Precaution a novel |
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| 22. | CHAPTER XXII. |
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 | CHAPTER XXII. Precaution |  |
22. CHAPTER XXII.
The warm weather had now commenced,
and Sir Edward, unwilling to be shut up in
London, at a time the appearance of vegetation
gave the country a new interest, and
accustomed for many years of his life, to devote
an hour in his garden each morning,
had taken a little ready furnished cottage a
short ride from his residence, with the intention
of frequenting it, until after the birthday:
thither then Pendennyss took his bride
from the altar, and a few days were passed
by the new married pair, in this little asylum.
Doctor Ives with Francis, Clara, and their
mother, had obeyed the summons, with an
alacrity in proportion to the joy they had felt
on receiving it, and the former had the happiness
of officiating on the occasion. It
would have been easy for the wealth of
the Earl to procure a licence to enable them
to marry in the drawing room—the permission
was obtained, but neither Emily or himself,
felt a wish to utter their vows in any
other spot than at the altar, and in the house
of their maker.
If there was a single heart that felt the
least emotion of regret or uneasiness, it
was Lady Moseley, who little relished the
retirement of the cottage, on so joyful an
occasion—but Pendennyss silenced her objections,
by good-humouredly replying—
“The Fates have been so kind to me, in
giving me castles and seats, you ought to allow
me, my dear Lady Moseley, the only
opportunity, I shall probably ever have, of enjoying
love in a cottage.”
A few days, however, removed the uneasiness
of the good matron, who had the felicity,
within the week, of seeing her daughter
initiated mistress of Annerdale-House.—
The morning of their return to this noble
mansion--the Earl presented himself in St.
James's square, with the intelligence of their
arrival, and smiling, as he bowed to Mrs.
Wilson, he continued—“And to escort you,
dear Madam, to your new abode.”
Mrs. Wilson started with surprise, and
with a heart beating quick with emotion, required
an explanation of his words.
“Surely, dearest Mrs. Wilson—more than
aunt—my mother—you cannot mean, after
having trained my Emily through infancy to
maturity in the paths of her duty—to desert
her in the moment of her greatest trial.—I
am the pupil of your husband,” he continued,
taking her hands in his own with reverence
and affection, “we are the children
of your joint care—and one home, as there is
but one heart, must, in future, contain us.”
Mrs. Wilson had wished for, but hardly
dared to expect this invitation—it was now
urged from the right quarter, and in a manner
that was as sincere as it was gratifying—
unable to conceal her tears, the good widow
as she murmured out her thanks, and her
acceptance—Sir Edward was prepared also
to lose his sister, as an inmate, but unwilling
to relinquish the pleasure of her society,
he urged her making a common residence
between the two families.
“Pendennyss has spoken truth, my dear
brother” cried she, recovering her voice,
“Emily is the child of my care and my love
—the two beings I love best in this world,
are now united—but,” she added, pressing
Lady Moseley to her bosom, “my heart is
large enough for you all; you are of my
blood, and my gratitude for your affection is
boundless--There shall be but one large family
of us, and although our duties may
separate us for a time--we will, I trust, ever
meet in tenderness and love--but with George
and Emily I will take up my abode.”
“I hope your house in Northamptonshire
is not to be vacant always,” said Lady
Moseley to the Earl, anxiously.
“I have no house there, my dear Madam,”
he replied; “when I thought myself about
to succeed in my suit before, I directed a
lawyer at Bath, where Sir William Harris
resided most of his time, to endeavour to
purchase the Deanery, whenever a good opportunity
offered;---in my discomfiture,” he
added, smiling, “I forgot to countermand
the order, and he purchased it immediately
on its being advertised;---for a short time it
applied to its original purpose---It is the
sole property of the Countess of Pendennyss,
and I doubt not you will see it often, and
agreeably tenanted.”
This intelligence gave great satisfaction to
his friends, and the expected summer, restored
to even Jane, a gleam of her former
pleasure.
If there be bliss in this life, approaching in
any degree to the happiness of the blessed, it
is the fruition of long and ardent love, where
youth—innocence—piety—and family concord,
smile upon the union—and all these
were united in the case of the new-married
pair;---buth appiness in this world cannot, or
does not, in any situation, exist without alloy
—it would seem a wise and gracious ordering
of Providence, to draw our attention to
scenes void of care, and free, alike, from the
infirmities and corruption of mortality.
The peace of mind and fortitude of Emily,
were fated to receive a blow, as unlooked for
to herself, as it was unexpected to the world.
Buonaparte appeared in France, and Europe
became in motion.
From the moment the Earl heard the intelligence—he
saw his own course decided—
his regiment was the pride of the army, and
that it would be ordered to join the Duke, he
did not entertain a doubt.
Emily was therefore, in some little measure,
prepared for the blow—it is at such
us, become without our controul, that faith
in the justice and benevolence of God, is the
most serviceable in a worldly point of view
to the Christian; when others spend their
time in useless regrets---he is piously resigned---it
even so happens, that when
others mourn, he can rejoice.
The sound of the bugle, wildly winding
its notes, broke on the stillness of the morning,
in the little village in which was situated
the cottage tenanted by Sir Edward Moseley
---almost concealed by the shrubbery which
surrounded its piazza, stood the forms of the
Countess of Pendennyss, and her sister Lady
Marian, watching eagerly the appearance of
those, whose approach, was thus announced.
The carriage of the ladies, with its idle attendants,
were in waiting at a short distance,
and the pale face, but composed resignation
of its mistress—indicated a struggle between
conflicting duties.
File, after file, of heavy horse, passed
them in all the pomp of military splendour,
and the wistful gaze of the two females had
scanned them in vain for the well-known—
much-beloved countenance, of their leader—
at length a single horseman approached them,
riding deliberately and musing—their forms
met his eye—and in an instant, Emily was
pressed to the bosom of her husband.
“It is the doom of a soldier,” said the
earl, dashing a tear from his eye; “I had
be assailed in years, and that ambition and
jealousy would yield a respite to our bloody
profession; but, cheer up, my love—hope
for the best---your trust is not in the things of
this life, and your happiness is without the
power of man.”
“Ah! Pendennyss---my husband,” sobbed
Emily, sinking on his bosom, “ take with
you my prayers---my love---every thing that
can console you---every thing that may profit
you---I will not tell you to be careful of
your life---your duty teaches you that---as a
soldier, expose it--as a husband, guard it---
and return to me as you leave me---a lover
—the dearest of men, and a christian.”
Unwilling to prolong the pain of parting,
the Earl gave his wife a last embrace, held
Marian affectionately to his bosom, and
mounting his horse, was out of sight in an
instant.
Within a few days of the departure of
Pendennyss---Chatterton was surprised with
the entrance of his mother and Catherine.
His reception of them, was that of a respectful
child, and his wife exerted herself to be
kind to connexions she could not love, in
order to give pleasure to a husband she
adored---their tale was soon told---Lord and
Lady Herriefield were separated; and the
Dowager alive to the dangers of a young
woman in Catherine's situation, and without
a single principle, on which to rest the assurance
had brought her to England, in order to
keep off disgrace, by residing with her child
herself.
There was nothing in his wife to answer
the expectations with which Lord Herriefield
married—she had beauty, but with
that, he was already sated---her simplicity
and unsuspicious behaviour, which had, by
having her attention drawn elsewhere, at first
charmed him, was succeeded by the knowing
conduct, of a determined follower of the
fashions, and a decided woman of the world.
It had never struck the Viscount, as impossible,
that an artless and innocent girl would
fall in love with his faded and bilious face
—but the moment Catherine betrayed the
arts of a manager, he saw at once the artifice
that had been practised upon himself---
of course, he ceased to love her.
Men are flattered, for a season, with the
notice of a woman, that has been unsought,
but it never fails to injure her in the opinion
of the other sex, in time---without a single
feeling in common, without a regard to any
thing but self, in either husband or wife,
it could not but happen that a separation must
follow, or their days be spent in wrangling
and misery.
Catherine willingly left her husband—her
husband more willingly got rid of her.
During all these movements, the Dowager
had a difficult game to play—it was unbecoming
was against her wishes to suppress it—she
therefore moralized with the peer, and
frowned upon her daughter.
The viscount listened to her truisms, with
the attention of a boy, who is told by a
drunken father, how wicked it is to love
liquor, and heeded them about as much;
while Kate, mistress, at all events, of two
thousand a year—minded her mother's frowns
as little as she regarded her smiles—both
were indifferent to her.
A few days after the ladies left Lisbon, the
Viscount proceeded to Italy, in company
with the repudiated wife of a British naval
officer; and if Kate was not guilty, of an offence
of equal magnitude, it was more owing
to her mother's present vigilance, than to her
previous care.
The presence of Mrs. Wilson was a great
source of consolation to Emily in the absence of
her husband; and as their abode in town any
longer was useless, the Countess declining
to be presented without the Earl, the
whole family decided upon a return into
Northamptonshire.
The deanery had been furnished by order
of Pendennyss immediately on his marriage;
and its mistress hastened to take
possession of her new dwelling. The amusement
and occupation of this movement
---the planning of little improvements—
her various duties under her increased responsibilities,
her thoughts, unduly upon the danger of
her husband. She sought out amongst
the first objects of her bounty, the venerable
peasant, whose loss had been formerly supplied
by Pendennyss on his first visit to
B—, after the death of his father; there
might not have been the usual discrimination
and temporal usefulness in her charities in
this instance which generally accompanied her
benevolent acts; but it was associated with
the image of her husband, and it could excite
no surprise in Mrs. Wilson, although it did in
Marian, to see her sister, driving two or three
times a week, to relieve the necessities of a man,
who appeared actually to be in want of nothing.
Sir Edward was again amongst those
he loved, and his hospitable board was
once more surrounded with the faces of his
friends and neighbours. The good-natured
Mr. Haughton was always a welcome guest
at the hall, and met, soon after their return,
the collected family of the baronet, at a dinner
given by the latter to his children, and
one or two of his most intimate neighbours—
“My Lady Pendennyss,” cried Mr. Haughton,
in the course of the afternoon, “I have
news from the Earl, which I know it will do
your heart good to hear.”
Emily smiled her pleasure at the prospect
of hearing, in any manner, favourably of her
husband, although she internally questioned
the probability of Mr. Haughton's knowing
letters did not apprise her of.
“Will you favour me with the particulars
of your intelligence, sir?” said the Countess.
“He has arrived safe with his regiment
near Brussels; I heard it from a neighbour's son
who saw him in that city, enter the house occupied
by Wellington, while he was standing
in the crowd without, waiting to get a peep at
the duke.”
“Oh!” said Mrs. Wilson with a laugh,
“Emily knew that ten days ago; could
your friend tell us any thing of Bonaparte,
we are much interested in his movements
just now.”
Mr. Haughton, a good deal mortified to find
his news stale, mused a moment as if in
doubt to proceed or not; but liking of all
things to act the part of a newspaper, he continued—
“Nothing more than you see in the prints;
but I suppose your ladyship has heard about
Captain Jarvis too?”
“Why, no,” said Emily laughing, “the
movements of Captain Jarvis are not quite as
interesting to me, as those of Lord Pendennyss—has
the duke made him an aid-de-damp?”
“Oh! no,” cried the other exculting in his
success in having something new, “as soon
as he heard of the return of Boney,—he
threw up his commission and got married.”
“Married!” cried John, “not to Miss
Harris, surely.”
“No, to a silly girl he met in Cornwall,
who was fool enough to be caught with his
gold lace. He married one day, and the
next, told his disconsolate wife, and panic-struck
mother, the honour of the Jarvis's must
sleep, until the supporters of the name became
sufficiently numerous to risk losing them, in
the field of battle.
“And how did Mrs. Jarvis and Sir Timo's
lady relish the news?” inquired John, expecting
something ridiculous.
“Not at all,” rejoined Mr. Haughton;
“the former sobbed, and said, she had only
married him for his bravery and red coat, and
the lady exclaimed against the destruction of
his budding honours.”
“How did it terminate?” asked Mrs. Wilson.
“Why, it seems while they were quarrelling
about it, the war office cut the matter
short by accepting his resignation. I suppose
the commander in chief had learnt his
character; but the matter was warmly contested—they
even drove the captain to declare
his principles.”
“And what kind of ones might they have
been, Haughton?” said Sir Edward dryly.
“Republican.”
“Republican!” exclaimed two or three in
surprise.
“Yes, liberty and equality, he contended,
heart to fight against Bonaparte.”
“A somewhat singular conclusion,” said
Mr. Benfield musing. “I remember when I
sat in the house, there was a party who were
fond of the cry of this said liberty; but when
they got the power, they did not seem to me
to suffer people to go more at large than they
went before—but I suppose they were diffident
of telling the world their minds, after
they were put in such responsible stations—
for fear of the effect of example.”
“Most people like liberty as servants,
but not as masters, uncle,” cried John, with
a sneer.
“Capt. Jarvis, it seems, liked it as a preserver
against danger,” continued Mr. Haughton;
“to avoid ridicule in his new neighbourhood,
he has consented to his father's wishes,
and turned merchant in the city again.”
“Where I sincerely hope he will remain,”
cried John, who since the accident of the
arbour, could not tolerate the unfortunate
youth.
“Amen!” said Emily, in an under tone,
heard only by her smiling brother.
“But Sir Timo---what has become of Sir
Timo---the good, honest merchant?” asked
John.
“He has dropt the title, insists on being
called plain Mr. Jarvis, and lives entirely in
Cornwall. His hopeful son-in-law, has gone
with his regiment to Flanders, and Lady
father's assistance, is obliged to hide her
consequence in the west also.”
The subject became now disagreeable to
Lady Moseley, and it was changed. The
misfortune of such conversations, which unavoidably
occurred, was, that it made Jane
more reserved aud dissatisfied than ever. She
had no one respectable excuse to offer for
her partiality to her former lover, and when
her conscience told her of this mortifying
fact, her jealousy was apt to think others remembered
it too.
The letters from the continent, now teemed
with the preparations for the approaching
contest, and the apprehensions of our heroine
and her friends to increase, in proportion
to the nearness of the struggle, on which
hung not only the fate of thousands of individuals,
but of adverse princes, and mighty
empires. In this confusion of interests, and
jarring of passions---there were offered prayers
almost hourly, for the safety of Pendennyss,
which were as pure and ardent, as
the love which prompted them.
| CHAPTER XXII. Precaution | |