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Title: Lady Susan
Author: Jane Austen
Release Date: June, 1997 [eBook #946]
[Most recently updated: October 1, 2022]
Language: English
Character set encoding: UTF-8
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LADY SUSAN ***
LADY SUSAN
by Jane Austen
CONTENTS
I
Lady Susan Vernon to Mr. Vernon.
Langford, Dec.
MY DEARBROTHER,—I can no longer refuse
myself the pleasure of profiting by your kind invitation when we last parted of
spending some weeks with you at Churchhill, and, therefore, if quite convenient
to you and Mrs. Vernon to receive me at present, I shall hope within a few days
to be introduced to a sister whom I have so long desired to be acquainted with.
My kind friends here are most affectionately urgent with me to prolong my stay,
but their hospitable and cheerful dispositions lead them too much into society
for my present situation and state of mind; and I impatiently look forward to
the hour when I shall be admitted into your delightful retirement.
I long to be made known to your dear little children, in whose hearts I shall
be very eager to secure an interest. I shall soon have need for all my
fortitude, as I am on the point of separation from my own daughter. The long
illness of her dear father prevented my paying her that attention which duty
and affection equally dictated, and I have too much reason to fear that the
governess to whose care I consigned her was unequal to the charge. I have
therefore resolved on placing her at one of the best private schools in town,
where I shall have an opportunity of leaving her myself in my way to you. I am
determined, you see, not to be denied admittance at Churchhill. It would indeed
give me most painful sensations to know that it were not in your power to
receive me.
Your most obliged and affectionate sister,
S. VERNON.
II
Lady Susan Vernon to Mrs. Johnson.
Langford.
You were mistaken, my dear Alicia, in supposing me fixed at this place for the
rest of the winter: it grieves me to say how greatly you were mistaken, for I
have seldom spent three months more agreeably than those which have just flown
away. At present, nothing goes smoothly; the females of the family are united
against me. You foretold how it would be when I first came to Langford, and
Mainwaring is so uncommonly pleasing that I was not without apprehensions for
myself. I remember saying to myself, as I drove to the house, “I like
this man, pray Heaven no harm come of it!” But I was determined to be
discreet, to bear in mind my being only four months a widow, and to be as quiet
as possible: and I have been so, my dear creature; I have admitted no
one’s attentions but Mainwaring’s. I have avoided all general
flirtation whatever; I have distinguished no creature besides, of all the
numbers resorting hither, except Sir James Martin, on whom I bestowed a little
notice, in order to detach him from Miss Mainwaring; but, if the world could
know my motive there they would honour me. I have been called an unkind
mother, but it was the sacred impulse of maternal affection, it was the
advantage of my daughter that led me on; and if that daughter were not the
greatest simpleton on earth, I might have been rewarded for my exertions as I
ought.
Sir James did make proposals to me for Frederica; but Frederica, who was born
to be the torment of my life, chose to set herself so violently against the
match that I thought it better to lay aside the scheme for the present. I have
more than once repented that I did not marry him myself; and were he but one
degree less contemptibly weak I certainly should: but I must own myself rather
romantic in that respect, and that riches only will not satisfy me. The event
of all this is very provoking: Sir James is gone, Maria highly incensed, and
Mrs. Mainwaring insupportably jealous; so jealous, in short, and so enraged
against me, that, in the fury of her temper, I should not be surprized at her
appealing to her guardian, if she had the liberty of addressing him: but there
your husband stands my friend; and the kindest, most amiable action of his life
was his throwing her off for ever on her marriage. Keep up his resentment,
therefore, I charge you. We are now in a sad state; no house was ever more
altered; the whole party are at war, and Mainwaring scarcely dares speak to me.
It is time for me to be gone; I have therefore determined on leaving them, and
shall spend, I hope, a comfortable day with you in town within this week. If I
am as little in favour with Mr. Johnson as ever, you must come to me at 10
Wigmore street; but I hope this may not be the case, for as Mr. Johnson, with
all his faults, is a man to whom that great word “respectable” is
always given, and I am known to be so intimate with his wife, his slighting me
has an awkward look.
I take London in my way to that insupportable spot, a country village; for I am
really going to Churchhill. Forgive me, my dear friend, it is my last resource.
Were there another place in England open to me I would prefer it. Charles
Vernon is my aversion; and I am afraid of his wife. At Churchhill, however, I
must remain till I have something better in view. My young lady accompanies me
to town, where I shall deposit her under the care of Miss Summers, in Wigmore
street, till she becomes a little more reasonable. She will made good
connections there, as the girls are all of the best families. The price is
immense, and much beyond what I can ever attempt to pay.
Adieu, I will send you a line as soon as I arrive in town.
Yours ever,
S. VERNON.
III
Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy.
Churchhill.
My dear Mother,—I am very sorry to tell you that it will not be in our
power to keep our promise of spending our Christmas with you; and we are
prevented that happiness by a circumstance which is not likely to make us any
amends. Lady Susan, in a letter to her brother-in-law, has declared her
intention of visiting us almost immediately; and as such a visit is in all
probability merely an affair of convenience, it is impossible to conjecture its
length. I was by no means prepared for such an event, nor can I now account for
her ladyship’s conduct; Langford appeared so exactly the place for her in
every respect, as well from the elegant and expensive style of living there, as
from her particular attachment to Mr. Mainwaring, that I was very far from
expecting so speedy a distinction, though I always imagined from her increasing
friendship for us since her husband’s death that we should, at some
future period, be obliged to receive her. Mr. Vernon, I think, was a great deal
too kind to her when he was in Staffordshire; her behaviour to him, independent
of her general character, has been so inexcusably artful and ungenerous since
our marriage was first in agitation that no one less amiable and mild than
himself could have overlooked it all; and though, as his brother’s widow,
and in narrow circumstances, it was proper to render her pecuniary assistance,
I cannot help thinking his pressing invitation to her to visit us at Churchhill
perfectly unnecessary. Disposed, however, as he always is to think the best of
everyone, her display of grief, and professions of regret, and general
resolutions of prudence, were sufficient to soften his heart and make him
really confide in her sincerity; but, as for myself, I am still unconvinced,
and plausibly as her ladyship has now written, I cannot make up my mind till I
better understand her real meaning in coming to us. You may guess, therefore,
my dear madam, with what feelings I look forward to her arrival. She will have
occasion for all those attractive powers for which she is celebrated to gain
any share of my regard; and I shall certainly endeavour to guard myself against
their influence, if not accompanied by something more substantial. She
expresses a most eager desire of being acquainted with me, and makes very
gracious mention of my children but I am not quite weak enough to suppose a
woman who has behaved with inattention, if not with unkindness, to her own
child, should be attached to any of mine. Miss Vernon is to be placed at a
school in London before her mother comes to us which I am glad of, for her sake
and my own. It must be to her advantage to be separated from her mother, and a
girl of sixteen who has received so wretched an education, could not be a very
desirable companion here. Reginald has long wished, I know, to see the
captivating Lady Susan, and we shall depend on his joining our party soon. I am
glad to hear that my father continues so well; and am, with best love, &c.,
CATHERINEVERNON.
IV
Mr. De Courcy to Mrs. Vernon.
Parklands.
My dear Sister,—I congratulate you and Mr. Vernon on being about to
receive into your family the most accomplished coquette in England. As a very
distinguished flirt I have always been taught to consider her, but it has
lately fallen in my way to hear some particulars of her conduct at Langford:
which prove that she does not confine herself to that sort of honest flirtation
which satisfies most people, but aspires to the more delicious gratification of
making a whole family miserable. By her behaviour to Mr. Mainwaring she gave
jealousy and wretchedness to his wife, and by her attentions to a young man
previously attached to Mr. Mainwaring’s sister deprived an amiable girl
of her lover.
I learnt all this from Mr. Smith, now in this neighbourhood (I have dined with
him, at Hurst and Wilford), who is just come from Langford where he was a
fortnight with her ladyship, and who is therefore well qualified to make the
communication.
What a woman she must be! I long to see her, and shall certainly accept your
kind invitation, that I may form some idea of those bewitching powers which can
do so much—engaging at the same time, and in the same house, the
affections of two men, who were neither of them at liberty to bestow
them—and all this without the charm of youth! I am glad to find Miss
Vernon does not accompany her mother to Churchhill, as she has not even manners
to recommend her; and, according to Mr. Smith’s account, is equally dull
and proud. Where pride and stupidity unite there can be no dissimulation worthy
notice, and Miss Vernon shall be consigned to unrelenting contempt; but by all
that I can gather Lady Susan possesses a degree of captivating deceit which it
must be pleasing to witness and detect. I shall be with you very soon, and am
ever,
Your affectionate brother,
R. DECOURCY.
V
Lady Susan Vernon to Mrs. Johnson.
Churchhill.
I received your note, my dear Alicia, just before I left town, and rejoice to
be assured that Mr. Johnson suspected nothing of your engagement the evening
before. It is undoubtedly better to deceive him entirely, and since he will be
stubborn he must be tricked. I arrived here in safety, and have no reason to
complain of my reception from Mr. Vernon; but I confess myself not equally
satisfied with the behaviour of his lady. She is perfectly well-bred, indeed,
and has the air of a woman of fashion, but her manners are not such as can
persuade me of her being prepossessed in my favour. I wanted her to be
delighted at seeing me. I was as amiable as possible on the occasion, but all
in vain. She does not like me. To be sure, when we consider that I did
take some pains to prevent my brother-in-law’s marrying her, this want of
cordiality is not very surprizing, and yet it shows an illiberal and vindictive
spirit to resent a project which influenced me six years ago, and which never
succeeded at last.
I am sometimes disposed to repent that I did not let Charles buy Vernon Castle,
when we were obliged to sell it; but it was a trying circumstance, especially
as the sale took place exactly at the time of his marriage; and everybody ought
to respect the delicacy of those feelings which could not endure that my
husband’s dignity should be lessened by his younger brother’s
having possession of the family estate. Could matters have been so arranged as
to prevent the necessity of our leaving the castle, could we have lived with
Charles and kept him single, I should have been very far from persuading my
husband to dispose of it elsewhere; but Charles was on the point of marrying
Miss De Courcy, and the event has justified me. Here are children in abundance,
and what benefit could have accrued to me from his purchasing Vernon? My having
prevented it may perhaps have given his wife an unfavourable impression, but
where there is a disposition to dislike, a motive will never be wanting; and as
to money matters it has not withheld him from being very useful to me. I really
have a regard for him, he is so easily imposed upon! The house is a good one,
the furniture fashionable, and everything announces plenty and elegance.
Charles is very rich I am sure; when a man has once got his name in a
banking-house he rolls in money; but they do not know what to do with it, keep
very little company, and never go to London but on business. We shall be as
stupid as possible. I mean to win my sister-in-law’s heart through the
children; I know all their names already, and am going to attach myself with
the greatest sensibility to one in particular, a young Frederic, whom I take on
my lap and sigh over for his dear uncle’s sake.
Poor Mainwaring! I need not tell you how much I miss him, how perpetually he is
in my thoughts. I found a dismal letter from him on my arrival here, full of
complaints of his wife and sister, and lamentations on the cruelty of his fate.
I passed off the letter as his wife’s, to the Vernons, and when I write
to him it must be under cover to you.
Ever yours,
S. VERNON.
VI
Mrs. Vernon to Mr. De Courcy.
Churchhill.
Well, my dear Reginald, I have seen this dangerous creature, and must give you
some description of her, though I hope you will soon be able to form your own
judgment. She is really excessively pretty; however you may choose to question
the allurements of a lady no longer young, I must, for my own part, declare
that I have seldom seen so lovely a woman as Lady Susan. She is delicately
fair, with fine grey eyes and dark eyelashes; and from her appearance one would
not suppose her more than five and twenty, though she must in fact be ten years
older. I was certainly not disposed to admire her, though always hearing she
was beautiful; but I cannot help feeling that she possesses an uncommon union
of symmetry, brilliancy, and grace. Her address to me was so gentle, frank, and
even affectionate, that, if I had not known how much she has always disliked me
for marrying Mr. Vernon, and that we had never met before, I should have
imagined her an attached friend. One is apt, I believe, to connect assurance of
manner with coquetry, and to expect that an impudent address will naturally
attend an impudent mind; at least I was myself prepared for an improper degree
of confidence in Lady Susan; but her countenance is absolutely sweet, and her
voice and manner winningly mild. I am sorry it is so, for what is this but
deceit? Unfortunately, one knows her too well. She is clever and agreeable, has
all that knowledge of the world which makes conversation easy, and talks very
well, with a happy command of language, which is too often used, I believe, to
make black appear white. She has already almost persuaded me of her being
warmly attached to her daughter, though I have been so long convinced to the
contrary. She speaks of her with so much tenderness and anxiety, lamenting so
bitterly the neglect of her education, which she represents however as wholly
unavoidable, that I am forced to recollect how many successive springs her
ladyship spent in town, while her daughter was left in Staffordshire to the
care of servants, or a governess very little better, to prevent my believing
what she says.
If her manners have so great an influence on my resentful heart, you may judge
how much more strongly they operate on Mr. Vernon’s generous temper. I
wish I could be as well satisfied as he is, that it was really her choice to
leave Langford for Churchhill; and if she had not stayed there for months
before she discovered that her friend’s manner of living did not suit her
situation or feelings, I might have believed that concern for the loss of such
a husband as Mr. Vernon, to whom her own behaviour was far from
unexceptionable, might for a time make her wish for retirement. But I cannot
forget the length of her visit to the Mainwarings, and when I reflect on the
different mode of life which she led with them from that to which she must now
submit, I can only suppose that the wish of establishing her reputation by
following though late the path of propriety, occasioned her removal from a
family where she must in reality have been particularly happy. Your friend Mr.
Smith’s story, however, cannot be quite correct, as she corresponds
regularly with Mrs. Mainwaring. At any rate it must be exaggerated. It is
scarcely possible that two men should be so grossly deceived by her at once.
Yours, &c.,
CATHERINEVERNON
VII
Lady Susan Vernon to Mrs. Johnson.
Churchhill.
My dear Alicia,—You are very good in taking notice of Frederica, and I am
grateful for it as a mark of your friendship; but as I cannot have any doubt of
the warmth of your affection, I am far from exacting so heavy a sacrifice. She
is a stupid girl, and has nothing to recommend her. I would not, therefore, on
my account, have you encumber one moment of your precious time by sending for
her to Edward Street, especially as every visit is so much deducted from the
grand affair of education, which I really wish to have attended to while she
remains at Miss Summers’s. I want her to play and sing with some portion
of taste and a good deal of assurance, as she has my hand and arm and a
tolerable voice. I was so much indulged in my infant years that I was never
obliged to attend to anything, and consequently am without the accomplishments
which are now necessary to finish a pretty woman. Not that I am an advocate for
the prevailing fashion of acquiring a perfect knowledge of all languages, arts,
and sciences. It is throwing time away to be mistress of French, Italian, and
German: music, singing, and drawing, &c., will gain a woman some applause,
but will not add one lover to her list—grace and manner, after all, are
of the greatest importance. I do not mean, therefore, that Frederica’s
acquirements should be more than superficial, and I flatter myself that she
will not remain long enough at school to understand anything thoroughly. I hope
to see her the wife of Sir James within a twelvemonth. You know on what I
ground my hope, and it is certainly a good foundation, for school must be very
humiliating to a girl of Frederica’s age. And, by-the-by, you had better
not invite her any more on that account, as I wish her to find her situation as
unpleasant as possible. I am sure of Sir James at any time, and could make him
renew his application by a line. I shall trouble you meanwhile to prevent his
forming any other attachment when he comes to town. Ask him to your house
occasionally, and talk to him of Frederica, that he may not forget her. Upon
the whole, I commend my own conduct in this affair extremely, and regard it as
a very happy instance of circumspection and tenderness. Some mothers would have
insisted on their daughter’s accepting so good an offer on the first
overture; but I could not reconcile it to myself to force Frederica into a
marriage from which her heart revolted, and instead of adopting so harsh a
measure merely propose to make it her own choice, by rendering her thoroughly
uncomfortable till she does accept him—but enough of this tiresome girl.
You may well wonder how I contrive to pass my time here, and for the first week
it was insufferably dull. Now, however, we begin to mend, our party is enlarged
by Mrs. Vernon’s brother, a handsome young man, who promises me some
amusement. There is something about him which rather interests me, a sort of
sauciness and familiarity which I shall teach him to correct. He is lively, and
seems clever, and when I have inspired him with greater respect for me than his
sister’s kind offices have implanted, he may be an agreeable flirt. There
is exquisite pleasure in subduing an insolent spirit, in making a person
predetermined to dislike acknowledge one’s superiority. I have
disconcerted him already by my calm reserve, and it shall be my endeavour to
humble the pride of these self important De Courcys still lower, to convince
Mrs. Vernon that her sisterly cautions have been bestowed in vain, and to
persuade Reginald that she has scandalously belied me. This project will serve
at least to amuse me, and prevent my feeling so acutely this dreadful
separation from you and all whom I love.
Yours ever,
S. VERNON.
VIII
Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy.
Churchhill.
My dear Mother,—You must not expect Reginald back again for some time. He
desires me to tell you that the present open weather induces him to accept Mr.
Vernon’s invitation to prolong his stay in Sussex, that they may have
some hunting together. He means to send for his horses immediately, and it is
impossible to say when you may see him in Kent. I will not disguise my
sentiments on this change from you, my dear mother, though I think you had
better not communicate them to my father, whose excessive anxiety about
Reginald would subject him to an alarm which might seriously affect his health
and spirits. Lady Susan has certainly contrived, in the space of a fortnight,
to make my brother like her. In short, I am persuaded that his continuing here
beyond the time originally fixed for his return is occasioned as much by a
degree of fascination towards her, as by the wish of hunting with Mr. Vernon,
and of course I cannot receive that pleasure from the length of his visit which
my brother’s company would otherwise give me. I am, indeed, provoked at
the artifice of this unprincipled woman; what stronger proof of her dangerous
abilities can be given than this perversion of Reginald’s judgment, which
when he entered the house was so decidedly against her! In his last letter he
actually gave me some particulars of her behaviour at Langford, such as he
received from a gentleman who knew her perfectly well, which, if true, must
raise abhorrence against her, and which Reginald himself was entirely disposed
to credit. His opinion of her, I am sure, was as low as of any woman in
England; and when he first came it was evident that he considered her as one
entitled neither to delicacy nor respect, and that he felt she would be
delighted with the attentions of any man inclined to flirt with her. Her
behaviour, I confess, has been calculated to do away with such an idea; I have
not detected the smallest impropriety in it—nothing of vanity, of
pretension, of levity; and she is altogether so attractive that I should not
wonder at his being delighted with her, had he known nothing of her previous to
this personal acquaintance; but, against reason, against conviction, to be so
well pleased with her, as I am sure he is, does really astonish me. His
admiration was at first very strong, but no more than was natural, and I did
not wonder at his being much struck by the gentleness and delicacy of her
manners; but when he has mentioned her of late it has been in terms of more
extraordinary praise; and yesterday he actually said that he could not be
surprised at any effect produced on the heart of man by such loveliness and
such abilities; and when I lamented, in reply, the badness of her disposition,
he observed that whatever might have been her errors they were to be imputed to
her neglected education and early marriage, and that she was altogether a
wonderful woman. This tendency to excuse her conduct or to forget it, in the
warmth of admiration, vexes me; and if I did not know that Reginald is too much
at home at Churchhill to need an invitation for lengthening his visit, I should
regret Mr. Vernon’s giving him any. Lady Susan’s intentions are of
course those of absolute coquetry, or a desire of universal admiration; I
cannot for a moment imagine that she has anything more serious in view; but it
mortifies me to see a young man of Reginald’s sense duped by her at all.
I am, &c.,
CATHERINEVERNON.
IX
Mrs. Johnson to Lady S. Vernon.
Edward Street.
My dearest Friend,—I congratulate you on Mr. De Courcy’s arrival,
and I advise you by all means to marry him; his father’s estate is, we
know, considerable, and I believe certainly entailed. Sir Reginald is very
infirm, and not likely to stand in your way long. I hear the young man well
spoken of; and though no one can really deserve you, my dearest Susan, Mr. De
Courcy may be worth having. Mainwaring will storm of course, but you easily
pacify him; besides, the most scrupulous point of honour could not require you
to wait for his emancipation. I have seen Sir James; he came to town for
a few days last week, and called several times in Edward Street. I talked to
him about you and your daughter, and he is so far from having forgotten you,
that I am sure he would marry either of you with pleasure. I gave him hopes of
Frederica’s relenting, and told him a great deal of her improvements. I
scolded him for making love to Maria Mainwaring; he protested that he had been
only in joke, and we both laughed heartily at her disappointment; and, in
short, were very agreeable. He is as silly as ever.
Yours faithfully,
ALICIA.
X
Lady Susan Vernon to Mrs. Johnson.
Churchhill.
I am much obliged to you, my dear Friend, for your advice respecting Mr. De
Courcy, which I know was given with the full conviction of its expediency,
though I am not quite determined on following it. I cannot easily resolve on
anything so serious as marriage; especially as I am not at present in want of
money, and might perhaps, till the old gentleman’s death, be very little
benefited by the match. It is true that I am vain enough to believe it within
my reach. I have made him sensible of my power, and can now enjoy the pleasure
of triumphing over a mind prepared to dislike me, and prejudiced against all my
past actions. His sister, too, is, I hope, convinced how little the ungenerous
representations of anyone to the disadvantage of another will avail when
opposed by the immediate influence of intellect and manner. I see plainly that
she is uneasy at my progress in the good opinion of her brother, and conclude
that nothing will be wanting on her part to counteract me; but having once made
him doubt the justice of her opinion of me, I think I may defy her. It has been
delightful to me to watch his advances towards intimacy, especially to observe
his altered manner in consequence of my repressing by the cool dignity of my
deportment his insolent approach to direct familiarity. My conduct has been
equally guarded from the first, and I never behaved less like a coquette in the
whole course of my life, though perhaps my desire of dominion was never more
decided. I have subdued him entirely by sentiment and serious conversation, and
made him, I may venture to say, at least half in love with me, without the
semblance of the most commonplace flirtation. Mrs. Vernon’s consciousness
of deserving every sort of revenge that it can be in my power to inflict for
her ill-offices could alone enable her to perceive that I am actuated by any
design in behaviour so gentle and unpretending. Let her think and act as she
chooses, however. I have never yet found that the advice of a sister could
prevent a young man’s being in love if he chose. We are advancing now to
some kind of confidence, and in short are likely to be engaged in a sort of
platonic friendship. On my side you may be sure of its never being more, for if
I were not attached to another person as much as I can be to anyone, I should
make a point of not bestowing my affection on a man who had dared to think so
meanly of me. Reginald has a good figure and is not unworthy the praise you
have heard given him, but is still greatly inferior to our friend at Langford.
He is less polished, less insinuating than Mainwaring, and is comparatively
deficient in the power of saying those delightful things which put one in good
humour with oneself and all the world. He is quite agreeable enough, however,
to afford me amusement, and to make many of those hours pass very pleasantly
which would otherwise be spent in endeavouring to overcome my
sister-in-law’s reserve, and listening to the insipid talk of her
husband. Your account of Sir James is most satisfactory, and I mean to give
Miss Frederica a hint of my intentions very soon.
Yours, &c.,
S. VERNON.
XI
Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy.
Churchhill
I really grow quite uneasy, my dearest mother, about Reginald, from witnessing
the very rapid increase of Lady Susan’s influence. They are now on terms
of the most particular friendship, frequently engaged in long conversations
together; and she has contrived by the most artful coquetry to subdue his
judgment to her own purposes. It is impossible to see the intimacy between them
so very soon established without some alarm, though I can hardly suppose that
Lady Susan’s plans extend to marriage. I wish you could get Reginald home
again on any plausible pretence; he is not at all disposed to leave us, and I
have given him as many hints of my father’s precarious state of health as
common decency will allow me to do in my own house. Her power over him must now
be boundless, as she has entirely effaced all his former ill-opinion, and
persuaded him not merely to forget but to justify her conduct. Mr.
Smith’s account of her proceedings at Langford, where he accused her of
having made Mr. Mainwaring and a young man engaged to Miss Mainwaring
distractedly in love with her, which Reginald firmly believed when he came
here, is now, he is persuaded, only a scandalous invention. He has told me so
with a warmth of manner which spoke his regret at having believed the contrary
himself. How sincerely do I grieve that she ever entered this house! I always
looked forward to her coming with uneasiness; but very far was it from
originating in anxiety for Reginald. I expected a most disagreeable companion
for myself, but could not imagine that my brother would be in the smallest
danger of being captivated by a woman with whose principles he was so well
acquainted, and whose character he so heartily despised. If you can get him
away it will be a good thing.
Yours, &c.,
CATHERINEVERNON.
XII
Sir Reginald De Courcy to his Son.
Parklands.
I know that young men in general do not admit of any enquiry even from their
nearest relations into affairs of the heart, but I hope, my dear Reginald, that
you will be superior to such as allow nothing for a father’s anxiety, and
think themselves privileged to refuse him their confidence and slight his
advice. You must be sensible that as an only son, and the representative of an
ancient family, your conduct in life is most interesting to your connections;
and in the very important concern of marriage especially, there is everything
at stake—your own happiness, that of your parents, and the credit of your
name. I do not suppose that you would deliberately form an absolute engagement
of that nature without acquainting your mother and myself, or at least, without
being convinced that we should approve of your choice; but I cannot help
fearing that you may be drawn in, by the lady who has lately attached you, to a
marriage which the whole of your family, far and near, must highly reprobate.
Lady Susan’s age is itself a material objection, but her want of
character is one so much more serious, that the difference of even twelve years
becomes in comparison of small amount. Were you not blinded by a sort of
fascination, it would be ridiculous in me to repeat the instances of great
misconduct on her side so very generally known.
Her neglect of her husband, her encouragement of other men, her extravagance
and dissipation, were so gross and notorious that no one could be ignorant of
them at the time, nor can now have forgotten them. To our family she has always
been represented in softened colours by the benevolence of Mr. Charles Vernon,
and yet, in spite of his generous endeavours to excuse her, we know that she
did, from the most selfish motives, take all possible pains to prevent his
marriage with Catherine.
My years and increasing infirmities make me very desirous of seeing you settled
in the world. To the fortune of a wife, the goodness of my own will make me
indifferent, but her family and character must be equally unexceptionable. When
your choice is fixed so that no objection can be made to it, then I can promise
you a ready and cheerful consent; but it is my duty to oppose a match which
deep art only could render possible, and must in the end make wretched. It is
possible her behaviour may arise only from vanity, or the wish of gaining the
admiration of a man whom she must imagine to be particularly prejudiced against
her; but it is more likely that she should aim at something further. She is
poor, and may naturally seek an alliance which must be advantageous to herself;
you know your own rights, and that it is out of my power to prevent your
inheriting the family estate. My ability of distressing you during my life
would be a species of revenge to which I could hardly stoop under any
circumstances.
I honestly tell you my sentiments and intentions: I do not wish to work on your
fears, but on your sense and affection. It would destroy every comfort of my
life to know that you were married to Lady Susan Vernon; it would be the death
of that honest pride with which I have hitherto considered my son; I should
blush to see him, to hear of him, to think of him. I may perhaps do no good but
that of relieving my own mind by this letter, but I felt it my duty to tell you
that your partiality for Lady Susan is no secret to your friends, and to warn
you against her. I should be glad to hear your reasons for disbelieving Mr.
Smith’s intelligence; you had no doubt of its authenticity a month ago.
If you can give me your assurance of having no design beyond enjoying the
conversation of a clever woman for a short period, and of yielding admiration
only to her beauty and abilities, without being blinded by them to her faults,
you will restore me to happiness; but, if you cannot do this, explain to me, at
least, what has occasioned so great an alteration in your opinion of her.
I am, &c., &c,
REGINALDDECOURCY
XIII
Lady De Courcy to Mrs. Vernon.
Parklands.
My dear Catherine,—Unluckily I was confined to my room when your last
letter came, by a cold which affected my eyes so much as to prevent my reading
it myself, so I could not refuse your father when he offered to read it to me,
by which means he became acquainted, to my great vexation, with all your fears
about your brother. I had intended to write to Reginald myself as soon as my
eyes would let me, to point out, as well as I could, the danger of an intimate
acquaintance, with so artful a woman as Lady Susan, to a young man of his age,
and high expectations. I meant, moreover, to have reminded him of our being
quite alone now, and very much in need of him to keep up our spirits these long
winter evenings. Whether it would have done any good can never be settled now,
but I am excessively vexed that Sir Reginald should know anything of a matter
which we foresaw would make him so uneasy. He caught all your fears the moment
he had read your letter, and I am sure he has not had the business out of his
head since. He wrote by the same post to Reginald a long letter full of it all,
and particularly asking an explanation of what he may have heard from Lady
Susan to contradict the late shocking reports. His answer came this morning,
which I shall enclose to you, as I think you will like to see it. I wish it was
more satisfactory; but it seems written with such a determination to think well
of Lady Susan, that his assurances as to marriage, &c., do not set my heart
at ease. I say all I can, however, to satisfy your father, and he is certainly
less uneasy since Reginald’s letter. How provoking it is, my dear
Catherine, that this unwelcome guest of yours should not only prevent our
meeting this Christmas, but be the occasion of so much vexation and trouble!
Kiss the dear children for me.
Your affectionate mother,
C. DECOURCY.
XIV
Mr. De Courcy to Sir Reginald.
Churchhill.
My dear Sir,—I have this moment received your letter, which has given me
more astonishment than I ever felt before. I am to thank my sister, I suppose,
for having represented me in such a light as to injure me in your opinion, and
give you all this alarm. I know not why she should choose to make herself and
her family uneasy by apprehending an event which no one but herself, I can
affirm, would ever have thought possible. To impute such a design to Lady Susan
would be taking from her every claim to that excellent understanding which her
bitterest enemies have never denied her; and equally low must sink my
pretensions to common sense if I am suspected of matrimonial views in my
behaviour to her. Our difference of age must be an insuperable objection, and I
entreat you, my dear father, to quiet your mind, and no longer harbour a
suspicion which cannot be more injurious to your own peace than to our
understandings. I can have no other view in remaining with Lady Susan, than to
enjoy for a short time (as you have yourself expressed it) the conversation of
a woman of high intellectual powers. If Mrs. Vernon would allow something to my
affection for herself and her husband in the length of my visit, she would do
more justice to us all; but my sister is unhappily prejudiced beyond the hope
of conviction against Lady Susan. From an attachment to her husband, which in
itself does honour to both, she cannot forgive the endeavours at preventing
their union, which have been attributed to selfishness in Lady Susan; but in
this case, as well as in many others, the world has most grossly injured that
lady, by supposing the worst where the motives of her conduct have been
doubtful. Lady Susan had heard something so materially to the disadvantage of
my sister as to persuade her that the happiness of Mr. Vernon, to whom she was
always much attached, would be wholly destroyed by the marriage. And this
circumstance, while it explains the true motives of Lady Susan’s conduct,
and removes all the blame which has been so lavished on her, may also convince
us how little the general report of anyone ought to be credited; since no
character, however upright, can escape the malevolence of slander. If my
sister, in the security of retirement, with as little opportunity as
inclination to do evil, could not avoid censure, we must not rashly condemn
those who, living in the world and surrounded with temptations, should be
accused of errors which they are known to have the power of committing.
I blame myself severely for having so easily believed the slanderous tales
invented by Charles Smith to the prejudice of Lady Susan, as I am now convinced
how greatly they have traduced her. As to Mrs. Mainwaring’s jealousy it
was totally his own invention, and his account of her attaching Miss
Mainwaring’s lover was scarcely better founded. Sir James Martin had been
drawn in by that young lady to pay her some attention; and as he is a man of
fortune, it was easy to see her views extended to marriage. It is well
known that Miss M. is absolutely on the catch for a husband, and no one
therefore can pity her for losing, by the superior attractions of another
woman, the chance of being able to make a worthy man completely wretched. Lady
Susan was far from intending such a conquest, and on finding how warmly Miss
Mainwaring resented her lover’s defection, determined, in spite of Mr.
and Mrs. Mainwaring’s most urgent entreaties, to leave the family. I have
reason to imagine she did receive serious proposals from Sir James, but her
removing from Langford immediately on the discovery of his attachment, must
acquit her on that article with any mind of common candour. You will, I am
sure, my dear Sir, feel the truth of this, and will hereby learn to do justice
to the character of a very injured woman. I know that Lady Susan in coming to
Churchhill was governed only by the most honourable and amiable intentions; her
prudence and economy are exemplary, her regard for Mr. Vernon equal even to
his deserts; and her wish of obtaining my sister’s good opinion
merits a better return than it has received. As a mother she is
unexceptionable; her solid affection for her child is shown by placing her in
hands where her education will be properly attended to; but because she has not
the blind and weak partiality of most mothers, she is accused of wanting
maternal tenderness. Every person of sense, however, will know how to value and
commend her well-directed affection, and will join me in wishing that Frederica
Vernon may prove more worthy than she has yet done of her mother’s tender
care. I have now, my dear father, written my real sentiments of Lady Susan; you
will know from this letter how highly I admire her abilities, and esteem her
character; but if you are not equally convinced by my full and solemn assurance
that your fears have been most idly created, you will deeply mortify and
distress me.
I am, &c., &c.,
R. DECOURCY.
XV
Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy.
Churchhill
My dear Mother,—I return you Reginald’s letter, and rejoice with
all my heart that my father is made easy by it: tell him so, with my
congratulations; but, between ourselves, I must own it has only convinced
me of my brother’s having no present intention of marrying
Lady Susan, not that he is in no danger of doing so three months hence. He
gives a very plausible account of her behaviour at Langford; I wish it may be
true, but his intelligence must come from herself, and I am less disposed to
believe it than to lament the degree of intimacy subsisting between them,
implied by the discussion of such a subject. I am sorry to have incurred his
displeasure, but can expect nothing better while he is so very eager in Lady
Susan’s justification. He is very severe against me indeed, and yet I
hope I have not been hasty in my judgment of her. Poor woman! though I have
reasons enough for my dislike, I cannot help pitying her at present, as she is
in real distress, and with too much cause. She had this morning a letter from
the lady with whom she has placed her daughter, to request that Miss Vernon
might be immediately removed, as she had been detected in an attempt to run
away. Why, or whither she intended to go, does not appear; but, as her
situation seems to have been unexceptionable, it is a sad thing, and of course
highly distressing to Lady Susan. Frederica must be as much as sixteen, and
ought to know better; but from what her mother insinuates, I am afraid she is a
perverse girl. She has been sadly neglected, however, and her mother ought to
remember it. Mr. Vernon set off for London as soon as she had determined what
should be done. He is, if possible, to prevail on Miss Summers to let Frederica
continue with her; and if he cannot succeed, to bring her to Churchhill for the
present, till some other situation can be found for her. Her ladyship is
comforting herself meanwhile by strolling along the shrubbery with Reginald,
calling forth all his tender feelings, I suppose, on this distressing occasion.
She has been talking a great deal about it to me. She talks vastly well; I am
afraid of being ungenerous, or I should say, too well to feel so very
deeply; but I will not look for her faults; she may be Reginald’s wife!
Heaven forbid it! but why should I be quicker-sighted than anyone else? Mr.
Vernon declares that he never saw deeper distress than hers, on the receipt of
the letter; and is his judgment inferior to mine? She was very unwilling that
Frederica should be allowed to come to Churchhill, and justly enough, as it
seems a sort of reward to behaviour deserving very differently; but it was
impossible to take her anywhere else, and she is not to remain here long.
“It will be absolutely necessary,” said she, “as you, my dear
sister, must be sensible, to treat my daughter with some severity while she is
here; a most painful necessity, but I will endeavour to submit to it. I
am afraid I have often been too indulgent, but my poor Frederica’s temper
could never bear opposition well: you must support and encourage me; you must
urge the necessity of reproof if you see me too lenient.” All this sounds
very reasonable. Reginald is so incensed against the poor silly girl! Surely it
is not to Lady Susan’s credit that he should be so bitter against her
daughter; his idea of her must be drawn from the mother’s description.
Well, whatever may be his fate, we have the comfort of knowing that we have
done our utmost to save him. We must commit the event to a higher power.
Yours ever, &c.,
CATHERINEVERNON.
XVI
Lady Susan to Mrs. Johnson.
Churchhill.
Never, my dearest Alicia, was I so provoked in my life as by a letter this
morning from Miss Summers. That horrid girl of mine has been trying to run
away. I had not a notion of her being such a little devil before, she seemed to
have all the Vernon milkiness; but on receiving the letter in which I declared
my intention about Sir James, she actually attempted to elope; at least, I
cannot otherwise account for her doing it. She meant, I suppose, to go to the
Clarkes in Staffordshire, for she has no other acquaintances. But she shall be
punished, she shall have him. I have sent Charles to town to make matters up if
he can, for I do not by any means want her here. If Miss Summers will not keep
her, you must find me out another school, unless we can get her married
immediately. Miss S. writes word that she could not get the young lady to
assign any cause for her extraordinary conduct, which confirms me in my own
previous explanation of it. Frederica is too shy, I think, and too much in awe
of me to tell tales, but if the mildness of her uncle should get anything out
of her, I am not afraid. I trust I shall be able to make my story as good as
hers. If I am vain of anything, it is of my eloquence. Consideration and esteem
as surely follow command of language as admiration waits on beauty, and here I
have opportunity enough for the exercise of my talent, as the chief of my time
is spent in conversation.
Reginald is never easy unless we are by ourselves, and when the weather is
tolerable, we pace the shrubbery for hours together. I like him on the whole
very well; he is clever and has a good deal to say, but he is sometimes
impertinent and troublesome. There is a sort of ridiculous delicacy about him
which requires the fullest explanation of whatever he may have heard to my
disadvantage, and is never satisfied till he thinks he has ascertained the
beginning and end of everything. This is one sort of love, but I confess it
does not particularly recommend itself to me. I infinitely prefer the tender
and liberal spirit of Mainwaring, which, impressed with the deepest conviction
of my merit, is satisfied that whatever I do must be right; and look with a
degree of contempt on the inquisitive and doubtful fancies of that heart which
seems always debating on the reasonableness of its emotions. Mainwaring is
indeed, beyond all compare, superior to Reginald—superior in everything
but the power of being with me! Poor fellow! he is much distracted by jealousy,
which I am not sorry for, as I know no better support of love. He has been
teazing me to allow of his coming into this country, and lodging somewhere near
incog.; but I forbade everything of the kind. Those women are
inexcusable who forget what is due to themselves, and the opinion of the world.
Yours ever,
S. VERNON.
XVII
Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy.
Churchhill.
My dear Mother,—Mr. Vernon returned on Thursday night, bringing his niece
with him. Lady Susan had received a line from him by that day’s post,
informing her that Miss Summers had absolutely refused to allow of Miss
Vernon’s continuance in her academy; we were therefore prepared for her
arrival, and expected them impatiently the whole evening. They came while we
were at tea, and I never saw any creature look so frightened as Frederica when
she entered the room. Lady Susan, who had been shedding tears before, and
showing great agitation at the idea of the meeting, received her with perfect
self-command, and without betraying the least tenderness of spirit. She hardly
spoke to her, and on Frederica’s bursting into tears as soon as we were
seated, took her out of the room, and did not return for some time. When she
did, her eyes looked very red and she was as much agitated as before. We saw no
more of her daughter. Poor Reginald was beyond measure concerned to see his
fair friend in such distress, and watched her with so much tender solicitude,
that I, who occasionally caught her observing his countenance with exultation,
was quite out of patience. This pathetic representation lasted the whole
evening, and so ostentatious and artful a display has entirely convinced me
that she did in fact feel nothing. I am more angry with her than ever since I
have seen her daughter; the poor girl looks so unhappy that my heart aches for
her. Lady Susan is surely too severe, for Frederica does not seem to have the
sort of temper to make severity necessary. She looks perfectly timid, dejected,
and penitent. She is very pretty, though not so handsome as her mother, nor at
all like her. Her complexion is delicate, but neither so fair nor so blooming
as Lady Susan’s, and she has quite the Vernon cast of countenance, the
oval face and mild dark eyes, and there is peculiar sweetness in her look when
she speaks either to her uncle or me, for as we behave kindly to her we have of
course engaged her gratitude.
Her mother has insinuated that her temper is intractable, but I never saw a
face less indicative of any evil disposition than hers; and from what I can see
of the behaviour of each to the other, the invariable severity of Lady Susan
and the silent dejection of Frederica, I am led to believe as heretofore that
the former has no real love for her daughter, and has never done her justice or
treated her affectionately. I have not been able to have any conversation with
my niece; she is shy, and I think I can see that some pains are taken to
prevent her being much with me. Nothing satisfactory transpires as to her
reason for running away. Her kind-hearted uncle, you may be sure, was too
fearful of distressing her to ask many questions as they travelled. I wish it
had been possible for me to fetch her instead of him. I think I should have
discovered the truth in the course of a thirty-mile journey. The small
pianoforte has been removed within these few days, at Lady Susan’s
request, into her dressing-room, and Frederica spends great part of the day
there, practising as it is called; but I seldom hear any noise when I pass that
way; what she does with herself there I do not know. There are plenty of books,
but it is not every girl who has been running wild the first fifteen years of
her life, that can or will read. Poor creature! the prospect from her window is
not very instructive, for that room overlooks the lawn, you know, with the
shrubbery on one side, where she may see her mother walking for an hour
together in earnest conversation with Reginald. A girl of Frederica’s age
must be childish indeed, if such things do not strike her. Is it not
inexcusable to give such an example to a daughter? Yet Reginald still thinks
Lady Susan the best of mothers, and still condemns Frederica as a worthless
girl! He is convinced that her attempt to run away proceeded from no
justifiable cause, and had no provocation. I am sure I cannot say that it
had, but while Miss Summers declares that Miss Vernon showed no signs of
obstinacy or perverseness during her whole stay in Wigmore Street, till she was
detected in this scheme, I cannot so readily credit what Lady Susan has made
him, and wants to make me believe, that it was merely an impatience of
restraint and a desire of escaping from the tuition of masters which brought on
the plan of an elopement. O Reginald, how is your judgment enslaved! He
scarcely dares even allow her to be handsome, and when I speak of her beauty,
replies only that her eyes have no brilliancy! Sometimes he is sure she is
deficient in understanding, and at others that her temper only is in fault. In
short, when a person is always to deceive, it is impossible to be consistent.
Lady Susan finds it necessary that Frederica should be to blame, and probably
has sometimes judged it expedient to accuse her of ill-nature and sometimes to
lament her want of sense. Reginald is only repeating after her ladyship.
I remain, &c., &c.,
CATHERINEVERNON.
XVIII
From the same to the same.
Churchhill.
My dear Mother,—I am very glad to find that my description of Frederica
Vernon has interested you, for I do believe her truly deserving of your regard;
and when I have communicated a notion which has recently struck me, your kind
impressions in her favour will, I am sure, be heightened. I cannot help
fancying that she is growing partial to my brother. I so very often see her
eyes fixed on his face with a remarkable expression of pensive admiration. He
is certainly very handsome; and yet more, there is an openness in his manner
that must be highly prepossessing, and I am sure she feels it so. Thoughtful
and pensive in general, her countenance always brightens into a smile when
Reginald says anything amusing; and, let the subject be ever so serious that he
may be conversing on, I am much mistaken if a syllable of his uttering escapes
her. I want to make him sensible of all this, for we know the power of
gratitude on such a heart as his; and could Frederica’s artless affection
detach him from her mother, we might bless the day which brought her to
Churchhill. I think, my dear mother, you would not disapprove of her as a
daughter. She is extremely young, to be sure, has had a wretched education, and
a dreadful example of levity in her mother; but yet I can pronounce her
disposition to be excellent, and her natural abilities very good. Though
totally without accomplishments, she is by no means so ignorant as one might
expect to find her, being fond of books and spending the chief of her time in
reading. Her mother leaves her more to herself than she did, and I have her
with me as much as possible, and have taken great pains to overcome her
timidity. We are very good friends, and though she never opens her lips before
her mother, she talks enough when alone with me to make it clear that, if
properly treated by Lady Susan, she would always appear to much greater
advantage. There cannot be a more gentle, affectionate heart; or more obliging
manners, when acting without restraint; and her little cousins are all very
fond of her.
Your affectionate daughter,
C. VERNON
XIX
Lady Susan to Mrs. Johnson.
Churchhill.
You will be eager, I know, to hear something further of Frederica, and perhaps
may think me negligent for not writing before. She arrived with her uncle last
Thursday fortnight, when, of course, I lost no time in demanding the cause of
her behaviour; and soon found myself to have been perfectly right in
attributing it to my own letter. The prospect of it frightened her so
thoroughly, that, with a mixture of true girlish perverseness and folly, she
resolved on getting out of the house and proceeding directly by the stage to
her friends, the Clarkes; and had really got as far as the length of two
streets in her journey when she was fortunately missed, pursued, and overtaken.
Such was the first distinguished exploit of Miss Frederica Vernon; and, if we
consider that it was achieved at the tender age of sixteen, we shall have room
for the most flattering prognostics of her future renown. I am excessively
provoked, however, at the parade of propriety which prevented Miss Summers from
keeping the girl; and it seems so extraordinary a piece of nicety, considering
my daughter’s family connections, that I can only suppose the lady to be
governed by the fear of never getting her money. Be that as it may, however,
Frederica is returned on my hands; and, having nothing else to employ her, is
busy in pursuing the plan of romance begun at Langford. She is actually falling
in love with Reginald De Courcy! To disobey her mother by refusing an
unexceptionable offer is not enough; her affections must also be given without
her mother’s approbation. I never saw a girl of her age bid fairer to be
the sport of mankind. Her feelings are tolerably acute, and she is so
charmingly artless in their display as to afford the most reasonable hope of
her being ridiculous, and despised by every man who sees her.
Artlessness will never do in love matters; and that girl is born a simpleton
who has it either by nature or affectation. I am not yet certain that Reginald
sees what she is about, nor is it of much consequence. She is now an object of
indifference to him, and she would be one of contempt were he to understand her
emotions. Her beauty is much admired by the Vernons, but it has no effect on
him. She is in high favour with her aunt altogether, because she is so little
like myself, of course. She is exactly the companion for Mrs. Vernon, who
dearly loves to be firm, and to have all the sense and all the wit of the
conversation to herself: Frederica will never eclipse her. When she first came
I was at some pains to prevent her seeing much of her aunt; but I have relaxed,
as I believe I may depend on her observing the rules I have laid down for their
discourse. But do not imagine that with all this lenity I have for a moment
given up my plan of her marriage. No; I am unalterably fixed on this point,
though I have not yet quite decided on the manner of bringing it about. I
should not chuse to have the business brought on here, and canvassed by the
wise heads of Mr. and Mrs. Vernon; and I cannot just now afford to go to town.
Miss Frederica must therefore wait a little.
Yours ever,
S. VERNON.
XX
Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy.
Churchhill
We have a very unexpected guest with us at present, my dear Mother: he arrived
yesterday. I heard a carriage at the door, as I was sitting with my children
while they dined; and supposing I should be wanted, left the nursery soon
afterwards, and was half-way downstairs, when Frederica, as pale as ashes, came
running up, and rushed by me into her own room. I instantly followed, and asked
her what was the matter. “Oh!” said she, “he is
come—Sir James is come, and what shall I do?” This was no
explanation; I begged her to tell me what she meant. At that moment we were
interrupted by a knock at the door: it was Reginald, who came, by Lady
Susan’s direction, to call Frederica down. “It is Mr. De
Courcy!” said she, colouring violently. “Mamma has sent for me; I
must go.” We all three went down together; and I saw my brother examining
the terrified face of Frederica with surprize. In the breakfast-room we found
Lady Susan, and a young man of gentlemanlike appearance, whom she introduced by
the name of Sir James Martin—the very person, as you may remember, whom
it was said she had been at pains to detach from Miss Mainwaring; but the
conquest, it seems, was not designed for herself, or she has since transferred
it to her daughter; for Sir James is now desperately in love with Frederica,
and with full encouragement from mamma. The poor girl, however, I am sure,
dislikes him; and though his person and address are very well, he appears, both
to Mr. Vernon and me, a very weak young man. Frederica looked so shy, so
confused, when we entered the room, that I felt for her exceedingly. Lady Susan
behaved with great attention to her visitor; and yet I thought I could perceive
that she had no particular pleasure in seeing him. Sir James talked a great
deal, and made many civil excuses to me for the liberty he had taken in coming
to Churchhill—mixing more frequent laughter with his discourse than the
subject required—said many things over and over again, and told Lady
Susan three times that he had seen Mrs. Johnson a few evenings before. He now
and then addressed Frederica, but more frequently her mother. The poor girl sat
all this time without opening her lips—her eyes cast down, and her colour
varying every instant; while Reginald observed all that passed in perfect
silence. At length Lady Susan, weary, I believe, of her situation, proposed
walking; and we left the two gentlemen together, to put on our pelisses. As we
went upstairs Lady Susan begged permission to attend me for a few moments in my
dressing-room, as she was anxious to speak with me in private. I led her
thither accordingly, and as soon as the door was closed, she said: “I was
never more surprized in my life than by Sir James’s arrival, and the
suddenness of it requires some apology to you, my dear sister; though to
me, as a mother, it is highly flattering. He is so extremely attached to
my daughter that he could not exist longer without seeing her. Sir James is a
young man of an amiable disposition and excellent character; a little too much
of the rattle, perhaps, but a year or two will rectify that: and he is
in other respects so very eligible a match for Frederica, that I have always
observed his attachment with the greatest pleasure; and am persuaded that you
and my brother will give the alliance your hearty approbation. I have never
before mentioned the likelihood of its taking place to anyone, because I
thought that whilst Frederica continued at school it had better not be known to
exist; but now, as I am convinced that Frederica is too old ever to submit to
school confinement, and have, therefore, begun to consider her union with Sir
James as not very distant, I had intended within a few days to acquaint
yourself and Mr. Vernon with the whole business. I am sure, my dear sister, you
will excuse my remaining silent so long, and agree with me that such
circumstances, while they continue from any cause in suspense, cannot be too
cautiously concealed. When you have the happiness of bestowing your sweet
little Catherine, some years hence, on a man who in connection and character is
alike unexceptionable, you will know what I feel now; though, thank Heaven, you
cannot have all my reasons for rejoicing in such an event. Catherine will be
amply provided for, and not, like my Frederica, indebted to a fortunate
establishment for the comforts of life.” She concluded by demanding my
congratulations. I gave them somewhat awkwardly, I believe; for, in fact, the
sudden disclosure of so important a matter took from me the power of speaking
with any clearness. She thanked me, however, most affectionately, for my kind
concern in the welfare of herself and daughter; and then said: “I am not
apt to deal in professions, my dear Mrs. Vernon, and I never had the convenient
talent of affecting sensations foreign to my heart; and therefore I trust you
will believe me when I declare, that much as I had heard in your praise before
I knew you, I had no idea that I should ever love you as I now do; and I must
further say that your friendship towards me is more particularly gratifying
because I have reason to believe that some attempts were made to prejudice you
against me. I only wish that they, whoever they are, to whom I am indebted for
such kind intentions, could see the terms on which we now are together, and
understand the real affection we feel for each other; but I will not detain you
any longer. God bless you, for your goodness to me and my girl, and continue to
you all your present happiness.” What can one say of such a woman, my
dear mother? Such earnestness, such solemnity of expression! and yet I cannot
help suspecting the truth of everything she says. As for Reginald, I believe he
does not know what to make of the matter. When Sir James came, he appeared all
astonishment and perplexity; the folly of the young man and the confusion of
Frederica entirely engrossed him; and though a little private discourse with
Lady Susan has since had its effect, he is still hurt, I am sure, at her
allowing of such a man’s attentions to her daughter. Sir James invited
himself with great composure to remain here a few days—hoped we would not
think it odd, was aware of its being very impertinent, but he took the liberty
of a relation; and concluded by wishing, with a laugh, that he might be really
one very soon. Even Lady Susan seemed a little disconcerted by this
forwardness; in her heart I am persuaded she sincerely wished him gone. But
something must be done for this poor girl, if her feelings are such as both I
and her uncle believe them to be. She must not be sacrificed to policy or
ambition, and she must not be left to suffer from the dread of it. The girl
whose heart can distinguish Reginald De Courcy, deserves, however he may slight
her, a better fate than to be Sir James Martin’s wife. As soon as I can
get her alone, I will discover the real truth; but she seems to wish to avoid
me. I hope this does not proceed from anything wrong, and that I shall not find
out I have thought too well of her. Her behaviour to Sir James certainly speaks
the greatest consciousness and embarrassment, but I see nothing in it more like
encouragement. Adieu, my dear mother.
Yours, &c.,
C. VERNON.
XXI
Miss Vernon to Mr. De Courcy.
Sir,—I hope you will excuse this liberty; I am forced upon it by the
greatest distress, or I should be ashamed to trouble you. I am very miserable
about Sir James Martin, and have no other way in the world of helping myself
but by writing to you, for I am forbidden even speaking to my uncle and aunt on
the subject; and this being the case, I am afraid my applying to you will
appear no better than equivocation, and as if I attended to the letter and not
the spirit of mamma’s commands. But if you do not take my part and
persuade her to break it off, I shall be half distracted, for I cannot bear
him. No human being but you could have any chance of prevailing with
her. If you will, therefore, have the unspeakably great kindness of taking my
part with her, and persuading her to send Sir James away, I shall be more
obliged to you than it is possible for me to express. I always disliked him
from the first: it is not a sudden fancy, I assure you, sir; I always thought
him silly and impertinent and disagreeable, and now he is grown worse than
ever. I would rather work for my bread than marry him. I do not know how to
apologize enough for this letter; I know it is taking so great a liberty. I am
aware how dreadfully angry it will make mamma, but I remember the risk.
I am, Sir, your most humble servant,
F. S. V.
XXII
Lady Susan to Mrs. Johnson.
Churchhill.
This is insufferable! My dearest friend, I was never so enraged before, and
must relieve myself by writing to you, who I know will enter into all my
feelings. Who should come on Tuesday but Sir James Martin! Guess my
astonishment, and vexation—for, as you well know, I never wished him to
be seen at Churchhill. What a pity that you should not have known his
intentions! Not content with coming, he actually invited himself to remain here
a few days. I could have poisoned him! I made the best of it, however, and told
my story with great success to Mrs. Vernon, who, whatever might be her real
sentiments, said nothing in opposition to mine. I made a point also of
Frederica’s behaving civilly to Sir James, and gave her to understand
that I was absolutely determined on her marrying him. She said something of her
misery, but that was all. I have for some time been more particularly resolved
on the match from seeing the rapid increase of her affection for Reginald, and
from not feeling secure that a knowledge of such affection might not in the end
awaken a return. Contemptible as a regard founded only on compassion must make
them both in my eyes, I felt by no means assured that such might not be the
consequence. It is true that Reginald had not in any degree grown cool towards
me; but yet he has lately mentioned Frederica spontaneously and unnecessarily,
and once said something in praise of her person. Hewas all astonishment
at the appearance of my visitor, and at first observed Sir James with an
attention which I was pleased to see not unmixed with jealousy; but unluckily
it was impossible for me really to torment him, as Sir James, though extremely
gallant to me, very soon made the whole party understand that his heart was
devoted to my daughter. I had no great difficulty in convincing De Courcy, when
we were alone, that I was perfectly justified, all things considered, in
desiring the match; and the whole business seemed most comfortably arranged.
They could none of them help perceiving that Sir James was no Solomon; but I
had positively forbidden Frederica complaining to Charles Vernon or his wife,
and they had therefore no pretence for interference; though my impertinent
sister, I believe, wanted only opportunity for doing so. Everything, however,
was going on calmly and quietly; and, though I counted the hours of Sir
James’s stay, my mind was entirely satisfied with the posture of affairs.
Guess, then, what I must feel at the sudden disturbance of all my schemes; and
that, too, from a quarter where I had least reason to expect it. Reginald came
this morning into my dressing-room with a very unusual solemnity of
countenance, and after some preface informed me in so many words that he wished
to reason with me on the impropriety and unkindness of allowing Sir James
Martin to address my daughter contrary to her inclinations. I was all
amazement. When I found that he was not to be laughed out of his design, I
calmly begged an explanation, and desired to know by what he was impelled, and
by whom commissioned, to reprimand me. He then told me, mixing in his speech a
few insolent compliments and ill-timed expressions of tenderness, to which I
listened with perfect indifference, that my daughter had acquainted him with
some circumstances concerning herself, Sir James, and me which had given him
great uneasiness. In short, I found that she had in the first place actually
written to him to request his interference, and that, on receiving her letter,
he had conversed with her on the subject of it, in order to understand the
particulars, and to assure himself of her real wishes. I have not a doubt but
that the girl took this opportunity of making downright love to him. I am
convinced of it by the manner in which he spoke of her. Much good may such love
do him! I shall ever despise the man who can be gratified by the passion which
he never wished to inspire, nor solicited the avowal of. I shall always detest
them both. He can have no true regard for me, or he would not have listened to
her; and she, with her little rebellious heart and indelicate feelings,
to throw herself into the protection of a young man with whom she has scarcely
ever exchanged two words before! I am equally confounded at her
impudence and his credulity. How dared he believe what she told him in
my disfavour! Ought he not to have felt assured that I must have unanswerable
motives for all that I had done? Where was his reliance on my sense and
goodness then? Where the resentment which true love would have dictated against
the person defaming me—that person, too, a chit, a child, without talent
or education, whom he had been always taught to despise? I was calm for some
time; but the greatest degree of forbearance may be overcome, and I hope I was
afterwards sufficiently keen. He endeavoured, long endeavoured, to soften my
resentment; but that woman is a fool indeed who, while insulted by accusation,
can be worked on by compliments. At length he left me, as deeply provoked as
myself; and he showed his anger more. I was quite cool, but he gave way to the
most violent indignation; I may therefore expect it will the sooner subside,
and perhaps his may be vanished for ever, while mine will be found still fresh
and implacable. He is now shut up in his apartment, whither I heard him go on
leaving mine. How unpleasant, one would think, must be his reflections! but
some people’s feelings are incomprehensible. I have not yet tranquillised
myself enough to see Frederica. She shall not soon forget the
occurrences of this day; she shall find that she has poured forth her tender
tale of love in vain, and exposed herself for ever to the contempt of the whole
world, and the severest resentment of her injured mother.
Your affectionate
S. VERNON.
XXIII
Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy.
Churchhill.
Let me congratulate you, my dearest Mother! The affair which has given us so
much anxiety is drawing to a happy conclusion. Our prospect is most delightful,
and since matters have now taken so favourable a turn, I am quite sorry that I
ever imparted my apprehensions to you; for the pleasure of learning that the
danger is over is perhaps dearly purchased by all that you have previously
suffered. I am so much agitated by delight that I can scarcely hold a pen; but
am determined to send you a few short lines by James, that you may have some
explanation of what must so greatly astonish you, as that Reginald should be
returning to Parklands. I was sitting about half an hour ago with Sir James in
the breakfast parlour, when my brother called me out of the room. I instantly
saw that something was the matter; his complexion was raised, and he spoke with
great emotion; you know his eager manner, my dear mother, when his mind is
interested. “Catherine,” said he, “I am going home to-day; I
am sorry to leave you, but I must go: it is a great while since I have seen my
father and mother. I am going to send James forward with my hunters
immediately; if you have any letter, therefore, he can take it. I shall not be
at home myself till Wednesday or Thursday, as I shall go through London, where
I have business; but before I leave you,” he continued, speaking in a
lower tone, and with still greater energy, “I must warn you of one
thing—do not let Frederica Vernon be made unhappy by that Martin. He
wants to marry her; her mother promotes the match, but she cannot endure the
idea of it. Be assured that I speak from the fullest conviction of the truth of
what I say; I know that Frederica is made wretched by Sir James’s
continuing here. She is a sweet girl, and deserves a better fate. Send him away
immediately; he is only a fool: but what her mother can mean, Heaven only
knows! Good bye,” he added, shaking my hand with earnestness; “I do
not know when you will see me again; but remember what I tell you of Frederica;
you must make it your business to see justice done her. She is an
amiable girl, and has a very superior mind to what we have given her credit
for.” He then left me, and ran upstairs. I would not try to stop him, for
I knew what his feelings must be. The nature of mine, as I listened to him, I
need not attempt to describe; for a minute or two I remained in the same spot,
overpowered by wonder of a most agreeable sort indeed; yet it required some
consideration to be tranquilly happy. In about ten minutes after my return to
the parlour Lady Susan entered the room. I concluded, of course, that she and
Reginald had been quarrelling; and looked with anxious curiosity for a
confirmation of my belief in her face. Mistress of deceit, however, she
appeared perfectly unconcerned, and after chatting on indifferent subjects for
a short time, said to me, “I find from Wilson that we are going to lose
Mr. De Courcy—is it true that he leaves Churchhill this morning?” I
replied that it was. “He told us nothing of all this last night,”
said she, laughing, “or even this morning at breakfast; but perhaps he
did not know it himself. Young men are often hasty in their resolutions, and
not more sudden in forming than unsteady in keeping them. I should not be
surprised if he were to change his mind at last, and not go.” She soon
afterwards left the room. I trust, however, my dear mother, that we have no
reason to fear an alteration of his present plan; things have gone too far.
They must have quarrelled, and about Frederica, too. Her calmness astonishes
me. What delight will be yours in seeing him again; in seeing him still worthy
your esteem, still capable of forming your happiness! When I next write I shall
be able to tell you that Sir James is gone, Lady Susan vanquished, and
Frederica at peace. We have much to do, but it shall be done. I am all
impatience to hear how this astonishing change was effected. I finish as I
began, with the warmest congratulations.
Yours ever, &c.,
CATH. VERNON.
XXIV
From the same to the same.
Churchhill.
Little did I imagine, my dear Mother, when I sent off my last letter, that the
delightful perturbation of spirits I was then in would undergo so speedy, so
melancholy a reverse. I never can sufficiently regret that I wrote to you at
all. Yet who could have foreseen what has happened? My dear mother, every hope
which made me so happy only two hours ago has vanished. The quarrel between
Lady Susan and Reginald is made up, and we are all as we were before. One point
only is gained. Sir James Martin is dismissed. What are we now to look forward
to? I am indeed disappointed; Reginald was all but gone, his horse was ordered
and all but brought to the door; who would not have felt safe? For half an hour
I was in momentary expectation of his departure. After I had sent off my letter
to you, I went to Mr. Vernon, and sat with him in his room talking over the
whole matter, and then determined to look for Frederica, whom I had not seen
since breakfast. I met her on the stairs, and saw that she was crying.
“My dear aunt,” said she, “he is going—Mr. De Courcy is
going, and it is all my fault. I am afraid you will be very angry with me, but
indeed I had no idea it would end so.” “My love,” I replied,
“do not think it necessary to apologize to me on that account. I shall
feel myself under an obligation to anyone who is the means of sending my
brother home, because,” recollecting myself, “I know my father
wants very much to see him. But what is it you have done to occasion all
this?” She blushed deeply as she answered: “I was so unhappy about
Sir James that I could not help—I have done something very wrong, I know;
but you have not an idea of the misery I have been in: and mamma had ordered me
never to speak to you or my uncle about it, and—” “You
therefore spoke to my brother to engage his interference,” said I, to
save her the explanation. “No, but I wrote to him—I did indeed, I
got up this morning before it was light, and was two hours about it; and when
my letter was done I thought I never should have courage to give it. After
breakfast however, as I was going to my room, I met him in the passage, and
then, as I knew that everything must depend on that moment, I forced myself to
give it. He was so good as to take it immediately. I dared not look at him, and
ran away directly. I was in such a fright I could hardly breathe. My dear aunt,
you do not know how miserable I have been.” “Frederica” said
I, “you ought to have told me all your distresses. You would have found
in me a friend always ready to assist you. Do you think that your uncle or I
should not have espoused your cause as warmly as my brother?”
“Indeed, I did not doubt your kindness,” said she, colouring again,
“but I thought Mr. De Courcy could do anything with my mother; but I was
mistaken: they have had a dreadful quarrel about it, and he is going away.
Mamma will never forgive me, and I shall be worse off than ever.”
“No, you shall not,” I replied; “in such a point as this your
mother’s prohibition ought not to have prevented your speaking to me on
the subject. She has no right to make you unhappy, and she shall not do
it. Your applying, however, to Reginald can be productive only of good to all
parties. I believe it is best as it is. Depend upon it that you shall not be
made unhappy any longer.” At that moment how great was my astonishment at
seeing Reginald come out of Lady Susan’s dressing-room. My heart misgave
me instantly. His confusion at seeing me was very evident. Frederica
immediately disappeared. “Are you going?” I said; “you will
find Mr. Vernon in his own room.” “No, Catherine,” he
replied, “I am not going. Will you let me speak to you a moment?”
We went into my room. “I find,” he continued, his confusion
increasing as he spoke, “that I have been acting with my usual foolish
impetuosity. I have entirely misunderstood Lady Susan, and was on the point of
leaving the house under a false impression of her conduct. There has been some
very great mistake; we have been all mistaken, I fancy. Frederica does not know
her mother. Lady Susan means nothing but her good, but she will not make a
friend of her. Lady Susan does not always know, therefore, what will make her
daughter happy. Besides, I could have no right to interfere. Miss Vernon was
mistaken in applying to me. In short, Catherine, everything has gone wrong, but
it is now all happily settled. Lady Susan, I believe, wishes to speak to you
about it, if you are at leisure.” “Certainly,” I replied,
deeply sighing at the recital of so lame a story. I made no comments, however,
for words would have been vain.
Reginald was glad to get away, and I went to Lady Susan, curious, indeed, to
hear her account of it. “Did I not tell you,” said she with a
smile, “that your brother would not leave us after all?” “You
did, indeed,” replied I very gravely; “but I flattered myself you
would be mistaken.” “I should not have hazarded such an
opinion,” returned she, “if it had not at that moment occurred to
me that his resolution of going might be occasioned by a conversation in which
we had been this morning engaged, and which had ended very much to his
dissatisfaction, from our not rightly understanding each other’s meaning.
This idea struck me at the moment, and I instantly determined that an
accidental dispute, in which I might probably be as much to blame as himself,
should not deprive you of your brother. If you remember, I left the room almost
immediately. I was resolved to lose no time in clearing up those mistakes as
far as I could. The case was this—Frederica had set herself violently
against marrying Sir James.” “And can your ladyship wonder that she
should?” cried I with some warmth; “Frederica has an excellent
understanding, and Sir James has none.” “I am at least very far
from regretting it, my dear sister,” said she; “on the contrary, I
am grateful for so favourable a sign of my daughter’s sense. Sir James is
certainly below par (his boyish manners make him appear worse); and had
Frederica possessed the penetration and the abilities which I could have wished
in my daughter, or had I even known her to possess as much as she does, I
should not have been anxious for the match.” “It is odd that you
should alone be ignorant of your daughter’s sense!”
“Frederica never does justice to herself; her manners are shy and
childish, and besides she is afraid of me. During her poor father’s life
she was a spoilt child; the severity which it has since been necessary for me
to show has alienated her affection; neither has she any of that brilliancy of
intellect, that genius or vigour of mind which will force itself
forward.” “Say rather that she has been unfortunate in her
education!” “Heaven knows, my dearest Mrs. Vernon, how fully I am
aware of that; but I would wish to forget every circumstance that might throw
blame on the memory of one whose name is sacred with me.” Here she
pretended to cry; I was out of patience with her. “But what,” said
I, “was your ladyship going to tell me about your disagreement with my
brother?” “It originated in an action of my daughter’s, which
equally marks her want of judgment and the unfortunate dread of me I have been
mentioning—she wrote to Mr. De Courcy.” “I know she did; you
had forbidden her speaking to Mr. Vernon or to me on the cause of her distress;
what could she do, therefore, but apply to my brother?” “Good
God!” she exclaimed, “what an opinion you must have of me! Can you
possibly suppose that I was aware of her unhappiness! that it was my object to
make my own child miserable, and that I had forbidden her speaking to you on
the subject from a fear of your interrupting the diabolical scheme? Do you
think me destitute of every honest, every natural feeling? Am I capable of
consigning her to everlasting misery whose welfare it is my first
earthly duty to promote? The idea is horrible!” “What, then, was
your intention when you insisted on her silence?” “Of what use, my
dear sister, could be any application to you, however the affair might stand?
Why should I subject you to entreaties which I refused to attend to myself?
Neither for your sake nor for hers, nor for my own, could such a thing be
desirable. When my own resolution was taken I could not wish for the
interference, however friendly, of another person. I was mistaken, it is true,
but I believed myself right.” “But what was this mistake to which
your ladyship so often alludes? from whence arose so astonishing a
misconception of your daughter’s feelings? Did you not know that she
disliked Sir James?” “I knew that he was not absolutely the man she
would have chosen, but I was persuaded that her objections to him did not arise
from any perception of his deficiency. You must not question me, however, my
dear sister, too minutely on this point,” continued she, taking me
affectionately by the hand; “I honestly own that there is something to
conceal. Frederica makes me very unhappy! Her applying to Mr. De Courcy hurt me
particularly.” “What is it you mean to infer,” said I,
“by this appearance of mystery? If you think your daughter at all
attached to Reginald, her objecting to Sir James could not less deserve to be
attended to than if the cause of her objecting had been a consciousness of his
folly; and why should your ladyship, at any rate, quarrel with my brother for
an interference which, you must know, it is not in his nature to refuse when
urged in such a manner?”
“His disposition, you know, is warm, and he came to expostulate with me;
his compassion all alive for this ill-used girl, this heroine in distress! We
misunderstood each other: he believed me more to blame than I really was; I
considered his interference less excusable than I now find it. I have a real
regard for him, and was beyond expression mortified to find it, as I thought,
so ill bestowed. We were both warm, and of course both to blame. His resolution
of leaving Churchhill is consistent with his general eagerness. When I
understood his intention, however, and at the same time began to think that we
had been perhaps equally mistaken in each other’s meaning, I resolved to
have an explanation before it was too late. For any member of your family I
must always feel a degree of affection, and I own it would have sensibly hurt
me if my acquaintance with Mr. De Courcy had ended so gloomily. I have now only
to say further, that as I am convinced of Frederica’s having a reasonable
dislike to Sir James, I shall instantly inform him that he must give up all
hope of her. I reproach myself for having, even though innocently, made her
unhappy on that score. She shall have all the retribution in my power to make;
if she value her own happiness as much as I do, if she judge wisely, and
command herself as she ought, she may now be easy. Excuse me, my dearest
sister, for thus trespassing on your time, but I owe it to my own character;
and after this explanation I trust I am in no danger of sinking in your
opinion.” I could have said, “Not much, indeed!” but I left
her almost in silence. It was the greatest stretch of forbearance I could
practise. I could not have stopped myself had I begun. Her assurance! her
deceit! but I will not allow myself to dwell on them; they will strike you
sufficiently. My heart sickens within me. As soon as I was tolerably composed I
returned to the parlour. Sir James’s carriage was at the door, and he,
merry as usual, soon afterwards took his leave. How easily does her ladyship
encourage or dismiss a lover! In spite of this release, Frederica still looks
unhappy: still fearful, perhaps, of her mother’s anger; and though
dreading my brother’s departure, jealous, it may be, of his staying. I
see how closely she observes him and Lady Susan, poor girl! I have now no hope
for her. There is not a chance of her affection being returned. He thinks very
differently of her from what he used to do; he does her some justice, but his
reconciliation with her mother precludes every dearer hope. Prepare, my dear
mother, for the worst! The probability of their marrying is surely heightened!
He is more securely hers than ever. When that wretched event takes place,
Frederica must belong wholly to us. I am thankful that my last letter will
precede this by so little, as every moment that you can be saved from feeling a
joy which leads only to disappointment is of consequence.
Yours ever, &c.,
CATHERINEVERNON.
XXV
Lady Susan to Mrs. Johnson.
Churchhill.
I call on you, dear Alicia, for congratulations: I am my own self, gay and
triumphant! When I wrote to you the other day I was, in truth, in high
irritation, and with ample cause. Nay, I know not whether I ought to be quite
tranquil now, for I have had more trouble in restoring peace than I ever
intended to submit to—a spirit, too, resulting from a fancied sense of
superior integrity, which is peculiarly insolent! I shall not easily forgive
him, I assure you. He was actually on the point of leaving Churchhill! I had
scarcely concluded my last, when Wilson brought me word of it. I found,
therefore, that something must be done; for I did not choose to leave my
character at the mercy of a man whose passions are so violent and so
revengeful. It would have been trifling with my reputation to allow of his
departing with such an impression in my disfavour; in this light, condescension
was necessary. I sent Wilson to say that I desired to speak with him before he
went; he came immediately. The angry emotions which had marked every feature
when we last parted were partially subdued. He seemed astonished at the
summons, and looked as if half wishing and half fearing to be softened by what
I might say. If my countenance expressed what I aimed at, it was composed and
dignified; and yet, with a degree of pensiveness which might convince him that
I was not quite happy. “I beg your pardon, sir, for the liberty I have
taken in sending for you,” said I; “but as I have just learnt your
intention of leaving this place to-day, I feel it my duty to entreat that you
will not on my account shorten your visit here even an hour. I am perfectly
aware that after what has passed between us it would ill suit the feelings of
either to remain longer in the same house: so very great, so total a change
from the intimacy of friendship must render any future intercourse the severest
punishment; and your resolution of quitting Churchhill is undoubtedly in unison
with our situation, and with those lively feelings which I know you to possess.
But, at the same time, it is not for me to suffer such a sacrifice as it must
be to leave relations to whom you are so much attached, and are so dear. My
remaining here cannot give that pleasure to Mr. and Mrs. Vernon which your
society must; and my visit has already perhaps been too long. My removal,
therefore, which must, at any rate, take place soon, may, with perfect
convenience, be hastened; and I make it my particular request that I may not in
any way be instrumental in separating a family so affectionately attached to
each other. Where I go is of no consequence to anyone; of very little to
myself; but you are of importance to all your connections.” Here I
concluded, and I hope you will be satisfied with my speech. Its effect on
Reginald justifies some portion of vanity, for it was no less favourable than
instantaneous. Oh, how delightful it was to watch the variations of his
countenance while I spoke! to see the struggle between returning tenderness and
the remains of displeasure. There is something agreeable in feelings so easily
worked on; not that I envy him their possession, nor would, for the world, have
such myself; but they are very convenient when one wishes to influence the
passions of another. And yet this Reginald, whom a very few words from me
softened at once into the utmost submission, and rendered more tractable, more
attached, more devoted than ever, would have left me in the first angry
swelling of his proud heart without deigning to seek an explanation. Humbled as
he now is, I cannot forgive him such an instance of pride, and am doubtful
whether I ought not to punish him by dismissing him at once after this
reconciliation, or by marrying and teazing him for ever. But these measures are
each too violent to be adopted without some deliberation; at present my
thoughts are fluctuating between various schemes. I have many things to
compass: I must punish Frederica, and pretty severely too, for her application
to Reginald; I must punish him for receiving it so favourably, and for the rest
of his conduct. I must torment my sister-in-law for the insolent triumph of her
look and manner since Sir James has been dismissed; for, in reconciling
Reginald to me, I was not able to save that ill-fated young man; and I must
make myself amends for the humiliation to which I have stooped within these few
days. To effect all this I have various plans. I have also an idea of being
soon in town; and whatever may be my determination as to the rest, I shall
probably put that project in execution; for London will be always the
fairest field of action, however my views may be directed; and at any rate I
shall there be rewarded by your society, and a little dissipation, for a ten
weeks’ penance at Churchhill. I believe I owe it to my character to
complete the match between my daughter and Sir James after having so long
intended it. Let me know your opinion on this point. Flexibility of mind, a
disposition easily biassed by others, is an attribute which you know I am not
very desirous of obtaining; nor has Frederica any claim to the indulgence of
her notions at the expense of her mother’s inclinations. Her idle love
for Reginald, too! It is surely my duty to discourage such romantic nonsense.
All things considered, therefore, it seems incumbent on me to take her to town
and marry her immediately to Sir James. When my own will is effected contrary
to his, I shall have some credit in being on good terms with Reginald, which at
present, in fact, I have not; for though he is still in my power, I have given
up the very article by which our quarrel was produced, and at best the honour
of victory is doubtful. Send me your opinion on all these matters, my dear
Alicia, and let me know whether you can get lodgings to suit me within a short
distance of you.
Your most attached
S. VERNON.
XXVI
Mrs. Johnson to Lady Susan.
Edward Street.
I am gratified by your reference, and this is my advice: that you come to town
yourself, without loss of time, but that you leave Frederica behind. It would
surely be much more to the purpose to get yourself well established by marrying
Mr. De Courcy, than to irritate him and the rest of his family by making her
marry Sir James. You should think more of yourself and less of your daughter.
She is not of a disposition to do you credit in the world, and seems precisely
in her proper place at Churchhill, with the Vernons. But you are fitted for
society, and it is shameful to have you exiled from it. Leave Frederica,
therefore, to punish herself for the plague she has given you, by indulging
that romantic tender-heartedness which will always ensure her misery enough,
and come to London as soon as you can. I have another reason for urging this:
Mainwaring came to town last week, and has contrived, in spite of Mr. Johnson,
to make opportunities of seeing me. He is absolutely miserable about you, and
jealous to such a degree of De Courcy that it would be highly unadvisable for
them to meet at present. And yet, if you do not allow him to see you here, I
cannot answer for his not committing some great imprudence—such as going
to Churchhill, for instance, which would be dreadful! Besides, if you take my
advice, and resolve to marry De Courcy, it will be indispensably necessary to
you to get Mainwaring out of the way; and you only can have influence enough to
send him back to his wife. I have still another motive for your coming: Mr.
Johnson leaves London next Tuesday; he is going for his health to Bath, where,
if the waters are favourable to his constitution and my wishes, he will be laid
up with the gout many weeks. During his absence we shall be able to chuse our
own society, and to have true enjoyment. I would ask you to Edward Street, but
that once he forced from me a kind of promise never to invite you to my house;
nothing but my being in the utmost distress for money should have extorted it
from me. I can get you, however, a nice drawing-room apartment in Upper Seymour
Street, and we may be always together there or here; for I consider my promise
to Mr. Johnson as comprehending only (at least in his absence) your not
sleeping in the house. Poor Mainwaring gives me such histories of his
wife’s jealousy. Silly woman to expect constancy from so charming a man!
but she always was silly—intolerably so in marrying him at all, she the
heiress of a large fortune and he without a shilling: one title, I know, she
might have had, besides baronets. Her folly in forming the connection was so
great that, though Mr. Johnson was her guardian, and I do not in general share
his feelings, I never can forgive her.
Adieu. Yours ever,
ALICIA.
XXVII
Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy.
Churchhill.
This letter, my dear Mother, will be brought you by Reginald. His long visit is
about to be concluded at last, but I fear the separation takes place too late
to do us any good. She is going to London to see her particular friend, Mrs.
Johnson. It was at first her intention that Frederica should accompany her, for
the benefit of masters, but we overruled her there. Frederica was wretched in
the idea of going, and I could not bear to have her at the mercy of her mother;
not all the masters in London could compensate for the ruin of her comfort. I
should have feared, too, for her health, and for everything but her
principles—there I believe she is not to be injured by her mother, or her
mother’s friends; but with those friends she must have mixed (a very bad
set, I doubt not), or have been left in total solitude, and I can hardly tell
which would have been worse for her. If she is with her mother, moreover, she
must, alas! in all probability be with Reginald, and that would be the greatest
evil of all. Here we shall in time be in peace, and our regular employments,
our books and conversations, with exercise, the children, and every domestic
pleasure in my power to procure her, will, I trust, gradually overcome this
youthful attachment. I should not have a doubt of it were she slighted for any
other woman in the world than her own mother. How long Lady Susan will be in
town, or whether she returns here again, I know not. I could not be cordial in
my invitation, but if she chuses to come no want of cordiality on my part will
keep her away. I could not help asking Reginald if he intended being in London
this winter, as soon as I found her ladyship’s steps would be bent
thither; and though he professed himself quite undetermined, there was
something in his look and voice as he spoke which contradicted his words. I
have done with lamentation; I look upon the event as so far decided that I
resign myself to it in despair. If he leaves you soon for London everything
will be concluded.
Your affectionate, &c.,
C. VERNON.
XXVIII
Mrs. Johnson to Lady Susan.
Edward Street.
My dearest Friend,—I write in the greatest distress; the most unfortunate
event has just taken place. Mr. Johnson has hit on the most effectual manner of
plaguing us all. He had heard, I imagine, by some means or other, that you were
soon to be in London, and immediately contrived to have such an attack of the
gout as must at least delay his journey to Bath, if not wholly prevent it. I am
persuaded the gout is brought on or kept off at pleasure; it was the same when
I wanted to join the Hamiltons to the Lakes; and three years ago, when I
had a fancy for Bath, nothing could induce him to have a gouty symptom.
I am pleased to find that my letter had so much effect on you, and that De
Courcy is certainly your own. Let me hear from you as soon as you arrive, and
in particular tell me what you mean to do with Mainwaring. It is impossible to
say when I shall be able to come to you; my confinement must be great. It is
such an abominable trick to be ill here instead of at Bath that I can scarcely
command myself at all. At Bath his old aunts would have nursed him, but here it
all falls upon me; and he bears pain with such patience that I have not the
common excuse for losing my temper.
Yours ever,
ALICIA.
XXIX
Lady Susan Vernon to Mrs. Johnson.
Upper Seymour Street.
My dear Alicia,—There needed not this last fit of the gout to make me
detest Mr. Johnson, but now the extent of my aversion is not to be estimated.
To have you confined as nurse in his apartment! My dear Alicia, of what a
mistake were you guilty in marrying a man of his age! just old enough to be
formal, ungovernable, and to have the gout; too old to be agreeable, too young
to die. I arrived last night about five, had scarcely swallowed my dinner when
Mainwaring made his appearance. I will not dissemble what real pleasure his
sight afforded me, nor how strongly I felt the contrast between his person and
manners and those of Reginald, to the infinite disadvantage of the latter. For
an hour or two I was even staggered in my resolution of marrying him, and
though this was too idle and nonsensical an idea to remain long on my mind, I
do not feel very eager for the conclusion of my marriage, nor look forward with
much impatience to the time when Reginald, according to our agreement, is to be
in town. I shall probably put off his arrival under some pretence or other. He
must not come till Mainwaring is gone. I am still doubtful at times as to
marrying; if the old man would die I might not hesitate, but a state of
dependance on the caprice of Sir Reginald will not suit the freedom of my
spirit; and if I resolve to wait for that event, I shall have excuse enough at
present in having been scarcely ten months a widow. I have not given Mainwaring
any hint of my intention, or allowed him to consider my acquaintance with
Reginald as more than the commonest flirtation, and he is tolerably appeased.
Adieu, till we meet; I am enchanted with my lodgings.
Yours ever,
S. VERNON.
XXX
Lady Susan Vernon to Mr. De Courcy.
Upper Seymour Street.
I have received your letter, and though I do not attempt to conceal that I am
gratified by your impatience for the hour of meeting, I yet feel myself under
the necessity of delaying that hour beyond the time originally fixed. Do not
think me unkind for such an exercise of my power, nor accuse me of instability
without first hearing my reasons. In the course of my journey from Churchhill I
had ample leisure for reflection on the present state of our affairs, and every
review has served to convince me that they require a delicacy and cautiousness
of conduct to which we have hitherto been too little attentive. We have been
hurried on by our feelings to a degree of precipitation which ill accords with
the claims of our friends or the opinion of the world. We have been unguarded
in forming this hasty engagement, but we must not complete the imprudence by
ratifying it while there is so much reason to fear the connection would be
opposed by those friends on whom you depend. It is not for us to blame any
expectations on your father’s side of your marrying to advantage; where
possessions are so extensive as those of your family, the wish of increasing
them, if not strictly reasonable, is too common to excite surprize or
resentment. He has a right to require a woman of fortune in his
daughter-in-law, and I am sometimes quarrelling with myself for suffering you
to form a connection so imprudent; but the influence of reason is often
acknowledged too late by those who feel like me. I have now been but a few
months a widow, and, however little indebted to my husband’s memory for
any happiness derived from him during a union of some years, I cannot forget
that the indelicacy of so early a second marriage must subject me to the
censure of the world, and incur, what would be still more insupportable, the
displeasure of Mr. Vernon. I might perhaps harden myself in time against the
injustice of general reproach, but the loss of his valued esteem I am,
as you well know, ill-fitted to endure; and when to this may be added the
consciousness of having injured you with your family, how am I to support
myself? With feelings so poignant as mine, the conviction of having divided the
son from his parents would make me, even with you, the most miserable of
beings. It will surely, therefore, be advisable to delay our union—to
delay it till appearances are more promising—till affairs have taken a
more favourable turn. To assist us in such a resolution I feel that absence
will be necessary. We must not meet. Cruel as this sentence may appear, the
necessity of pronouncing it, which can alone reconcile it to myself, will be
evident to you when you have considered our situation in the light in which I
have found myself imperiously obliged to place it. You may be—you must
be—well assured that nothing but the strongest conviction of duty could
induce me to wound my own feelings by urging a lengthened separation, and of
insensibility to yours you will hardly suspect me. Again, therefore, I say that
we ought not, we must not, yet meet. By a removal for some months from each
other we shall tranquillise the sisterly fears of Mrs. Vernon, who, accustomed
herself to the enjoyment of riches, considers fortune as necessary everywhere,
and whose sensibilities are not of a nature to comprehend ours. Let me hear
from you soon—very soon. Tell me that you submit to my arguments, and do
not reproach me for using such. I cannot bear reproaches: my spirits are not so
high as to need being repressed. I must endeavour to seek amusement, and
fortunately many of my friends are in town; amongst them the Mainwarings; you
know how sincerely I regard both husband and wife.
I am, very faithfully yours,
S. VERNON
XXXI
Lady Susan to Mrs. Johnson.
Upper Seymour Street.
My dear Friend,—That tormenting creature, Reginald, is here. My letter,
which was intended to keep him longer in the country, has hastened him to town.
Much as I wish him away, however, I cannot help being pleased with such a proof
of attachment. He is devoted to me, heart and soul. He will carry this note
himself, which is to serve as an introduction to you, with whom he longs to be
acquainted. Allow him to spend the evening with you, that I may be in no danger
of his returning here. I have told him that I am not quite well, and must be
alone; and should he call again there might be confusion, for it is impossible
to be sure of servants. Keep him, therefore, I entreat you, in Edward Street.
You will not find him a heavy companion, and I allow you to flirt with him as
much as you like. At the same time, do not forget my real interest; say all
that you can to convince him that I shall be quite wretched if he remains here;
you know my reasons—propriety, and so forth. I would urge them more
myself, but that I am impatient to be rid of him, as Mainwaring comes within
half an hour. Adieu!
S. VERNON.
XXXII
Mrs. Johnson to Lady Susan.
Edward Street.
My dear Creature,—I am in agonies, and know not what to do. Mr. De Courcy
arrived just when he should not. Mrs. Mainwaring had that instant entered the
house, and forced herself into her guardian’s presence, though I did not
know a syllable of it till afterwards, for I was out when both she and Reginald
came, or I should have sent him away at all events; but she was shut up with
Mr. Johnson, while he waited in the drawing-room for me. She arrived yesterday
in pursuit of her husband, but perhaps you know this already from himself. She
came to this house to entreat my husband’s interference, and before I
could be aware of it, everything that you could wish to be concealed was known
to him, and unluckily she had wormed out of Mainwaring’s servant that he
had visited you every day since your being in town, and had just watched him to
your door herself! What could I do! Facts are such horrid things! All is by
this time known to De Courcy, who is now alone with Mr. Johnson. Do not accuse
me; indeed, it was impossible to prevent it. Mr. Johnson has for some time
suspected De Courcy of intending to marry you, and would speak with him alone
as soon as he knew him to be in the house. That detestable Mrs. Mainwaring,
who, for your comfort, has fretted herself thinner and uglier than ever, is
still here, and they have been all closeted together. What can be done? At any
rate, I hope he will plague his wife more than ever. With anxious wishes,
Yours faithfully,
ALICIA.
XXXIII
Lady Susan to Mrs. Johnson.
Upper Seymour Street.
This éclaircissement is rather provoking. How unlucky that you should
have been from home! I thought myself sure of you at seven! I am undismayed
however. Do not torment yourself with fears on my account; depend on it, I can
make my story good with Reginald. Mainwaring is just gone; he brought me the
news of his wife’s arrival. Silly woman, what does she expect by such
manoeuvres? Yet I wish she had stayed quietly at Langford. Reginald will be a
little enraged at first, but by to-morrow’s dinner, everything will be
well again.
Adieu!
S. V.
XXXIV
Mr. De Courcy to Lady Susan.
—— Hotel.
I write only to bid you farewell, the spell is removed; I see you as you are.
Since we parted yesterday, I have received from indisputable authority such a
history of you as must bring the most mortifying conviction of the imposition I
have been under, and the absolute necessity of an immediate and eternal
separation from you. You cannot doubt to what I allude. Langford! Langford!
that word will be sufficient. I received my information in Mr. Johnson’s
house, from Mrs. Mainwaring herself. You know how I have loved you; you can
intimately judge of my present feelings, but I am not so weak as to find
indulgence in describing them to a woman who will glory in having excited their
anguish, but whose affection they have never been able to gain.
R. DECOURCY.
XXXV
Lady Susan to Mr. De Courcy.
Upper Seymour Street.
I will not attempt to describe my astonishment in reading the note this moment
received from you. I am bewildered in my endeavours to form some rational
conjecture of what Mrs. Mainwaring can have told you to occasion so
extraordinary a change in your sentiments. Have I not explained everything to
you with respect to myself which could bear a doubtful meaning, and which the
ill-nature of the world had interpreted to my discredit? What can you now have
heard to stagger your esteem for me? Have I ever had a concealment from you?
Reginald, you agitate me beyond expression, I cannot suppose that the old story
of Mrs. Mainwaring’s jealousy can be revived again, or at least be
listened to again. Come to me immediately, and explain what is at
present absolutely incomprehensible. Believe me, the single word of
Langford is not of such potent intelligence as to supersede the
necessity of more. If we are to part, it will at least be handsome to
take your personal leave—but I have little heart to jest; in truth, I am
serious enough; for to be sunk, though but for an hour, in your esteem is a
humiliation to which I know not how to submit. I shall count every minute till
your arrival.
S. V.
XXXVI
Mr. De Courcy to Lady Susan.
—— Hotel.
Why would you write to me? Why do you require particulars? But, since it must
be so, I am obliged to declare that all the accounts of your misconduct during
the life, and since the death of Mr. Vernon, which had reached me, in common
with the world in general, and gained my entire belief before I saw you, but
which you, by the exertion of your perverted abilities, had made me resolved to
disallow, have been unanswerably proved to me; nay more, I am assured that a
connection, of which I had never before entertained a thought, has for some
time existed, and still continues to exist, between you and the man whose
family you robbed of its peace in return for the hospitality with which you
were received into it; that you have corresponded with him ever since your
leaving Langford; not with his wife, but with him, and that he now visits you
every day. Can you, dare you deny it? and all this at the time when I was an
encouraged, an accepted lover! From what have I not escaped! I have only to be
grateful. Far from me be all complaint, every sigh of regret. My own folly had
endangered me, my preservation I owe to the kindness, the integrity of another;
but the unfortunate Mrs. Mainwaring, whose agonies while she related the past
seemed to threaten her reason, how is she to be consoled! After such a
discovery as this, you will scarcely affect further wonder at my meaning in
bidding you adieu. My understanding is at length restored, and teaches no less
to abhor the artifices which had subdued me than to despise myself for the
weakness on which their strength was founded.
R. DECOURCY.
XXXVII
Lady Susan to Mr. De Courcy.
Upper Seymour Street.
I am satisfied, and will trouble you no more when these few lines are
dismissed. The engagement which you were eager to form a fortnight ago is no
longer compatible with your views, and I rejoice to find that the prudent
advice of your parents has not been given in vain. Your restoration to peace
will, I doubt not, speedily follow this act of filial obedience, and I flatter
myself with the hope of surviving my share in this disappointment.
S. V.
XXXVIII
Mrs. Johnson to Lady Susan Vernon.
Edward Street
I am grieved, though I cannot be astonished at your rupture with Mr. De Courcy;
he has just informed Mr. Johnson of it by letter. He leaves London, he says,
to-day. Be assured that I partake in all your feelings, and do not be angry if
I say that our intercourse, even by letter, must soon be given up. It makes me
miserable; but Mr. Johnson vows that if I persist in the connection, he will
settle in the country for the rest of his life, and you know it is impossible
to submit to such an extremity while any other alternative remains. You have
heard of course that the Mainwarings are to part, and I am afraid Mrs. M. will
come home to us again; but she is still so fond of her husband, and frets so
much about him, that perhaps she may not live long. Miss Mainwaring is just
come to town to be with her aunt, and they say that she declares she will have
Sir James Martin before she leaves London again. If I were you, I would
certainly get him myself. I had almost forgot to give you my opinion of Mr. De
Courcy; I am really delighted with him; he is full as handsome, I think, as
Mainwaring, and with such an open, good-humoured countenance, that one cannot
help loving him at first sight. Mr. Johnson and he are the greatest friends in
the world. Adieu, my dearest Susan, I wish matters did not go so perversely.
That unlucky visit to Langford! but I dare say you did all for the best, and
there is no defying destiny.
Your sincerely attached,
ALICIA.
XXXIX
Lady Susan to Mrs. Johnson.
Upper Seymour Street.
My dear Alicia,—I yield to the necessity which parts us. Under such
circumstances you could not act otherwise. Our friendship cannot be impaired by
it, and in happier times, when your situation is as independent as mine, it
will unite us again in the same intimacy as ever. For this I shall impatiently
wait, and meanwhile can safely assure you that I never was more at ease, or
better satisfied with myself and everything about me than at the present hour.
Your husband I abhor, Reginald I despise, and I am secure of never seeing
either again. Have I not reason to rejoice? Mainwaring is more devoted to me
than ever; and were we at liberty, I doubt if I could resist even matrimony
offered by him. This event, if his wife live with you, it may be in your
power to hasten. The violence of her feelings, which must wear her out, may be
easily kept in irritation. I rely on your friendship for this. I am now
satisfied that I never could have brought myself to marry Reginald, and am
equally determined that Frederica never shall. To-morrow, I shall fetch
her from Churchhill, and let Maria Mainwaring tremble for the consequence.
Frederica shall be Sir James’s wife before she quits my house, and
she may whimper, and the Vernons may storm, I regard them not. I am
tired of submitting my will to the caprices of others; of resigning my own
judgment in deference to those to whom I owe no duty, and for whom I feel no
respect. I have given up too much, have been too easily worked on, but
Frederica shall now feel the difference. Adieu, dearest of friends; may the
next gouty attack be more favourable! and may you always regard me as
unalterably yours,
S. VERNON
XL
Lady De Courcy to Mrs. Vernon.
My dear Catherine,—I have charming news for you, and if I had not sent
off my letter this morning you might have been spared the vexation of knowing
of Reginald’s being gone to London, for he is returned. Reginald is
returned, not to ask our consent to his marrying Lady Susan, but to tell us
they are parted for ever. He has been only an hour in the house, and I have not
been able to learn particulars, for he is so very low that I have not the heart
to ask questions, but I hope we shall soon know all. This is the most joyful
hour he has ever given us since the day of his birth. Nothing is wanting but to
have you here, and it is our particular wish and entreaty that you would come
to us as soon as you can. You have owed us a visit many long weeks; I hope
nothing will make it inconvenient to Mr. Vernon; and pray bring all my
grand-children; and your dear niece is included, of course; I long to see her.
It has been a sad, heavy winter hitherto, without Reginald, and seeing nobody
from Churchhill. I never found the season so dreary before; but this happy
meeting will make us young again. Frederica runs much in my thoughts, and when
Reginald has recovered his usual good spirits (as I trust he soon will) we will
try to rob him of his heart once more, and I am full of hopes of seeing their
hands joined at no great distance.
Your affectionate mother,
C. DECOURCY.
XLI
Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy.
Churchhill.
My dear Mother,—Your letter has surprized me beyond measure! Can it be
true that they are really separated—and for ever? I should be overjoyed
if I dared depend on it, but after all that I have seen how can one be secure?
And Reginald really with you! My surprize is the greater because on Wednesday,
the very day of his coming to Parklands, we had a most unexpected and unwelcome
visit from Lady Susan, looking all cheerfulness and good-humour, and seeming
more as if she were to marry him when she got to London than as if parted from
him for ever. She stayed nearly two hours, was as affectionate and agreeable as
ever, and not a syllable, not a hint was dropped, of any disagreement or
coolness between them. I asked her whether she had seen my brother since his
arrival in town; not, as you may suppose, with any doubt of the fact, but
merely to see how she looked. She immediately answered, without any
embarrassment, that he had been kind enough to call on her on Monday; but she
believed he had already returned home, which I was very far from crediting.
Your kind invitation is accepted by us with pleasure, and on Thursday next we
and our little ones will be with you. Pray heaven, Reginald may not be in town
again by that time! I wish we could bring dear Frederica too, but I am sorry to
say that her mother’s errand hither was to fetch her away; and, miserable
as it made the poor girl, it was impossible to detain her. I was thoroughly
unwilling to let her go, and so was her uncle; and all that could be urged we
did urge; but Lady Susan declared that as she was now about to fix herself in
London for several months, she could not be easy if her daughter were not with
her for masters, &c. Her manner, to be sure, was very kind and proper, and
Mr. Vernon believes that Frederica will now be treated with affection. I wish I
could think so too. The poor girl’s heart was almost broke at taking
leave of us. I charged her to write to me very often, and to remember that if
she were in any distress we should be always her friends. I took care to see
her alone, that I might say all this, and I hope made her a little more
comfortable; but I shall not be easy till I can go to town and judge of her
situation myself. I wish there were a better prospect than now appears of the
match which the conclusion of your letter declares your expectations of. At
present, it is not very likely,
Yours ever, &c.,
C. VERNON.
CONCLUSION
This correspondence, by a meeting between some of the parties, and a separation
between the others, could not, to the great detriment of the Post Office
revenue, be continued any longer. Very little assistance to the State could be
derived from the epistolary intercourse of Mrs. Vernon and her niece; for the
former soon perceived, by the style of Frederica’s letters, that they
were written under her mother’s inspection! and therefore, deferring all
particular enquiry till she could make it personally in London, ceased writing
minutely or often. Having learnt enough, in the meanwhile, from her
open-hearted brother, of what had passed between him and Lady Susan to sink the
latter lower than ever in her opinion, she was proportionably more anxious to
get Frederica removed from such a mother, and placed under her own care; and,
though with little hope of success, was resolved to leave nothing unattempted
that might offer a chance of obtaining her sister-in-law’s consent to it.
Her anxiety on the subject made her press for an early visit to London; and Mr.
Vernon, who, as it must already have appeared, lived only to do whatever he was
desired, soon found some accommodating business to call him thither. With a
heart full of the matter, Mrs. Vernon waited on Lady Susan shortly after her
arrival in town, and was met with such an easy and cheerful affection, as made
her almost turn from her with horror. No remembrance of Reginald, no
consciousness of guilt, gave one look of embarrassment; she was in excellent
spirits, and seemed eager to show at once by every possible attention to her
brother and sister her sense of their kindness, and her pleasure in their
society. Frederica was no more altered than Lady Susan; the same restrained
manners, the same timid look in the presence of her mother as heretofore,
assured her aunt of her situation being uncomfortable, and confirmed her in the
plan of altering it. No unkindness, however, on the part of Lady Susan
appeared. Persecution on the subject of Sir James was entirely at an end; his
name merely mentioned to say that he was not in London; and indeed, in all her
conversation, she was solicitous only for the welfare and improvement of her
daughter, acknowledging, in terms of grateful delight, that Frederica was now
growing every day more and more what a parent could desire. Mrs. Vernon,
surprized and incredulous, knew not what to suspect, and, without any change in
her own views, only feared greater difficulty in accomplishing them. The first
hope of anything better was derived from Lady Susan’s asking her whether
she thought Frederica looked quite as well as she had done at Churchhill, as
she must confess herself to have sometimes an anxious doubt of London’s
perfectly agreeing with her. Mrs. Vernon, encouraging the doubt, directly
proposed her niece’s returning with them into the country. Lady Susan was
unable to express her sense of such kindness, yet knew not, from a variety of
reasons, how to part with her daughter; and as, though her own plans were not
yet wholly fixed, she trusted it would ere long be in her power to take
Frederica into the country herself, concluded by declining entirely to profit
by such unexampled attention. Mrs. Vernon persevered, however, in the offer of
it, and though Lady Susan continued to resist, her resistance in the course of
a few days seemed somewhat less formidable. The lucky alarm of an influenza
decided what might not have been decided quite so soon. Lady Susan’s
maternal fears were then too much awakened for her to think of anything but
Frederica’s removal from the risk of infection; above all disorders in
the world she most dreaded the influenza for her daughter’s constitution!
Frederica returned to Churchhill with her uncle and aunt; and three weeks
afterwards, Lady Susan announced her being married to Sir James Martin. Mrs.
Vernon was then convinced of what she had only suspected before, that she might
have spared herself all the trouble of urging a removal which Lady Susan had
doubtless resolved on from the first. Frederica’s visit was nominally for
six weeks, but her mother, though inviting her to return in one or two
affectionate letters, was very ready to oblige the whole party by consenting to
a prolongation of her stay, and in the course of two months ceased to write of
her absence, and in the course of two more to write to her at all. Frederica
was therefore fixed in the family of her uncle and aunt till such time as
Reginald De Courcy could be talked, flattered, and finessed into an affection
for her which, allowing leisure for the conquest of his attachment to her
mother, for his abjuring all future attachments, and detesting the sex, might
be reasonably looked for in the course of a twelvemonth. Three months might
have done it in general, but Reginald’s feelings were no less lasting
than lively. Whether Lady Susan was or was not happy in her second choice, I do
not see how it can ever be ascertained; for who would take her assurance of it
on either side of the question? The world must judge from probabilities; she
had nothing against her but her husband, and her conscience. Sir James may seem
to have drawn a harder lot than mere folly merited; I leave him, therefore, to
all the pity that anybody can give him. For myself, I confess that Ican
pity only Miss Mainwaring; who, coming to town, and putting herself to an
expense in clothes which impoverished her for two years, on purpose to secure
him, was defrauded of her due by a woman ten years older than herself.
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