University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER VIII.
UNPLEASANT DISCOVERY—BITTER REPENTANCE.

Though Sir Stephen Haynes had proposed to the
credulous Lady Mary the delightful excursions which
she stated in her letter to Mr. Matthews, he never
seriously intended any other excursion than the one
that made him master of her fortune, and indeed
could he have obtained possession of that without
incumbering himself with her person, he would
gladly have done it. When however the hymeneal
knot was tied, and the romantic, thoughtless girl
had paid him the seven thousand pounds, he carelessly
asked her if she had reserved any for her own

use. Miss Brenton, who was present, not giving
her friend time to speak, answered for her, “Certainly,
Sir Stephen, Lady Mary has retained a trifle
for her pocket expenses, till you have the settlements
properly adjusted, and can pay her first
quarter.”

Sir Stephen looked out of the window and began
to whistle. Miss Brenton laid her finger on her lip,
looking earnestly at Lady Mary to impose silence
upon her, for the truth was she had persuaded her
to retain five hundred pounds, which was the sum
Mr. Matthews had mentioned as having laid by for
her, during her minority.

“It will be time enough to talk of these things
when we have been to Wiltshire,” said the new
made bride. “Sir Stephen will then make his own
generous arrangements, and I shall not have occasion
for much money till I get to London, when I must
have an entire new wardrobe, have the few jewels
my mother left me more fashionably set—You will
have a new carriage, I presume, Sir Stephen,”
addressing her husband, “and new liveries?”

“I don't know that I shall have either, madam,”
said he. It was the first time he had ever addressed
her by the formal title of madam. She looked at
him and her colour varied, but thinking he might
suppose that she wished to hurry to London, she
said,

“I did not mean that we should go directly there,
if we are only there time enough to have every
thing ready for the birth day, when I shall expect
to be presented by some of my mother's relations.”

“Then you will be disappointed,” he replied,
sharply, “for, I do not think I shall go to London
at all. It is a devilish expensive place, and you
cannot suppose that your fortune entitles you to form
such expectations, however your ladyship's rank
may be.”

“I never deceived you in regard to my fortune,
Sir Stephen,” she answered, her lip beginning to
quiver, and a choaking sensation to arise in her
throat.

“But I suppose you knew that your accommodating
friend there had done it; she represented
your fortune more than quadruple the paltry sum
you have given me.”—

“I have given you all, Sir Stephen,” said she,
“and had it been a thousand times as much, would
have given it as freely.” She hid her face with her
handkerchief, and burst into an hysterical sob.

“Oh, pray don't let us have a crying match so
early in the honey moon,” said he, “I hate whimpering,
it spoils a pretty face and makes an ugly
one detestable.” He snatched up his hat, and sauntered
out.

It may be easily imagined what a young woman
of such uncontrollable feelings as Lady Mary, must
have endured, at this discovery of the selfish disposition
of a man to whom she had entrusted her all
of fortune, her all of earthly felicity—she threw herself
into the arms of Miss Brenton and exclaimed,

“Theresa, why have you done this? I thought
him disinterested, I thought he loved me for myself,
why, why did you lead him to think”—“My dear

Mary,” said Miss Brenton soothingly, “how can
you blame me? I did not know the extent of your
fortune, you were reputed an heiress, your guardian
never contradicted the report, and knowing how
immensely rich Sir Stephen was left by his father,
I rejoiced in the prospect of seeing my dear friend,
so amiable, so lovely, united to a man able to add
to her exalted rank the gifts of fortune. And when
I knew your sensitive heart was engaged by him,
I thought in promoting your union, I was promoting
your happiness.”

“Forgive my petulance, Theresa,” said Lady
Mary, drying her eyes, “but what must I do, how
must I conduct myself?”

Let it be remembered that Lady Mary was but a
wife of three days, for on their return from Scotland
they had stopped at Alnwick in Northumberland,
where so much of antiquity and ancient splendor
were to be seen, connected with historic tales of
chivalry and renown, that Mary Lumley, as she
passed through it on her imprudent expedition, had
expressed a wish to stop on her return, and view
the castle, the gates of the town, and other objects,
to which her enthusiastic spirit of romance, had
given the highest interest.

Accordingly, on the second night of their retrograde
journey, they stopped at an old fashioned but
well attended comfortable inn, in the ancient town
of Alnwick; not very far from the beautiful seat
so long descended from father to son in the noble
family of Percy, of Northumberland. On the second
morning after her arrival there, the scene took

place, which led to the question of “what must I
do? how must I conduct myself?”

“Struggle to suppress your feelings,” said Miss
Brenton, “when Sir Stephen returns receive him
with composure, and on no account let him know
of the small sum you have retained, for from all I
see and hear, I suspect it will be some time before
you gain any thing from him.”

Theresa Brenton was an artful, selfish young woman,
her mother was a widow with a small jointure,
and Theresa, with a very trifling fortune of her own,
looked round for ways and means to lead a life of
case and affluence, without infringing on a small patrimony
inherited from her father, except to supply
the articles of clothing and pocket money. She had
early began to try her talent at flattery upon Lucy
Blakeney, but Lucy had too much sense to be led,
or hoodwinked by soft speeches, and a yielding versatility
of manners. She was always polite, and
treated Miss Brenton with that suavity of demeanour
which was her general characteristic; but she could
not love her as an associate, nor confide in her as a
friend.

Lady Mary Lumley had been accustomed to the
voice of adulation from her earliest remembrance;
she had observed how subservient her governess
always was to the will of her mother; she never
contradicted her, and if at any time she was unreasonably
petulant, from ennui, or irritable nerves,
she was always silent, or soothed her into good humour
again. Lady Mary thought this a proof of the
strongest affection; she loved her governess, who

was equally indulgent to her foibles, and glossed them
over with the name of amiable weaknesses.

It may be here observed, that a conduct which
was kind and consoling, to a woman formerly followed
and courted by an admiring world, moving in the
most splendid circles, indulged in every wish of her
heart, but who was now weak in health, depressed
in fortune, and neglected by that world; it was the
height of cruelty to practice toward a young creature
just entering into life.

When after the death of her mother Lady Mary
was removed to the regular well conducted family
of Mr. Matthews, where a kind of sedate cheerfulness
went hand in hand with rational amusement
and mental improvement; the change was so great
that she was glad to meet a more congenial associate
in Theresa Brenton. The consequence was, that
they became in the language of romantic misses,
“sworn friends.” Lady Mary would complain of
the formality of Mrs. Cavendish, the strictness of
Mr. Matthews, and the undeviating preciseness of
his wife. Miss Brenton would reply, “I feel for
you, my dear Mary, it must be very painful to your
sensitive mind, but be patient, it cannot last forever,
and the time will arrive when, being your own mistress,
you can indulge those amiable sensibilities
which throw a fascinating charm around you, and
whilst constituting your own happiness, render you
the delight of all who know you.”

In the mean time Theresa Brenton would, when
Mary Lumley received her quarterly allowance, accompany
her from pure good nature, on her shopping

expeditions, and when her friend purchased
any elegant or expensive article, would lament, that
she had not the power to indulge herself in any thing
beyond usefulness, when often the thoughtless, yet
generous minded Mary, would suffer considerable
depredations on her purse, rather than dear Theresa
should feel the want of an article, that would set off
her pretty person so well, but which her confined
finances would not allow her to purchase.

Miss Brenton was herself deceived in regard to
Sir Stephen's fortune, when following Lady Mary
from Brighton he contrived to get an introduction
to the family, where he found he could make a
staunch auxiliary by a profusion of protestations and
a few showy presents. His equipage and dress were
so elegant, his disregard of expense so evident, that
both Mrs. and Miss Brenton conceived his revenues
to be immense, and Theresa thought by assisting
her friend in eluding her guardian's watchfulness
and forming a matrimonial union with Sir Stephen,
she should secure to herself an invitation to pass one
winter at least in London, during which period she
might secure an establishment for herself, and, another
season, dash forth, at parties, balls and routs, at the
opera, theatre, or masquerade, as the rival or superior
of her angelic friend Lady Mary Haynes.
She therefore pretended not to know the extent of
Lady Mary's fortune, but led the scheming selfish
Baronet to conclude that it was above twenty thousand
pounds.

Mary Lumley herself would have spurned at such
an imposition, but Mary Lumley never made that

mental exertion which is necessary when persons
mean to judge and decide for themselves. She had
been blindly led by the flattery and opinions of Theresa
Brenton, and was taught to believe that in asking
for or submitting to the advice of Mr. Matthews,
she was making herself a slave to the will of one who
being old and fastidious, was incapable of deciding
upon what would constitute the happiness of a young
and beautiful woman.

But Theresa Brenton in abetting the elopement
had overreached herself. She had no idea that
when she received, by Lady Mary's order, the
whole of her little fortune from Sir Robert Ainslie,
that the innocent confiding girl meant to give it unconditionally
to her husband, before he had made
the promised settlements, which even at that time
she had no doubt that he had the power to make.
But when she found it impossible to persuade her
from so doing, she strongly urged her to retain the
five hundred pounds in her own hands.

When dinner was announced and the ladies met
Sir Stephen, Lady Mary strove to smile, Miss Brenton
was remarkably cheerful, and when the cloth
was removed, he made a proposal to visit Alnwick
castle that afternoon. The smiles naturally returned
to the face of his bride, and the carriage being ordered,
they proceeded to the stately mansion of the
Percys.

Sir Stephen knew when he made the proposal
that some of the family being at that time in Northumberland,
it was not likely that they would be
admitted to view the castle; and when he received

for answer on applying for admittance at the porter's
lodge, that there was company there at present,
turning to Lady Mary, he said,

“Well, it can't be helped, but we will take a
drive round to view a little romantic spot which I
am sure you will be pleased with; when I went out
this morning, I met a friend I had not seen for
many years who now lives within a short distance
of Alnwick, I walked with him to his house where
he resides with his mother, and from thence, on one
of his horses, accompanied him on a ride in this
delightful country, where there is so much to gratify
both the taste and the judgment.”

As they rode along, Sir Stephen was uncommonly
attentive and entertaining. At an opening from a
wood, he pointed out a cottage, built in the antique
style, with a garden gay with early spring flowers
and surrounded by a small patch of ground in which
were a variety of beautiful flowering shrubs, though
they now only shewed their under green leaves.
The ladies both exclaimed,

“Well, what a lovely place, it is just a situation
to realize the idea of love in a cottage.”

Sir Stephen bade the postillion drive up to the
gate.

“Come,” said he, “we will alight and get some
tea here. There will be a fine moon this evening,
and we shall have a pleasant drive afterwards.”
But Miss Brenton observed, “that she thought the
road they had come was very lonely; they had seen
but few passengers and those not very prepossessing
in their looks.”

“Besides,” said Lady Mary, “this is certainly
not a house of entertainment.”

“We shall try that,” said he, jumping out, and
insisting on the ladies alighting, he led the way up
to an old fashioned porch, over which climbed the
woodbine, and sweet brier, just bursting into vegetation.
An elderly woman opened the door and
ushered them into a not inelegant, but small parlour.

“Where is Mr. Craftly?” asked Sir Stephen.

“I expect him in every moment, your honour!”
said the woman, whom we will call Janet, “and he
told me should your honour arrive before him, to
shew the ladies their rooms, and obey their orders
in every thing.”

The ladies were struck almost dumb with astonishment.
“Our rooms? why, are we to remain here
all night?” faintly articulated Lady Mary.

“Your lady, Sir Stephen, has no night clothes
here,” said Miss Brenton, with rather more firmness
of voice, “and how can we be accommodated in this
little place.”

“Pho! Theresa,” he replied, half jocularly, “don't
raise obstacles where none really exist: I have ordered
the trunks to be brought, I did not like our situation
at the Inn, and my friend having offered me the
use of this cottage for a short period, I concluded it
would just suit Lady Mary's taste, and you know
you both declared just now it was exactly the situation
to realize the idea of love in a cottage.”

“True,” said Lady Mary, with a slight degree of
acrimony, “but I do not know how I shall like
the cottage without the love.”

At this moment Craftly entered, and Sir Stephen
taking his arm walked into the little shrubbery.

“What can this mean, Theresa?” inquired the
pale and agitated bride. Miss Brenton shrugged her
shoulders, but remained silent; and they concluded
to go and inspect the apartments.

The cottage consisted of two parlours, a kitchen
and four bed chambers, neatly but not elegantly
furnished.

“I won't stay here,” said Lady Mary.

“But how shall we get away?” rejoined her companion,
“for I believe the carriage is gone in which
we came. But be patient, dear Mary, this may only
be a little frolic of Sir Stephen's to try your temper.
Take no notice, ask no questions, endeavour to be
cheerful, and all may be well yet. He knew your
mother's attachment to rank and splendor, he may
fear that you inherit her family pride.”

“I wish to Heaven I had!” she ardently replied,
“I should never have fallen into this humiliating
situation.”

“Well, what is done cannot be undone,” said
Theresa with a non-chalance surprizing to her friend.

At tea, though Mary was calm, she could not be
cheerful. Miss Brenton was rather silent and observant.
Craftly stayed the evening, and after supper
challenged Sir Stephen to a game at piquet. The
ladies retired to their chambers, where they found
their trunks, but on looking round Lady Mary missed
her dressing case, in which were her jewels and
all her money except about twenty-five guineas
which were in Theresa's purse.

She had inquired into the establishment of the
cottage, and found it consisted only of the elderly
person she had first seen, who acted as cook and
housekeeper, and a rude country girl, who was to
attend the ladies and take care of the chambers; a
half grown boy, to clean knives and attend at meal
times, and a poor old crone who occasionally came
to superintend the garden and grounds. The girl
accustomed to early hours, was gone to bed; the
woman thought her work was finished when the
supper table was cleared, and the boy expressed his
discontent when he found he must sit up to wait on
the gentlemen.

When, therefore, Lady Mary, on retiring to her
room, found no one to assist her in undressing, or to
go to Sir Stephen to inquire for her dressing case,
Miss Brenton, who felt more alarmed than she was
willing to own, snatched up the candle, for there
was but one in the apartment, and without apology,
hastened back to the parlour.

“Sir Stephen,” said she, throwing open the door,
“your lady's dressing case is not come”

“Well,” he replied, “what of that? I suppose
she can do without it for one night, lend her some
of your things, Theresa, for I believe they are come.”

“They may be, but I was so disturbed upon missing
this valuable case, (for it belonged to your lady's
mother, and she prizes it very highly,) that I did
not look for, or even think of my own things.”

“Well, well, I dare say it is safe enough, I will
see about it to-morrow, so good Theresa, do go now,
and leave us to play our game in peace.”

“What a fool I have been, and how I have misled
poor Lady Mary,” said Miss Brenton, mentally, as
she ascended the stairs. But endeavouring to suppress
her feelings, and look cheerful as she entered
the room where her friend was undressing, she said,

“The box will be here to-morrow, you must condescend,
dear Mary, to use my dressing apparatus to-night
and in the morning, I hope we shall prevail
on Sir Stephen to give up the wild scheme of staying
any time in this cottage, and commence a journey
if not to London, at least into Hampshire, where I
am sure my mother will be happy to receive you
till Sir Stephen can look round and settle in a proper
habitation.”

After a few remarks, not very pleasant to either
party, the ladies separated, but though they retired
to bed, sleep visited neither of them till nearly daylight.
When it did overtake them, it was so profound
that they did not wake till after nine in the
morning.

Lady Mary on looking round soon perceived Sir
Stephen had not been in bed all night. A vague
sensation of desolateness struck upon her heart:
she started up, searched for a bell, no bell was to be
found. She opened the chamber door and called
aloud for Theresa, and in a few moments, wrapped
only in a dressing grown, her friend entered the room.

“Sir Stephen has not been in his apartment all
night, Theresa, what can be the meaning of all this?”
she exclaimed wildly. Before Miss Brenton could
reply, Janet who had been listening hearing the ladies
speak, came up to say that breakfast had been ready
above an hour.

“Where is your Master? good woman,” asked
Miss Brenton, as calmly as she could.

“My Master? Mr. Craftly, does your Ladyship
mean. He walked out with his honour Sir Stephen,
before five o'clock, and said he should not return
to breakfast; but Dora when she was cleaning the
parlour where their honours played cards last night,
sawed this bit of paper, but what it's about we can't
tell, for neither she nor I can read joining hand.”

Before Janet had finished her harangue, Theresa
had snatched the note from her hand, eagerly broke
the seal, and read as follows,

“Give it me, give me that letter, Theresa!”
exclaimed Lady Mary, snatching it from Miss Brenton. Her frenzied eye glanced rapidly over its contents,
and muttering,

“Friend! associate!—yes, it flashes on my mind,
I have no certificate; he gives me no name. I am
undone! undone!—Oh! my Guardian, my dear!
kind Lucy.”

The letter fell from her hand, she clasped her
fingers tightly across her forhead, and before the
terrified and humane Janet could step forward to
catch her, she fell lifeless on the floor.