University of Virginia Library

23. CHAPTER XXIII.

At the appointed hour, the carriage of
Mrs. Wilson was ready to convey herself
and niece to the cottage of Mrs. Fitzgerald.
John was left behind, under the pretence of
keeping Denbigh company in his morning
avocations, but really because Mrs. Wilson
doubted the propriety of his becoming a visiting
acquaintance at a house, tenanted as the
cottage was represented to be. John was too
fond of his friend to make any serious objections,
and was satisfied for the present, by
sending his compliments, and requesting his
sister to ask permission for him to call in one
of his early morning excursions, in order to
pay his personal respects.

They found the cottage a beautiful and
genteel, though very small and retired dwelling,
almost hid by the trees and shrubs
which surrounded it, and its mistress on its
little piazza, expecting the arrival of Emily.
Mrs. Fitzgerald was a Spaniard under twenty,
of a melancholy, yet highly interesting
countenance; her manners were soft and retiring,
but evidently bore the impression of
good company, if not of high life. She was
extremely pleased with this renewal of attention
on the part of Emily, and expressed her
gratitude to both ladies for this kindness in
seeking her out in her solitude. She presented

her more matronly companion to them, by
the name of Donna Lorenza; and as nothing
but good feelings prevailed, and useless ceremony
was banished, the little party were soon
on terms of friendly intercourse. The young
widow (for such her dress indicated her to
be) did the honours of her house with graceful
ease, and conducted her visiters into her
little grounds, which, together with the cottage,
gave evident proofs of the taste and elegance
of its occupant. The establishment
she supported she represented as very small;
two women and an aged man servant, with
occasionally a labourer for her garden and
shrubbery. They never visited; it was a
resolution she had made on fixing her residence,
but if Mrs. Wilson and Miss Moseley
would forgive her rudeness in not returning
their call, nothing would give her more satisfaction
than a frequent renewal of their
visits. Mrs. Wilson took so deep an interest
in the misfortunes of so young a female,
and was so much pleased with the modest
resignation of her manner, that it required
little persuasion on the part of the recluse
to obtain a promise of repeating her visit
soon. Emily mentioned the request of John,
and Mrs. Fitzgerald received it with a mournful
smile, as she replied that Mr. Moseley
had laid her under such an obligation in
their first interview, she could not deny
herself the pleasure of again thanking him
for it; but she must be excused if she desired
they would limit their attendants to
him, as there was but one gentleman in England
whose visits she admitted, and it was
seldom indeed he called; he had seen her
but once since she had resided in Norfolk.

After giving a promise not to suffer any
one else to accompany them, and promising
an early call again, our ladies returned to
Benfield Lodge in season to dress for dinner.
On entering the drawing-room, they found
the elegant person of Colonel Egerton leaning
on the back of the chair of Jane. He
had arrived during their absence, and sought
out immediately the baronet's family; his
reception, if not as warm as that given to
Denbigh, was cordial from all but the master
of the house; and even he was in such
spirits by the company around him, and the
prospects of Emily's marriage, (which he
considered as settled,) that he forced himself
to an appearance of good will he did not feel.
Colonel Egerton was either deceived by his
manner, or too much a man of the world to
discover his suspicion, and every thing in
consequence was very harmoniously, if not
sincerely, conducted between them.

Lady Moseley was completely happy: if
she had the least doubts before, as to the intentions
of Egerton, they were now removed.
His journey to that unfashionable watering-place,
was owing to his passion; and however
she might at times have doubted as to Sir
Edgar's heir, Denbigh she thought a man

of too little consequence in the world, to
make it possible he would neglect to profit by
his situation in the family of Sir Edward
Moseley. She was satisfied with both connexions.
Mr. Benfield had told her, General
Sir Frederic Denbigh was nearly allied to
the Duke of Derwent, and Denbigh had said
the general was his grandfather. Wealth,
she knew Emily would possess from both
her uncle and aunt; and the services of the
gentleman had their due weight upon the
feelings of the affectionate mother. The
greatest care of her maternal anxiety was removed,
and she looked forward to the peaceful
enjoyment of the remnant of her days in
the bosom of her descendants. John, the
heir to a baronetcy, and 15,000 pounds a
year, might suit himself; and Grace Chatterton
she thought would be likely to prove the
future Lady Moseley. Sir Edward, without
entering so deeply into anticipation of the
future as his lady, experienced an equal degree
of contentment; and it would have been
a difficult task to have discovered in the
island a roof, under which there resided at
the moment more happy countenances than
at Benfield Lodge; for as its master had insisted
on Denbigh's becoming an inmate, he
was obliged to extend his hospitality in an
equal degree to Colonel Egerton: indeed,
the subject had been fully canvassed between
him and Peter the morning of his arrival, and
was near being decided against his admission,
when the steward, who had picked up all the
incidents of the arbour scene from the servants,
(and of course with many exaggerations,)
mentioned to his master that the colonel
was very active in his assistance, and
that he even contrived to bring water to revive
Miss Emmy a great distance in the hat
of Captain Jarvis, which was full of holes,
Mr. John having blown it off the head of the
captain without hurting a hair, in firing at a
woodcock. This molified the master a little,
and he agreed to suspend his decision for further
observation. At dinner, the colonel happening
to admire the really handsome face of
Lord Gosford, as delineated by Sir Joshua
Reynolds, and which graced the dining room
of Benfield Lodge, its master, in a moment of
unusual kindness, gave the invitation; it was
politely accepted, and the colonel at once domesticated.

The face of John Moseley alone, at times,
exhibited evidences of care and thought, and
at such moments, it might be a subject of
doubt, whether he thought the most of Grace
Chatterton or her mother: if the latter, the
former was sure to lose ground in his estimation,
a serious misfortune to John, not to be
able to love Grace without alloy. His letters
from her brother, mentioned his being
still at Denbigh castle, in Westmoreland, the
seat of his friend the Duke of Derwent; and
John thought one or two of his encomiums
on Lady Harriet Denbigh, the sister of his

grace, augured that the unkindness of Emily
might in time be forgotten. The dowager
and her daughters were at the seat of a maiden
aunt in Yorkshire, where, as John knew
no male animal was allowed admittance, he
was tolerably easy at the disposition of things.
Nothing but legacy-hunting, he knew, would
induce the dowager to submit to such a banishment
from the other sex; but that was
so preferable to husband-hunting, he was satisfied.
“I wish,” said John mentally, as
he finished the perusal of his letter, “mother
Chatterton would get married herself, and
she might let Kate and Grace manage for
themselves: Kate would do very well, I dare
say, and how would Grace make out.” John
sighed, and whistled for Dido and Rover.

In the manners of Colonel Egerton there
was the same general disposition to please,
and the same unremitted attention to the
wishes and amusements of Jane; they had
renewed their poetical investigations, and
Jane eagerly encouraged a taste which afforded
her delicacy some little colouring for the
indulgence of an association different from the
real truth, and which in her estimation was
necessary to her happiness. Mrs. Wilson
thought the distance between the two suitors
for the favour of her nieces, was if any thing
increased by their short separation, and particularly
noticed on the part of the colonel an
aversion to Denbigh that at times painfully
alarmed her, by exciting apprehensions for

the future happiness of the precious treasure
she had prepared herself to yield to his solicitations,
whenever properly proffered. In the
intercourse between Emily and her preserver,
as there was nothing to condemn, so there
was much to admire. The attentions of
Denbigh were pointed, although less exclusive
than those of the colonel; and the aunt
was pleased to observe, that if the manners
of Egerton had more of the gloss of life,
those of Denbigh were certainly distinguished
by a more finished delicacy and propriety:
the one appeared the influence of custom and
association, with a tincture of artifice; the
other, benevolence, with a just perception of
what was due to others, and with an air of
sincerity when speaking of sentiments and
principles, that was particularly pleasing to
the watchful widow: at times, however, she
could not but observe an air of restraint, if
not of awkwardness, about him, that was a
little surprising. It was most observable in
mixed society, and once or twice her imagination
pictured his sensations into something
like alarm. These unpleasant interruptions
to her admiration of the manners and appearance
of Denbigh, were soon forgotten in her
just appreciation of the more solid parts of his
character—these appeared literally unexceptionable;
and when momentary uneasiness
would steal over her, the remembrance of the
opinion of Dr. Ives, his behaviour with Jarvis,
his charity, and chiefly his self-devotion
to her niece, would not fail to drive the disagreeable
thoughts from her mind. Emily
herself moved about, the image of joy and innocence—if
Denbigh was near her, she was
happy; if absent, she suffered no uneasiness;
her feelings were so ardent, and yet so pure,
that jealousy had no admission: perhaps no
circumstances existed to excite this never-failing
attendant of the passion; but as the
heart of Emily was more enchained than her
imagination, her affections were not of the
restless nature of ordinary attachments, though
more dangerous to her peace of mind in the
event of an unfortunate issue. With Denbigh
she never walked or rode alone. He
had never made the request, and her delicacy
would have shrunk from such an open manifestation
of her preference; but he read to
her and her aunt; he accompanied them in
their little excursions; and once or twice
John noticed that she took the offered hand
of Denbigh to assist her over any little impediment
in their course, instead of her usual
unobtrusive custom of taking his arm on such
occasions. “Well, Miss Emily,” thought
John, “you appear to have chosen another
favourite,” on her doing this three times in
succession in one of their walks; “how strange
it is, women will quit their natural friends for
a face they have hardly seen.” John forgot
his own—“there is no danger, dear Grace,”
when his sister was almost dead with apprehension.
But John loved Emily too well to
witness her preference to another with satisfaction,
even though Denbigh was the favourite,
a feeling which soon wore away by
custom and reflection. Mr. Benfield had
taken it into his head, that if the wedding of
Emily could be solemnised while the family
was at the lodge, it would render him the
happiest of men, and how to compass this
object, was the occupation of a whole morning's
contemplation. Happily for Emily's
blushes, the old gentleman harboured the most
fastidious notions of female delicacy, and
never in conversation made the most distant
allusion to the expected connexion. He,
therefore, in conformity with these feelings,
could do nothing openly; all would be the
effect of management, and as he thought Peter
one of the best contrivers in the world, to
his ingenuity he determined to refer the arrangement.
The bell rang—“send Johnson
to me, David;” in a few minutes the drab
coat and blue yarn stockings entered his
dressing room with the body of Mr. Peter
Johnson snugly cased within them. “Peter,”
commenced Mr. Benfield, pointing kindly to
a chair, which the steward respectfully declined,
“I suppose you know that Mr. Denbigh,
the grandson of General Denbigh, who
was in parliament with me, is about to marry
my little Emmy.” Peter smiled as he bowed
his assent. “Now, Peter, a wedding would
of all things make me most happy; that is,
to have it here in the lodge: it would remind
me so much of the marriage of Lord Gosford,
and the bridemaids—I wish your opinion
how to bring it about before they leave here:
Sir Edward and Anne decline interfering,
and Mrs. Wilson I am afraid to speak to on
the subject.” Peter was not a little alarmed
by this sudden requisition on his inventive
faculties, especially as a lady was in the case;
but as he prided himself on serving his master,
and loved the hilarity of a wedding in his
heart, he cogitated for some time in silence,
when having thought a preliminary question
or two necessary, he broke it with saying,

“Every thing, I suppose, master, is settled
between the young people?”

“Every thing, I take it, Peter.”

“And Sir Edward and my lady?”

“Willing; perfectly willing.”

“And Madam Wilson, sir.”

“Willing, Peter, willing.”

“And Mr. John and Miss Jane?”

“All willing; the whole family willing, to
the best of my belief.”

“There is the Rev. Mr. Ives and Mrs.
Ives, master.”

“They wish it, I know; don't you think
they wish others as happy as themselves, Peter?”

“No doubt they do, master: well then, as
every body is willing, and the young people
agreeable, the only thing to be done, sir, is--”

“Is what, Peter?” exclaimed his impatient
master, observing him to hesitate.

“Why, sit, to send for the priest, I take
it.”

“Pshaw! Peter Johnson, I know that myself,”
replied the dissatisfied old man; “cannot
you help me to a better plan?”

“Why, master,” said Peter, “I would have
done as well for Miss Emmy and your honour,
as I would have done for myself: now.
sir, when I courted Patty Steele, your honour,
in the year of our Lord one thousand
seven hundred and sixty-five, I should have
been married but for one difficulty, which
your honour says is removed in the case of
Miss Emmy.”

“What was that, Peter,” asked his master
in a tender tone.

“She was'nt willing, sir.”

“Very well, poor Peter,” replied Mr.
Benfield mildly, you may go; and the steward,
bowing low, withdrew. The similarity
of their fortunes in love, was a strong link in
the sympathies which bound the master and
man together, and the former never failed to
be softened by an allusion to Patty; his want
of tact, on the present occasion, after much
reflection, he attributed to his never sitting
in parliament.