Precaution a novel |
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| 5. | CHAPTER V. |
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 | CHAPTER V. Precaution |  |
5. CHAPTER V.
A day elapsed between the departure of
Denbigh and the appearance of Emily again
amongst her friends. An indifferent observer
would have thought her much graver and
less animated than usual. A loss of the rich
colour which ordinarily glowed on her healthful
cheek might be noticed; but the same
placid sweetness and graceful composure
which regulated her former conduct, pervaded
all she did or uttered—not so Jane: her
pride had suffered more than her feelings—
her imagination had been more deceived
than her judgment—and although too well
bred and soft by nature, to become rude or
captious, she was changed from a communicative—to
a reserved; from a confiding---to a
suspicious companion. Her parents noticed
this alteration with an uneasiness, that was
somewhat imbittered by the consciousness of
a neglect of some of those duties that experience
now seemed to indicate, could never
be forgotten with impunity.
Francis and Clara had arrived from their
northern tour, so happy in each other, and contented
with their lot, that it required some little
exercise of fortitude in both Lady Moseley
and her daughters, to expel unpleasant recollections
while they contemplated it. Their relation
of the little incidents of their tour, had,
their friends in some degree from late occurrences;
and a melancholy and sympathising
kind of association, had taken place of the
the unbounded confidence and gayety, which
had lately prevailed at Benfield Lodge. Mr.
Benfield mingled with his solemnity an air
of mystery; and was frequently noticed by his
relatives looking over old papers, and apparently
employed in preparations that indicated
movements of more than usual importance.
The family were collected in one of the
parlours on an extremely unpleasant day, the
fourth of the departure of John, when the
thin personage of Johnson stalked in amongst
them. All eyes were fixed on him in expectation
of what he had to communicate, and
all apparently dreading to break the silence,
from an apprehension his communication
would be an unpleasant one. In the mean
time Peter, who had respectfully left his hat
at the door, proceeded to uncase his body
from the multiplied defences the wary steward
had taken against the inclemency of the
weather. His master stood erect, with an
outstretched hand, ready to receive the reply
to his epistle, and Johnson having liberated
his body from thraldom, produced the black
leather pocket-book, and from its contents a
letter, as he read aloud—Roderic Benfield,
Esq. Benfield Lodge, Norfolk; favoured by
Mr.—here Peter's modesty got the better of
his method; he had never been called Mr.
knew him in that neighbourhood as Peter
Johnson---and he had very nearly been quilty
of the temerity of arrogating to himself another
title in the presence of those he most
respected. A degree of self-elevation he had
escaped from with the loss of a small piece
of his tongue. Mr. Benfield took the letter
with an eagerness that plainly indicated the
deep interest he took in its contents, while
Emily, with a tremulous voice and flushed
cheek, approached the steward with a glass of
wine, as she said,
“Peter, take this, it will do you good.”
“Thank you, Miss Emmy,” said Peter,
casting his eyes from her to his master, as the
latter having finished his letter, exclaimed
with a strange mixture of consideration and
disappointment,
“Johnson, you must change your clothes
immediately, or you will take cold; you
look now, like old Moses, the Jew beggar.”
Peter sighed heavily as he listened to this
comparison, and saw in it a confirmation
of his fears; for he well knew, that to his
being the bearer of unpleasant tidings, was
he indebted to a resemblance to any thing
unpleasant to his master---and Moses was
the old gentleman's aversion.
The baronet followed his uncle from the room
to his library, and entered it at the same moment
with the steward, who had been summoned
by his master to an audience; pointing to a
with saying,
“Peter, you saw Mr. Denbigh; how did he
look?”
“As usual, master,” said Peter laconically,
and a littled piqued at being likened to
old Moses.
“And what did he say to the offer? did he
not make any comments on it? he was not
offended at it, I hope,” cried Mr. Benfield.
“He said nothing but what he has written
to your honour,” replied the steward, losing
a little of his constrained manner in real good
feeling to his master.
“May I ask what the offer was?” inquired
Sir Edward of his uncle, who, regarding
him a moment in silence, said, “certainly,
you are nearly concerned in his welfare;
your daughter”—the old man stopped
as he turned to his letter book, and handed
the baronet the copy of the epistle he had
sent to Denbigh for his perusal; it read as
follows:
Dear Friend, Mr. Denbigh,
I have thought a great deal on the reason of
your sudden departure from a house I had began
to hope, you thought your own; and by
calling to mind my own feelings when Lady
Juliana became the heiress to her nephew's estate,
take it for granted you have been governed
by the same sentiments; which I know, both
by my own experience and that of the bearer,
Peter Johnson, is a never-failing accompaniment
Denbigh, I honour your delicacy in not wishing
to become indebted to a stranger, as it
were, for the money on which you subsist,
and that stranger your wife---who ought in
reason to look up to you, instead of your
looking up to her; which was the true cause
Lord Gosford would not marry the countess---
on account of her great wealth, as he assured
me himself; notwithstanding envious people,
said it was because her ladyship loved Mr.
Chaworth better: so in order to remove these
impediments of your delicacy, I have to
make three propositions---that I bring you
into parliament the next election for my borough---that
you take possession of the
lodge the same day you marry Emmy, while
I will live, for the little time I have to stay
here, in the large cottage built by my uncle---
and that I give you your legacy of ten thousand
pounds down, to prevent trouble hereafter.
“As I know it is nothing but delicacy
which has driven you away from us, I make
no doubt you will find all objections removed,
and that Peter will bring the joyful
intelligence of your return to us, as soon as
the business you left us on, is completed.---
Your uncle, that is to be,
“Roderic Benfield.”
“N.B. As Johnson is a stranger to the ways
of the town, I wish you to advise his inexperience,
particularly against the arts of designing
estate.”
“There, nephew,” cried Mr. Benfield, as
the baronet finished reading the letter aloud,
“is it not unreasonable to refuse my offers?
now read his answer.”
“Words are wanting to express the sensations
which have been excited by Mr. Benfield's
letter; but it would be impossible for
any man to be so base as to avail himself of
such liberality; the recollection of it, together
with his many virtues, will long continue
deeply impressed on the heart of him, who Mr.
Benfield would, if within the power of man,
render the happiest amongst human beings.”
The steward listened eagerly to this answer,
but after it was done was as much as a
loss to know its contents, as before its perusal.
He knew it was unfavourable to their
wishes, but could not comprehend its meaning
or expressions, and immediately attributed
their ambiguity, to the strange conference he
had witnessed between Denbigh and the military
stranger.
“Master,” exclaimed Peter, with something
of the elation of a discoverer, “I know
the cause, it shows itself in the letter; there
was a man talking Greek to him while he
was reading your letter.”
“Greek!” exclaimed Sir Edward in astonishment.
“Greek?” said the uncle, “Lord Gossford
read Greek; but I believe never conversed
in that language.”
“Yes, Sir Edward—yes, your honour—pure
wild Greek; it must have been something of
that kind,” added Peter with positiveness,
“that would make a man refuse such offers—
Miss Emmy---the lodge---£ 10,000” ---and
the steward shook his head with much satisfaction
at at having discovered the cause.
Sir Edward smiled at the simplicity of
Johnson, but disliking the idea attached to the
refusal of his daughter, said, “perhaps, after
all, uncle, there has been some misunderstanding
between Emily and Denbigh, which
may have driven him from us so suddenly.”
Mr. Benfield and his steward exchanged
looks, and a new idea broke upon them at
the instant; they had both suffered in that
way, and after all, it might prove, Emily was
the one, whose taste or feelings had subverted
their schemes. The impression once made
was indelible—and the party separated—the
master thinking alternately on Lady Juliana
and his niece, while the man—after heaving
one heavy sigh to the memory of Patty
Steele, proceeded to the usual occupations of
his office.
Mrs. Wilson thinking a ride would be of
service to Emily, and having the fullest confidence
in her self-command and resignation,
availed herself of a fine day to pay a visit to
their friend in the cottage. Mrs. Fitzgerald
received them in her usual manner, but a
aunt, that she noticed the altered appearance
of Emily and her manners, although without
knowing its true reason, which she did not
deem it prudent to explain---Julia handed her
friend a note she stated to have received the
day before, and desired their counsel how to
proceed in the present emergency; as Emily
was to be made acquainted with its contents,
her aunt read aloud as follows:
“My Dear Niece,
“Your father and myself had been induced
to think you were leading a disgraceful life,
with the officer, your husband had consigned
you to the care of; for hearing of your
captivity, I had arrived with a band of
Guerillas, on the spot where you were rescued,
early the next morning, and there learnt
of the peasants your misfortunes and retreat;
the enemy pressed us too much to deviate
from our route at the time; but natural affection
and the wishes of your father, have led
me to a journey to England, to satisfy our
doubts as regards your conduct. I have seen
you—heard your character in the neighbourhood,
and after much and long search, found
out the officer, and am satisfied, that, so far as
concerns your deportment, you are an injured
woman. I have therefore to propose
to you, on my own behalf, and that of the
Condé, that you adopt the faith of your
country, and return with me to the arms of
and whose life you may be the means of prolonging.
Direct your answer to me, to the
care of our ambassador; and as you decide,
I am your mother's brother,
“Louis M`Carthy y Harrison.”
“On what point is it you wish my advice,”
said Mrs. Wilson kindly, after she
finished reading the letter, “and when do you
expect to see your uncle?”
“Would you have me to accept the offer
of my father, dear madam, or am I to remain
separated from him for the short residue
of his life?” Mrs. Fitzgerald was affected
to tears, as she asked this question of
her friend, and waited her answer, in silent
dread of its nature.
“Is the condition of a change of religion,
an immoveable one?” inquired Mrs. Wilson,
in a thoughtful manner.
“Oh! doubtless,” replied Julia, shuddering,
“but I am deservedly punished for my
early disobedience, and bow in submission to
the will of providence—I feel now all that
horror of a change of my religion, I once
only affected—I must live and die a protestant,
madam.”
“Certainly, I hope so, my dear,” said
Mrs. Wilson, “I am not a bigot, and think it
unfortunate you were not, in your circumstances,
bred a pious catholic. It would have
saved you much misery, and might have rendered
but as your present creed, embraces doctrines
too much at variance with the Romish
church, to renounce the one, or adopt the
other, with your views, it will be impossible
to change your church, without committing
a heavy offence, against the opinions and
practice of every denomination of christians;
I should hope a proper representation of this
to your uncle, would have its weight, or they
might be satisfied with your being a christian,
without becoming a catholic.”
“Ah! my dear madam,” answered Mrs.
Fitzgerald, despairingly, you little know the
opinions of my countrymen on this subject.”
“Surely, surely,” cried Mrs. Wilson, “parental
affection is a stronger feeling than
bigotry.”
Mrs. Fitzgerald shook her head, in silence,
and in a manner which bespoke both her apprehensions
and filial regard.
“Julia, ought not---must not---desert her
father, dear aunt,” said Emily, as her face
glowed with the ardency of her feelings.
“And ought she to desert her heavenly
father, my child?” asked the aunt, mildly.
“And are the duties conflicting?” said
Emily.
“The Condé makes them so,” rejoined
Mrs. Wilson; “Julia is, I trust, in sincerity
a christian, and with what face can she offer
up her daily petitions to her creator, while
she wears a mask to her earthly father; or
she herself believes to be false, or practice
customs she is impressed are improper.”
“Never, never,” exclaimed Julia, with
fervour; “the struggle is dreadful, but I submit
to the greater duty.”
“And you decide right, my friend,” said
Mrs. Wilson, soothingly; “but you need relax
no efforts to convince the Condé of your
wishes; the truth and nature will finally
conquer.”
“Ah!” cried Mrs. Fitzgerald, “the sad
consequences of one false step in early life.”
“Rather,” added Mrs. Wilson, “the sad
consequences of one false step in generations
gone by; had your grandmother listened to
the voice of prudence and duty, she never
would have deserted her parents for a comparative
stranger, and entailed upon her descendants
a train of evils, which yet exist in
your person.”
“It will be a sad blow to my poor uncle,
too,” said Mrs. Fitzgerald, “he who loved
me so much once.”
“When do you expect to see him?” inquired
Emily—Julia informed them, she expected
him hourly, as fearful a written statement
of her views, would drive him from the
country without paying her a visit before he
departed, she had earnestly intreated him to
see her without delay.
On taking their leave, the ladies promised
to obey her summons whenever called to
she might be better able to give advice to her
friend, in future, by knowing more of the
character of her relatives, than she could do
with her present information.
One day intervened, and was spent in the
united society of Lady Moseley and her
daughters; while Sir Edward and Francis
rode to a neighbouring town on business; and
on the succeeding, Mrs. Fitzgerald apprised
them of the arrival of General M`Carthy. Immediately
after breakfast, Mrs. Wilson and
Emily drove to the cottage, the aunt both
wishing the latter as a companion in her ride,
and believing the excitement would have a
tendency to prevent her niece from indulging
in reflections, dangerous to her peace of mind,
and at variance with her duty.
Our readers have probably anticipated, that
the stage companion of John Moseley, was the
Spanish general, who had then been making
those inquiries into the manner of his niece's
living, which terminated in her acquittal in
his judgment. With that part of her history
which relates to the injurious attempts
on her before she arrived at Lisbon, he appears
to have been ignorant, or his interview
with Denbigh might have terminated very
differently from the manner already related.
A description of the appearance of the gentleman
presented to Mrs. Wilson is unnecessary,
as it has been given already, and the
discerning matron thought she read through
shade of kinder feelings, which might be
wrought into an advantageous intercession
on behalf of Julia. The General was evidently
endeavouring to keep his feelings within
due bounds, before the decision of his niece
might render it proper for him to indulge in
that affection for her, his eye plainly shewed
existed under the cover of his assumed manner.
It was an effort of great fortitude on
the part of Julia to acquaint her uncle with
her resolution; but as it must be done, she
seized a moment after Mrs. Wilson had at
some length defended her adhering to her
present faith, until religiously impressed with
its errors, to inform him such was her unalterable
resolution;—he heard her patiently,
and without anger, but in visible surprise;
he had construed her summons to her house,
as a preparatory measure to accepting his
conditions; yet he betrayed no emotion, after
the first expression of his wonder; he told
her distinctly, a renunciation of her heresy
was the only condition her father would
own her, either as his heiress or his child.
Julia deeply regretted the decision, but was
firm---and her friends left her to enjoy uninterruptedly
for one day, the society of so
near a relative. During this day, every doubt
as to the propriety of her conduct, if any
yet remained, was removed by a relation of
her little story to her uncle, and after it was
get to London again; in order to meet a gentleman
he had seen there, under a different
impression as to his merits, than what now
appeared to be just;—who the gentleman
was, or what the impressions were, Julia
was left to conjecture—taciturnity being a
favourite property in the general.
| CHAPTER V. Precaution | |