwelling on those parts of her story, where she had occasion to name my unfortunate father, and the awe she had of her own, as well as the tyranny she has since experienced from Mr. Vyvian, and the necessity there has ever been for secrecy as to a part of her former life, which would undoubtedly have aggravated her actual sorrows, I cannot wonder, though, perhaps, I may have occasion to lament, the incomplete information this dear unhappy parent has given me......I have seen her lips tremble, and cold and death-like dew on her temples, while, in a languid voice, she was relating what I have repeated to you; and I know that no motives less powerful than her love and her fears for me could have engaged her to write as she did to you. Long years of sorrow have so broken her spirits, that the most gloomy ideas sometimes take possession of her mind; she trembles, lest incidents in her life, for which surely she has already been punished sufficiently, should still draw the anger of Heaven on her children, as well as hazard her future happiness. She thinks, that she should not have deceived Mr. Vyvian; though, had she not done so, there is no imagining what might have been the consequence from the furious temper of her father; and the consciousness of having done so has made her patiently submit to very unworthy treatment — offering (to use her own pathetic phrase) her sufferings as a sacrifice to the God whom she had offended, and hoping their bitterness and duration might expiate the errors of her early life. — From hence I account for many parts of my mother’s conduct, (continued Rosalie), that before appeared mysterious. Her severe penances; her voluntary resignation of the world, and her patient submission to the undutiful and even cruel conduct of her daughters; and from the pains these ladies took to alarm her about their brother’s attachment to me, though ignorant of all the agonies they were inflicting, I have an explanation of that forced and involuntary neglect of me, which rendered me so very wretched for some time, and of which I am persuaded nothing but this cruel idea could have induced her to assume even the appearance.”