Chapter XXI
Presents the reader with some prognosticks, on events in futuro
The reader will easily suppose that, in the present disposition of Miss Betsy's heart, Mr. Munden met with but an indifferent reception from her; she avoided his company as much as possible; and, when obliged to receive a visit from him, could not bring herself to treat him with any thing more than a cold civility. He complained of her cruelty--told her he had expected better things from her after her brothers had approved his flame: he pressed her, in the most pathetick terms he was master of, to let him know when the happy day would arrive, which should put an end to the long series of his hopes and fears.
It is certain, that if this gentleman had loved with that warmth and sincerity which some men have done, he must have been very unhappy during his courtship to Miss Betsy; but he was altogether insensible of the delicacies of the passion he professed--he felt not the pains he affected to languish under--he could support the frowns, or even the slights, of his mistress, without any other anxiety than what his pride inflicted.
It was, therefore, rather owing to this last propensity in his nature, than any emotions of a real tenderness for Miss Betsy, which had made him persevere in his addresses to her. All his acquaintance knew he had courted her a long time; some of them had been witness of her treatment of him: and he was unwilling it should be said of him, that he had made an offer of his heart in vain.
He had, at first, indeed, a liking for her person; he had considered her beauty, wit, and the many accomplishments she was possessed of, were such as would render his choice applauded by the world. The hopes of gaining her in a short time, by the encouragement she had given his addresses, had made him pursue her with vigour; but the delays--the scruples--the capriciousness of her humour--the pretences she of late had made to avoid giving him a definitive answer--had, at length, palled all the inclination he once had for her; and even desire was deadened in him, on so many disappointments.
It is, therefore, a very ill-judged thing in the ladies, to keep too long in play the man they ever design to marry: and, with all due deference to that great wit and poet, Sir John Suckling, there are very few examples which verify his maxim, that--
''Tis expectation makes the blessing dear.'
According to my opinion, which is founded on observation, another author, who wrote much about the same time with Sir John, has given us a more true idea of what a tedious courtship may produce, especially on the side of the man. In a matrimonial dialogue, he makes the husband excuse the coldness complained of by his wife, in these terms--
'Unequal lengths, alas! our passions run; My love was quite worn out, ere yours begun.'
This being the case with Mr. Munden, it rendered Miss Betsy little less indifferent to him, in reality, than he had ever been to her: to which another motive, perhaps, might also be added, viz. that of his indulging himself with amusements with other fair-ones, of a more kind complexion; for continency (as will hereafter appear) was not among the number of that gentleman's virtues.
But enough of Mr. Munden for the present. It is now highly proper to give the reader some account what Mr. Trueworth was doing while Miss Betsy was entertaining sentiments for him, which he had long since ceased the ambition of inspiring her with.
Difficult was it for him to get over the mingled astonishment and vexation which the detection of the wickedness of Miss Flora had involved him in. The remembrance of those guilty moments, in which he had indulged a tender intercourse with a woman of her abandoned principles, filled him with the most bitter remorse, and rendered him almost hateful to himself.
To recollect that he had been the instrument of her base designs on Miss Betsy, and how cruelly he had wronged that lady by a too rash belief, was, of itself, sufficient to inflame his rage; but when he reflected on this last act of baseness, which, if not providentially discovered, might have made his dear Harriot entertain suspicions of him fatal to her peace, if not totally destructive of their mutual happiness, the shock of such a misfortune, though happily frustrated, was more than he could bear with any tolerable degree of patience.
Rage, disdain, and revenge, for the vile contriver of so black an attempt, were the first emotions that took possession of his mind; but the violence of those passions evaporating by degrees, he began to think more coolly, and to reason with himself, from which that depravity of morals and manners, women are sometimes guilty of, proceeded.
'Chastity,' said he, 'is but one branch of virtue, but a material one, and serves as a guard to all the others; and if that is once overcome, endangers the giving entrance to a thousand vices. A woman entirely free from those inordinate desires, which are, indeed, but the disgrace of love, can scarce be capable of envy, malice, or revenge, to any excess.
'That sex,' cried he again, 'are endued by nature with many perfections which ours cannot boast of; it is their own faults when they sink beneath us in value; but the best things, when once corrupted, become the worst. How dear, therefore, ought a woman to prize her innocence! As Shakespeare says--
'--They are all white--a sheet Of spotless paper, when they first are born; But they are to be scrawl'd upon, and blotted By every goose-quill.'
He was in the midst of these contemplations, when a letter from Miss Flora was brought to him: she still flattered herself with being able to work on his good nature by submissions, and a seeming contrition for what she had done; and had accordingly wrote in the most moving terms she was mistress of; but he knowing, by the hand-writing on the superscription, from whom it came, would not even open it; and his indignation rekindling afresh, he took a piece of paper, in which he wrote only this line--
'I read no letters from incendiaries.'
This served as a cover to the letter, which he sent directly by the messenger that brought it.
If the mind of Mr. Trueworth had been less taken up than it was at present, this ugly accident would doubtless have dwelt much longer upon it; but affairs of a more important, and more pleasing nature, demanded his whole attention.
The day prefixed for the celebration of his marriage with Miss Harriot, and also of that of Sir Bazil and Miss Mabel, had been delayed on account of Mrs. Blanchfield's death. None of these generous persons could think of indulging the joys they so much languished for till all due rites were paid to the memory of that amiable lady.
Mr. Trueworth and Miss Harriot went into deep mourning; Sir Bazil and Mrs. Wellair also put on black; Miss Mabel did the same, in compliment to them, for she had not the least acquaintance with the deceased.
Nor was this all; Mr. Trueworth, to testify his gratitude and respect, ordered a very curious monument of white marble to be erected over her remains, the model of which he drew himself, after one he had seen in Italy, and was much admired by all judges of architecture and sculpture.
If, by a secret and unfathomable intuition, the souls of the departed are permitted any knowledge of what is done below, that of Mrs. Blanchfield's must feel an extreme satisfaction, in such proofs of the esteem of him she had so tenderly and so fatally loved, as well as those of her fair friend and rival.
That generous young lady would fain have prolonged their mourning for a whole month, and consequently have put off her marriage till that time; but this, if Mr. Trueworth would have been prevailed upon to have submitted to, Sir Bazil and Mrs. Wellair would not agree to: he thought he had already sacrificed enough of the time of his promised happiness, and Mrs. Wellair was impatient to get home, though equally loath to leave her sister till she had disposed of herself.
They were arguing on this topick one evening--Mr. Trueworth opposed Miss Harriot as much as he durst do without danger of offending her; but Sir Bazil plainly told her, that if she continued obstinate, Miss Mabel and he would finish their affairs without her. Mrs. Wellair urged the necessity there was for her return; and Mr. Trueworth, encouraged by what these two had said, added, that he was certain Mrs. Blanchfield did not mean, by what she had done, to obstruct his happiness a moment: to which Miss Harriot, with a most obliging smile, replied, 'Well, obedience will very shortly be my duty, and I will give you a sample of it beforehand. Here is my hand,' continued she, giving it to him; 'make it your own as soon as you please.'
It is not to be doubted but Mr. Trueworth kissed the hand she gave him with the utmost warmth and tenderness; but before he could make any reply to so kind a declaration, Sir Bazil cried out, 'Well said, Harriot! love has already wrought wonders in your heart; you will grant to a lover what you refuse to us.'--'Not to a lover, Sir,' answered she, 'but to a person who is about to be my husband. I think it is as ill-judged a reserve in a woman to disown her affection for the man she has consented to marry, as it would be imprudence to confess it before she has consented.'
After some farther conversation on this head, (in the course of which Mr. Trueworth had the opportunity of being more confirmed than ever, that the disposition of his mistress was, in every respect, such as he wished to find it) all that was yet wanting for the completions of the nuptials was settled.
The second day after this was fixed for the celebration of the ceremony; after which it was determined that the two bridegrooms, with their brides, the father of Miss Mabel, Mrs. Wellair, and two other friends, should all set out together for Sir Bazil's seat in Staffordshire; and that Mrs. Wellair should write to her husband to meet them there, that the whole family might be together on so joyful an occasion.
Chapter XXII
Will prove, by a remarkable instance of a high-raised hope suddenly disappointed, the extreme weakness of building our expectations upon mere conjecture
Though it is not to be imagined that the preparations for marriages, such as those of Sir Bazil Loveit and Mr. Trueworth, could be an entire secret to the town, especially as neither of the parties had any motive to induce them to desire it should be so, yet Miss Betsy never heard the least syllable of any such thing being in agitation. Those of her acquaintance, whom she at presently chiefly conversed with, were either ignorant of it themselves, or had never happened to mention it in her presence; so that, knowing nothing of Mr. Trueworth's affairs of late, more than what the lawyer had casually related at her brother's, it is not to be wondered at, that she imagined him wholly disengaged since the death of that lady who had so kindly remembered him in her will.
Neither ought it (her vanity considered) to appear strange, that she was apt to flatter herself with a return of his affection to herself, when the memory of the late object of it should be utterly erased.
When there is the least possibility that what we ardently wish may come to pass, the minutest circumstance, in favour of our hopes, serves to assure us that it certainly will do so.
Miss Betsy was going to make a visit at Whitehall; but, in crossing the Park, happened to meet the two Miss Airishes, who asked her to take a turn with them: to which she replied, that she would gladly accompany them, but had sent word to a lady that she was coming to pass the whole evening with her. 'Nay,' said the elder Miss Airish, 'we have an engagement too at our own apartment, and can stay only to walk once up the Mall, and down again.' Miss Betsy replied, that would be no great loss of time; and so went with them. They had not proceeded many yards in their promenade, before Miss Betsy saw Mr. Trueworth, with Sir Bazil, coming directly towards them. The gentlemen bowed to her as they approached more near. A sudden thought that moment darting into Miss Betsy's head, she dropped her fan, as if by accident, as they were passing each other, just at Mr. Trueworth's feet: he stopped hastily to take it up, and presented it hastily to her. 'I am sorry, Sir,' said she, 'to give you this trouble.'--'Whatever services, Madam, are in my power,' replied he, 'will be always a pleasure to myself.'--No more was said--the gentlemen and the ladies pursued their different routs. This little adventure, however, had a prodigious effect on Miss Betsy: she thought she saw something so gay and sparkling in the eyes of Mr. Trueworth, as denoted his mourning-habit belied his heart, and that he was not much affected with the death of her for whom decency and gratitude had obliged him to put it on. After the gentlemen were out of hearing, the two Miss Airishes began to give their judgments upon them--the one cried, they both were very pretty fellows; but the other accused them of want of politeness.--'As they saw we had no man with us,' said she, 'they might, methinks, have offered their service to gallant us, especially as one of them seems to be acquainted with Miss Betsy.' But that young lady little regarded what was said on the occasion, being too much taken up with her own cogitations: she repeated internally the words of Mr. Trueworth; and as she was persuaded he was now at liberty to offer her all manner of services, she interpreted, that by whatever services were in his power, he meant to renew his services to her as a lover. This imagination elated her to a very high degree, but hindered her from holding any conversation with the two ladies she was with, as it was improper for her to say any thing on the subject which so much engrossed her thoughts. They all walked together up to Buckingham House, then turned back, and the two Miss Airishes took leave of her at St. James's--they went into the Palace, and she was proceeding towards Spring Garden, when she at a distance perceived Sir Bazil Loveit, Mr. Trueworth, Miss Mabel, and two ladies, whose faces she was entirely unacquainted with.
The reader will not be at a loss to guess, that these two were no other than Mrs. Wellair and Miss Harriot--they had been that afternoon to take leave of some friends, and had appointed to meet the gentlemen in the Mall: in their way thither they had called upon Miss Mabel, and brought her with them. This little troop being all in the same sable livery, seemed so much of a family, as threw Miss Betsy into some sort of surprize: she knew not that Miss Mabel had the least acquaintance with Sir Bazil, nor even any more with Mr. Trueworth than having seen him a few times in her company. As they drew nearer, she made a motion to Miss Mabel, as if she was desirous of speaking to her; upon which that lady advanced towards her, with these words: 'I am sorry, Madam,' said she, 'as you are alone, that it is improper for me to ask you to join us.'--'I am very glad, Madam, you do not,' replied Miss Betsy, very much piqued, 'because I should be obliged to refuse you.' She no sooner uttered these words than she passed hastily on, and Miss Mabel returned to her company, who waited for her at some paces distance.
It must be acknowledged, that Miss Betsy had cause to be alarmed at a speech of this nature, from a lady of Miss Mabel's politeness and good humour; she thought there must be some powerful reasons, which had obliged her to make it; and what those reasons could be, seemed at present an impenetrable secret. She was too much disconcerted to be able to pass the whole evening, as she had promised the lady she went to, she would do; she therefore pretended a sudden indispostion, took her leave, and went home, in order to be at full liberty to ruminate on what had passed in the Park.
She had not been many minutes in her own apartment, before she was interrupted in her meditations by the coming of her two brothers. Several bustos, pictures, pieces of old china, and other curiosities, belonging to a nobleman, lately deceased, being to be exposed to sale, the elder Mr. Thoughtless had an inclination to become a purchaser of such of them as he should find agreeable to his fancy, but was willing to have his sister's judgment in the matter; and it was to engage her to go with him the next morning about twelve o'clock, when the goods were to be exhibited to publick view, that had occasioned him and Mr. Francis to make her this visit. It is not to be doubted, but that she was willing to oblige him in that point; she assured him she would be ready against he came to call on her.
When she was alone, she began to run over in her mind, all the particulars of what had passed that evening in the Park, and found something very extraordinary on the whole. It had seemed extremely odd to her, that Mr. Trueworth and Sir Bazil did not join her and the two Miss Airishes; but then she thought she could easily account for their not doing so, and that Mr. Trueworth did not chuse to enter into any conversation with her, because Sir Bazil had happened to see her at Miss Forward's, and might possibly have entertained no favourable idea of her on that score; she, therefore, with a great deal of readiness, excused Mr. Trueworth for this omission, especially as she was possessed of the fancy, that the compliment with which he returned her fan, and the look he assumed during that action, seemed to tell her he wished for an opportunity of adding something more tender. But when she came to consider on the second meeting, she was indeed very much at a loss to fathom the meaning of what she had seen; she knew a thousand accidents might have occasioned an acquaintance between Miss Mabel and Sir Bazil; and also, that the little she had with Mr. Trueworth might have been casually improved; but could not find the least shadow of reason why that lady should tell her it was improper for to ask her to join company with them. Though she had of late seen that lady less frequently than usual; yet, whenever they did meet, it was with the greatest civility and appearance of friendship: she had, in reality, a sincere regard for her, and imagined the other looked upon her with the same; and therefore could not but believe the shyness she put on in the Park, when speaking to her, must have some very powerful motive to occasion it. Suspense was, of all things, what Miss Betsy could least bear: she resolved to be convinced, though at the expence of that pride she would not have forfeited on any other account.--'In spite of the ill-manners she has treated me with,' said she, 'I will go once more to her--satisfy my curiosity as to the manner of her behaviour, and then never see her more.'
To be more sure of finding her at home, she thought it best to make the visit she intended in the morning; accordingly, she sent to her brother, that being obliged to go to a lady, who had desired to see her, she could not wait for his coming to call on her, but would not fail to meet him at the place of sale, about the hour he had mentioned. This promise she thought it would be easy for her to perform, as she designed to stay no longer with Miss Mabel than would be sufficient to get some light into a thing which at present gave her so much perplexity.
She went about eleven o'clock; but was strangely surprized, on her coming to the house, to find all the windows shut up; and after the chairman had knocked several times, the door was opened by Nanny, the little prating wench, who had lived at Mr. Goodman's.--'Nanny,' cried Miss Betsy, 'bless me! do you live here?'--'Yes, Madam,' answered she, 'I have lived here ever since my master Goodman died.'--'I am glad of it,' returned Miss Betsy: 'but, pray, is your lady at home?'--'O, dear Madam,' said the girl, 'my lady!--why, Madam, don't you know what's done to-day?'--'Not I,' replied she--'pr'ythee what dost mean? What done?'--'Lord, Madam,' said Nanny, 'I wonder you should not know it!--my lady is married today.'--'Married!' cried Miss Betsy hastily; 'to whom?'--'To one Sir Bazil Loveit, Madam,' replied the other; 'and Mr. Trueworth is married too, to one Miss Harriot, Sir Bazil's sister: my old master gave both the brides away. I believe the ceremony is over by this time; but as soon as it is, they all bowl away for Sir Bazil's seat in Staffordshire: they say there will be open house kept there, and the Lord knows what doings. All the servants are gone--none but poor me left to look after the house.'--'Mr. Trueworth married!' cried Miss Betsy, in the greatest confusion; 'I thought his mistress had been dead.'--'No, no, Madam,' said Nanny; 'you mean Mrs. Blanchfield--I know all that story--I was told it by one who comes often here: Mr. Trueworth, I assure you, never courted her; she was only in love with him, and on hearing his engagement with Miss Harriot, took it to heart, poor soul, and died in a few days, and has left him half her fortune, and a world of fine things to Miss Harriot.'
She was going on with this tittle-tattle; but Miss Betsy was scarce in a condition to distinguish what she said; she leaned her head back against the chair, and was almost fainting away. The maid perceiving the change in her countenance, cried out, 'Lord, Madam, you are not well!--shall I get you any thing? But, now I think on it, there is a bottle of drops my lady left behind her in the dressing-room; I'll run and fetch them.' She was going to do as she said; but Miss Betsy, recovering of herself, called to her to stay, saying she had no occasion for any thing. 'Lord, Madam,' said she, 'I did not think the marriage of Mr. Trueworth would have been such a trouble to you, or I would not have told you any thing of it. I am sure you might have had him if you would; I remember well enough how he fought for you with Mr. Staple, and how he followed you up and down wherever you went. For that matter, Miss Harriot has but your leavings.'--'I give myself no trouble who has him,' replied Miss Betsy, disdainfully: 'it is not him I am thinking of; I was only a little surprized that Miss Mabel should make such a secret of her affairs to me.'--'You know, Madam,' said Nanny, 'that my lady is a very close woman: but I wonder, indeed, she should tell you nothing of it; for I have heard her speak the kindest things of you.'--'Well, it is no matter,' replied Miss Betsy. 'Farewel, Nanny.' Then bid the chairmen go on. The confusion she was in hindered her from directing the chairmen where to go; so they were carrying her home again, till she saw herself at the end of the street where she lived; but then, recollecting all at once where she had appointed to meet her brothers, she ordered them to go to Golden Square.
It seemed as if fate interested itself in a peculiar manner for the mortification of this young lady; every thing contributed to give her the most poignant shock her soul could possibly sustain. It was not enough that she had heard the cruel tidings of what she looked upon as the greatest of misfortunes, her eyes must also be witness of the stabbing confirmation. The place of sale was within two houses of Sir Bazil's; but, as she had never heard where that gentleman lived, could have no apprehensions of the spectacle she was to be presented with. On her chair turning into the square, she saw that side of it, to which she had directed the men to carry her, crowded with coaches, horses, and a great concourse of people; some waiting for the bridal bounty, but more as idle spectators. At first, she imagined it was on the account of the sale; but the same instant almost shewed her her mistake.
Several footmen, with wedding-favours in their hats, two of whom she knew by their faces, as well as by their liveries, belonged to Mr. Trueworth, were just mounting their horses. The crowd was so thick about the door, that it was with some difficulty the chair passed on; and she had an opportunity of seeing much more than she desired. There were three coaches and six: in the first went Sir Bazil and the new-made Lady Loveit, the father of Miss Mabel, and a young lady whom Miss Betsy had sometimes seen in her company; in the second were seated Mr. Trueworth, his bride, Mrs. Wellair, and a grave old gentleman; the third was filled by four maid-servants, and the two valet de chambres of the two bridegrooms, with a great deal of luggage before and behind. The ladies and gentlemen were all in extreme rich riding-habits; and the footmen, eleven in number, being all in new liveries, and spruce fellows, the whole cavalcade altogether made a very genteel appearance.
Miss Betsy, in spite of the commotions in her breast, could not forbear standing a little in the hall, after she had got out of her chair; till the whole had passed. 'Well!' said she to herself, with a deep sigh, 'all is over, and I must think no more of Trueworth! But wherefore am I thus alarmed? He has long since been lost to me--nor did I love him!'
She assumed all the courage her pride could supply her with, and had tolerably composed herself before she went up into the sale-room; yet not so much but a paleness, mixed with a certain confusion, appeared in her countenance. Mr. Munden, who happened to be there, as well as her brothers, took notice of it, and asked if she was not well: to which she replied, with an uncommon presence of mind, that she was in perfect health, but had been frightened as she came along by a great black ox, who, by the carelessness of the driver, had like to have run his horns quite into the chair. Mr. Munden, who never wanted politeness, and knew how to put on the most tender air whenever he pleased, expressed an infinity of concern for the accident she mentioned: and this behaviour in him she either relished very well, or seemed to do so.
What credit her brothers gave to the story of the ox is uncertain: they, as well as all the company in the room, had been drawn to the windows by the noise of the cavalcade which had set out from Sir Bazil's. Every one was talking of it when Miss Betsy entered; and, it is very probable, the two Mr. Thoughtlesses might imagine it had an effect upon her, in spite of the indifference she had always pretended: they were, however, too prudent to take any notice, especially as Mr. Munden was present.
Whatever were the troubles of this young lady, her spirits enabled her to conceal them; and she gave her opinion of the goods to be disposed of with as much exactitude as if her mind had been taken up with no other thing.
Mr. Thoughtless made a purchase of the twelve Caesars in bronze, and two fruit-pieces of Varelst's: and Mr. Munden, on Miss Betsy's expressing her liking of two very large curious jars, bought them, and presented them to her.
Nothing material passed here: but, the sale being over for that day, every one returned to their respective habitations, or whatever business or inclination called them.
VOLUME THE FOURTH
Chapter I
Contains, among other particulars, an example of forgiving goodness and generosity, worthy the imitation of as many as shall read it
The constraint Miss Betsy had put on herself while in the presence of the company she had been with, had been extremely painful to her; but, when she got home, she gave a loose to tears, that common relief of sorrows: yet, amidst all those testimonies of a violent affection for Mr. Trueworth, she would not allow herself to imagine that she was possessed of any for him; nor that the vexation she was in proceeded from any other motive than that of finding a heart, that had once been devoted to her, capable of submitting to the charms of any other woman.
All she could bring herself to acknowledge was only that she had been very much to blame in treating the proposals of Mr. Trueworth in the light manner she had done: she now wondered at herself for having been so blind to the merits of Mr. Trueworth's family, estate, person, and accomplishments; and accused herself, with the utmost severity, for having rejected what, she could not but confess, would have been highly for her interest, honour, and happiness, to have accepted.
Thus deeply was she buried in a too late repentance, when a letter was brought to her, the superscription of which was wrote in a hand altogether unknown to her. On opening it, she found the contents as follows.
'Marshalsea Prison.
To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.
Madam,
After the just though severe resolution your last informed me you had taken of never seeing nor receiving any thing from me more, I tremble to approach you. Fearing you would not vouchsafe to open this, knowing from whence it came, I got a person to direct it for you; and cannot assure myself you will, even now, examine the contents so far as to see the motive which emboldens me to give you this trouble.
I have long since rendered myself unworthy your friendship--it is solely your compassion and charity that I now implore. The date of this petition, in part, will shew you the calamity I labour under. I have languished in this wretched prison for upwards of a month, for debts my luxury contracted, and which I vainly expected would be discharged by those who called themselves my admirers: but, alas! all the return they make for favours they so ardently requested, is contempt. I have been obliged to make away with every thing their gallantry bestowed, for my support.
All the partners of my guilty pleasures--all those who shared with me in my riots, are deaf to my complaints, and refuse a pitying ear to the distress they have in a great measure contributed to bring upon me. My creditors, more merciful than my friends or lovers, have consented to withdraw their actions; and I shall have my discharge on paying the fees of this loathsome prison. Three guineas will be sufficient to restore my liberty; which, if I am so fortune once more to obtain, I will think no labour, though ever so hard or abject, too much, if it can enable me to drag on my remains of life in true penitence.
Dear Madam, if, by favouring me with the sum I mention, you are so good as to open my prison-gate, Heaven will, I doubt not, reward the generous bounty: and, if the Almighty will vouchsafe to hear the prayers of an abandoned creature like me, I shall never cease to invoke his choicest blessings may be showered down on the head of my charming deliverer.
I shall send to-morrow morning a poor honest woman, whom I can confide in, for your answer. I beseech you to be assured that, if once freed from this detested place, no temptations, of what kind soever, shall ever prevail upon me to return to my yet more detested former course of life; and am determined to fly to some remote corner of the kingdom, as distant from London as from L----e; and there endeavour to earn a wretched pittance, by means how low soever I care not. Your grant of the request I make you at this time, will save both the soul and body of her who is, with the most unfeigned contrition, Madam, your most humble, and most unfortunate servant,
A. FORWARD.'
Utterly impossible was it for this unhappy creature to have sent her petition at a more unlucky time. Miss Betsy, full of the idea of the misfortune she had sustained in the loss of Mr. Trueworth, could not be reminded of Miss Forward, without being also reminded that the first occasion of his disgust was owing to her acquaintance with that woman.
'Infamous creature!' cried Miss Betsy, as soon as she had done reading; 'she deserves no compassion from the world, much less from me. No, no! there are but too many objects of charity to be found; and I shall not lavish the little bounty I am able to bestow, on a wretch like her!'
These were the first reflections of Miss Betsy on receiving so unexpected a petition; but they soon subsided, and gave way to others of a more gentle nature. 'Yet,' said she, 'if the poor wretch is sensible of her faults, and truly resolved to do as she pretends, it would be the utmost cruelty to deny her the means of fulfilling the promise she makes of amendment.
'How unhappy is our sex!' continued she, 'either in a too much or too little sensibility of the tender passion! She was, alas! too easily influenced by the flatteries of the base part of mankind; and I too little grateful to the merits of the best.'
In fine, the natural goodness of her disposition got the ascendant over all considerations that opposed the grant of Miss Forward's request. 'My acquaintance with her has been fatal to me,' said she; 'but that was less owing to her fault than my own folly.'
Accordingly, she sent by the woman who came next morning, as mentioned in the letter, four guineas, inclosed in a piece of paper, and wrote to her in these terms.
'To Miss Forward.
Madam,
Though I cannot but look upon your misfortunes as justly fallen on you, yet heartily commiserate them. If your penitence is sincere, I doubt not but you will, some way or other, be enabled to pursue a more laudable course of life than that which has brought you into this distress. I add one guinea to the sum you requested; and wish it were in my power to do more, being your real well-wisher, and humble servant,
E. THOUGHTLESS.'
Though no one could have more refined notions of virtue, nor a greater abhorrence for vice, than this young lady, yet never did she hate the persons of the guilty; nor would judge with that severity of their faults which some others, much less innocent, are apt to do.
It pleased her to think that, by this donation, she should gladden the heart of an afflicted person, who had been of her acquaintance, how unworthy soever of late she had rendered herself; and this little interruption of her meditations contributed a good deal to compose her mind, after the sudden shock it had sustained on the score of Mr. Trueworth's marriage.
But she had very shortly another and more agreeable relief. Sir Ralph and Lady Trusty came to town; which she no sooner was informed of, and where a house had been taken for their reception, than she went early the next morning to pay her respects, and testify the real satisfaction she conceived at their arrival.
Nothing of business would probably have been said to her on this first visit, if her two brothers had not come in immediately after. The first compliments on such an occasion being over--'Sir Ralph,' said the elder Mr. Thoughtless, 'we have wished for your coming to town on many accounts; but none so much as that of my sister, who is going to be married, and has only waited to intreat you will do her the favour of disposing of her hand.'
The good baronet replied, that there was nothing he should do with greater pleasure, provided it were to a person worthy of her. 'That, Sir,' said the elder Mr. Thoughtless, 'we have taken care to be convinced of; and I doubt not but you will think as we do, when you shall be informed of the particulars.' Miss Betsy blushed, but uttered not a word, either to oppose or to agree to what had been said.
Lady Trusty perceiving her in some confusion, led her into another room, in order to talk seriously to her on many things she had in her head.
Chapter II
Is very full of business
The two brothers of Miss Betsy having some reason to apprehend she would still find some pretence, if possible, to evade fulfilling the promise she had made them in regard to Mr. Munden; and also that he, finding himself trifled with, might become weary of prosecuting so unavailing a suit, and break off as Mr. Trueworth had done, resolved to omit nothing in their power for bringing to a conclusion an affair which seemed to them so absolutely necessary for securing the honour of their family in that of their sister.
They suspected that their putting off the marriage till the arrival of Sir Ralph and Lady Trusty, was only to gain time, and invent some excuse to get that lady on her side: they, therefore, judged it highly proper to acquaint her previously with the motives which made them so impatient to see their sister disposed of, and by that means prevent her ladyship from being prepossessed by any ideas the other might prepare for that purpose.
Accordingly, Mr. Francis Thoughtless having been informed by letter of the day in which they intended to be in town, he went on horseback, and met them at the inn where they dined, about twenty miles from London.
That good lady was so much troubled at the recital he made her of Miss Betsy's late adventures, that she could not forbear letting fall some tears; and, though she laid the blame of her ill-conduct chiefly on her having lived so long under the tuition and example of a woman such as Lady Mellasin, yet she could not but allow there was a certain vanity in her composition, as dangerous to virtue as to reputation, and that marriage was the only defence for both.
Sir Ralph, who was an extreme facetious, good-natured man, was a little pleasant on what his lady had said on this occasion. 'You forget, my dear,' cried he, 'how many ladies of late have broke the conjugal hoop, and think themselves justified in doing so, by having been prevailed upon to enter into it without inclination. Remember the words of the humorous poet Hudibras--
"Wedlock without love, some say, Is but a lock without a key; And 'tis a kind of rape to marry One, who neglects, cares not for ye; For what does make it ravishment, But being 'gainst the mind's consent?"
'Does Miss Betsy,' continued he, to Mr. Francis, 'love the gentleman you would have her marry?' To which the other replied, that the temper of his sister was too capricious for any one to be able to judge of the real situation of her heart, or even for herself to be fully assured of it.
He then proceeded to inform him how long Mr. Munden had courted her, and of the great encouragement she had always given to his addresses; her submitting the decision of the affair to the elder Mr. Thoughtless's inspection into the circumstances of his estate, which being found agreeable to the report made of it, she now only waited, or pretended to wait, for the approbation of Sir Ralph, as being, by her father's will, constituted her guardian.
'Well, then,' said Sir Ralph, 'since it is so, and you are all desirous it should be a match, I shall not fail to give my verdict accordingly.'
As impatient as the two brothers were to see her married, and out of the way of those temptations she at present lay under, they could not be more so than Lady Trusty now was: she doubted not that the virtue and good-sense of that young lady would render her a very good wife, when once she was made one; and therefore heartily wished to see her settled in the world, even though it were to less advantage than her beauty, and the many good qualities she was possessed of, might entitle her to expect.
It was in order to do every thing in her power to bring about what she thought so good a work, that she had drawn Miss Betsy from the company, and retired with her into the closet, in the manner already related.
Miss Betsy, who knew nothing of all this, or even that her brother had gone to meet them on the road, was extremely surprized to find, by the discourse with which Lady Trusty entertained her, that no part of what had happened to her, ever since the death of Mr. Goodman, was a secret to her ladyship.
She presently saw, however, it must be by her brother Frank that this intelligence had been given; and was not at all at a loss to guess the motive of his having done it. 'I find, Madam,' said she, 'that all the errors and inadvertencies I have been guilty of are betrayed to you; and am far from being sorry they are so, since the gentle reproofs you take the trouble to give me, are so many fresh marks of the friendship with which you vouchsafe to honour me, and which I shall always esteem as my greatest happiness. I flatter myself, however,' continued she, 'that the remembrance of what has lately befallen me, and the imminent dangers I have escaped, will enable me to regulate my conduct in such a manner as to give your ladyship no farther pain on my account.'
Lady Trusty, on this, embraced her with the utmost tenderness; and told her, that there were few things she either wished or hoped for with greater ardency than to see her happily settled, and freed from all temptations of what kind soever.
This worthy lady then fell on the subject of Mr. Munden; and recapitulated all the arguments which had been already urged, to persuade her to come to a determination. In fine, she left nothing unsaid that was suitable to the occasion.
Miss Betsy listened to her with the most submissive attention; and, after a short pause, replied in these terms--'Madam,' said she, 'I am convinced, by my own reason as well as by what your ladyship has been pleased to say, that I have, indeed, gone too far with Mr. Munden to be able to go back with honour; and, since I find he has the approbation of all my friends, shall no longer attempt to trifle with his pretensions.'
'You will marry him, then?' cried Lady Trusty. 'Yes, Madam,' answered Miss Betsy; and added, though not without some hesitation, 'Since my marriage is a thing so much desired by those to whose will I shall always be ready to submit, Mr. Munden has certainly a right to expect I should decide in his favour.'
She said no more, but hung down her head, and Lady Trusty was going to make some reply--perhaps to ask how far her heart acquiesced in the consent her tongue had given--but was prevented by Sir Ralph, who, pushing open the door of the room where they were, told her she engrossed his fair charge too long--that it was now time for himself and her brothers to have some share in their conversation.
'Some polite wives, Sir Ralph,' said Lady Trusty, laughing, 'would not have excused so abrupt a breaking in upon their privacy; and I assure you, if you had interrupted us a moment sooner, you might have spoiled all, for Miss Betsy has but just given me her promise to marry Mr. Munden.'
'I should have been heartily sorry indeed,' said he, 'if my over zeal had rendered me a Marplot on this occasion: but come,' continued he, 'since the young lady has at last resolved, let us carry the joyful news to her brothers.'
In speaking these words he gave one of his hands to Lady Trusty, and the other to Miss Betsy, and led them into the dining-room, where the Mr. Thoughtlesses were: 'Well, gentlemen,' said he, 'your sister has at last consented to give you a brother; pray, thank her for the addition she is going to make to your family.'
'I hope,' said the elder Mr. Thoughtless, 'she will find her own happiness in doing so.' The younger added something to the same purpose. After this the conversation turned chiefly on the solid satisfaction of a married life, in which Miss Betsy took but little part, only saying to her two brothers, 'Well, since both of you have so high an opinion of matrimony, and will needs have me, who am by some years younger than either of you, lead the way, I hope I shall soon see you follow the example.'
'Our elder brother,' said Mr. Francis, 'may, doubtless, marry whenever he pleases; and, as for my part, when it can be proved that I have an offer made me equally advantageous to what you have rejected, and I should refuse it, I could not be angry with the world for condemning my want of judgment.'
'No more of that,' cried Sir Ralph; 'you see she hears reason at last.' Lady Trusty would fain have persuaded the gentlemen to stay dinner there; but they excused themselves, as expecting company at home, and said, if possible they would return toward evening: she would not, however, permit Miss Betsy to take leave; and her continuing there that whole day happened to bring things somewhat sooner a conclusion, than perhaps they otherwise would have been.
Mr. Munden, as soft and complaisant as he carried it to Miss Betsy, was very much disgusted in his mind at her late behaviour; he found she loved him not, and was far from having any violent inclination for her himself; but the motives which had made him persevere in his courtship, after being convinced of the indifference she had for him, made him also impatient to bring the affair to as speedy a result as possible. Sir Ralph was the last person to whom she had referred the matter; he had heard by accident of that gentleman's arrival, and went to her lodgings, in order to see in what manner she would now receive him; but not finding her at home, called at the house of Mr. Thoughtless, who had always been very propitious to his suit.
On the two brothers returning from Sir Ralph's, they met him just coming out of the house; the elder desired him to walk in--told him, with a great deal of freedom, that Sir Ralph was come to town; that the business having been communicated to him, he approved of the match, and his sister had consented. Mr. Munden received this information with all the seeming transport of a man passionately in love; he made them a thousand retributions for the part they had taken in his interest; and they expressed no less satisfaction in the accomplishment of his desires. After some few compliments on both sides, the elder Mr. Thoughtless informed him, that Miss Betsy was to stay the whole day with Sir Ralph and Lady Trusty; that himself and brother had promised to return thither in the evening, and that he should be glad if he would accompany them, in order that when they were all together, every thing might be settled for the completion of the nuptials.
It is not to be doubted but that the lover readily embraced this proposition; and an hour for his waiting on them being prefixed, he took his leave, the company that was to dine with Mr. Thoughtless that instant coming in.
Chapter III
Will not let the reader fall asleep
I believe the reader will easily perceive, that it was owing to the apprehensions of Miss Betsy's fluctuating disposition, that her brothers testified so great an impatience for bringing the affair of her marriage to a conclusion; and also, that it was to confirm her in her resolution, and reconcile her to the promise she had made, that Lady Trusty had kept her with her that whole day.
The arguments urged by that worthy lady, the obliging and chearful manner in which they were delivered, joined to the facetious and entertaining remarks which Sir Ralph had occasionally made, had indeed a great effect, for the present, on the too wavering and uncertain mind they were intended to fix.
Though she was far from expecting Mr. Munden could come that evening with her brothers, or even from imagining he could as yet be informed of what had passed in his favour, yet she was not displeased when she saw him enter; and if she looked a little confounded, it was rather to be attributed to modesty than anger.
That gentleman having made his first compliments to Sir Ralph and Lady Trusty, on his being presented to them, flew directly to Miss Betsy, and expressed his sense of the happiness her brothers had made him hope, in terms the most passionate that words would form. She received what he said to her, on this occasion, with a sweetness which must have infinitely charmed a heart truly sensible of the tender passion, that even Mr. Munden, though less delicate than he pretended, could not but be greatly affected with it.
In fine, the behaviour of both towards each other, gave great contentment to all the friends of Miss Betsy; and her elder brother, for form's sake, recapitulating the proposal of Mr. Munden, concerning her settlement and jointure, Sir Ralph gave that approbation in publick which he before had done in private: the intended bridegroom and Mr. Thoughtless agreed to go the next morning to Mr. Markland the lawyer, and give him the necessary instructions for drawing up the marriage articles.
They broke not up company till the night was pretty far advanced; and Mr. Thoughtless not having his own coach there, a hackney set them all down at their respective habitations.
Thus far all went extremely well: the parties chiefly concerned seemed perfectly satisfied with each other, and with themselves, for the agreement they had mutually entered into; and there appeared not the least likelihood of any future difficulty that would arise to interrupt, or delay the consummation of the so much desired nuptials.
Miss Betsy had not as yet had time to meditate on what she had given her promise to perform: the joy she found her compliance had given all her friends--the endearing things they said to her upon the occasion, and the transport Mr. Munden had expressed, on seeing himself so near the end of all his wishes--had kept up her spirits; and she imagined, while in their presence, that her inclination had dictated the consent her lips had uttered.
But when she was alone, shut up in her own apartments--when she no longer received the kind caresses of her smiling friends, nor the flattering raptures of her future husband--all the lively ideas which their conversation and manner of behaviour towards her had inspired, vanished at once, and gave place to fancies, which must justly bear the name of splenetic.
'I must now look upon myself,' said she, 'as already married: I have promised--it is too late to think of retracting. A few days hence, I suppose, will oblige me to the performance of my promise; and I may say, with Monimia in the play--
"I have bound up for myself a weight of cares; And how the burden will be borne, none knows."
'I wonder,' continued she, 'what can make the generality of women so fond of marrying? It looks to me like an infatuation; just as if it were not a greater pleasure to be courted, complimented, admired, and addressed, by a number, than be confined to one, who, from a slave, becomes a master; and, perhaps, uses his authority in a manner disagreeable enough.
'And yet it is expected from us. One has no sooner left off one's bib and apron, than people cry--"Miss will soon be married!"--and this man, and that man, is presently picked out for a husband. Mighty ridiculous! they want to deprive us of all the pleasures of life, just when one begins to have a relish for them.'
In this humour she went to bed; nor did sleep present her with images more pleasing: sometimes she imagined herself standing on the brink of muddy, troubled waters; at others, that she was wandering through deserts, overgrown with thorns and briars, or seeking to find a passage through some ruined building, whose tottering roof seemed ready to fall upon her head, and crush her to pieces.
These gloomy representations, amidst her broken slumbers, when vanished, left behind them an uncommon heaviness upon her waking mind: she rose, but it was only to throw herself into a chair, where she sat for a considerable time, like one quite stupid and dead to all sensations of every kind.
At last, remembering that they were all to dine at her brother's that day by appointment, she rouzed herself as well as she was able, and started from the posture she had been in; 'I see I am at the end of all my happiness,' said she, 'and that my whole future life is condemned to be a scene of disquiet; but there is no resisting destiny--they will have it so; I have promised, and must submit.'
On opening a little cabinet, in which she always kept those things she most valued, in order to take out some ornaments to put on that day, the picture of Mr. Trueworth stared her in the face. 'Ah!' said she, taking it up, and looking attentively upon it, 'if my brother Frank and Lady Trusty had been in town when the original of this made his addresses to me, I should then, as now, have been compelled to have given my hand. It is likely, too, I should have yielded with the same reluctance. Blinded by my vanity--led by mistaken pride--I had not considered the value I ought to have set upon his love. He had not then done any thing for me more than any other man, who pretended courtship to me, would have done. I know not how it is, I did not then think him half so agreeable as I now find he is. What a sweetness is there in these eyes!' cried she, still looking on the picture. 'What an air of dignity in every feature!--wit--virtue--bravery--generosity--and every amiable quality that can adorn mankind, methinks are here comprized.
'But to what purpose do I now see all these perfections in him?' went she on. 'He is the right of another; he has given himself to one, who knows better than my unhappy self to do justice to such exalted merit: he thinks no more of me; and I must henceforth think no more of him!'
She ended these words with a deep sigh, and some tears; then laid the picture up, and endeavoured to compose herself as well as she could.
She was but just dressed when Mr. Munden came to wait on her, and conduct her to her brother's, where they were to dine: he told her he had been with the elder Mr. Thoughtless at the lawyer's, about the writings; 'So that now, my angel!' said he, 'I flatter myself that my days of languishment are near a period.'
He took the freedom of accompanying these words with a pretty warm embrace.--'Forbear, Mr. Munden,' cried she, with the most forbidding coldness; 'you have yet no right to liberties of this nature.'
'Cruel and unkind Miss Betsy!' resumed he; 'must nothing, then, be allowed to love, and all be left to law?' He then went on with some discourses of the passion he had for her, and the joy he felt in the thoughts of his approaching happiness: to all which she made very short replies; till at last it came into her head to interrupt him in the midst of a very tender exclamation, by saying, 'Mr. Munden, I forgot to mention one thing to you; but it is not yet too late--I suppose you design to keep a coach?'
This a little startled him; and, looking upon her with a very grave air--'Madam,' said he, 'you are sensible my estate will not permit me to oblige you in this point.'--'And can you imagine I will ever marry to trudge on foot?' cried she.
'I should be both sorry and ashamed,' replied he, 'to see you do that; but there are other conveniences, which will, I hope, content you, till fortune puts it in my power to do otherwise.'
He then reminded her of the expectations she had frequently heard him make mention of, concerning his hopes of soon obtaining both an honourable and lucrative employment; and assured her, that as soon as he had procured a grant of it, he would set up an equipage accordingly.
But this did not at all satisfy her; she insisted on having a coach directly, and gave him some hints, as if she would not marry without one; which very much nettling him, he desired she would remember her promise, which was absolutely given, without the least mention of a coach being made.
'I would not have you,' said she, 'insist too much on that promise, lest I should be provoked to give you the same answer Leonora, in the play, gives to her importunate lover--
"That boasted promise ties me not to time; And bonds without a date, they say, are void."
Mr. Munden could not now contain his temper--he told her he could not have expected such treatment after his long services, and her favourable acceptance of them--that he thought he merited, at least, a shew of kindness from her; and, in fine, that she did not act towards him as became a woman of honour.
This was a reproach which the spirit of Miss Betsy was too high to bear; she, blushing with indignation, and casting the most disdainful look upon him, was about to make some answer, which, perhaps, in the humour he then was, would have occasioned him to retort in such a manner as might have broken off all the measures which had been so long concerting, if a sudden interruption had not prevented it.
Mr. Francis Thoughtless, not knowing anything of Mr. Munden's being there, and happening to pass that way, called on his sister, to know if she was ready to go to his brother's, it being near dinner-time; he immediately perceived, by both their countenances, that some brulée had happened between them; and, on his asking, in a gay manner, the cause of it, Mr. Munden made no scruple to relate the sum of what had passed. The brother of Miss Betsy, though in his heart very much vexed with her, affected to treat what Mr. Munden had said, as a bagatelle; and, calling to his sister's footman to get a hackney-coach to the door, made them both go with him to his brother's; saying, they would there adjust every thing.
Chapter IV
Contains, among other particulars, certain bridal admonitions
Though Mr. Francis Thoughtless did not judge it convenient to reproach his sister in the presence of Mr. Munden, on the complaints of that gentleman, yet she had no sooner vented the little spleen she had been that instant possessed of, than she began to excuse herself of having been too poignant to a person whom she had promised to make her husband.
To atone, therefore, for the severity of her late behaviour--'This is a good, handsome, clean hack,' said she with a smile; 'one would think my fellow had pitched on such a one on purpose, to keep me from regretting my not having one of my own.'
'I only wish, Madam,' replied Mr. Munden, 'that you might be reconciled to such things as are in my power to accommodate you with, till I am so happy to present you with every thing you can desire.'--'Let us talk no more of that,' cried she; 'be assured that, whatever I may have said, I am far from thinking the happiness of life consists in grandeur.'
Mr. Munden, on these words, kissed her hand; and she permitted him to hold it between his till they came out of the coach.
This, indeed, had been the very last effort of all the maiden pride and vanity of Miss Betsy; and Mr. Munden henceforward had no reason to complain of her behaviour towards him.
Sir Ralph Trusty, in regard to his age and character, had the honour of nominating the day for the celebration of their nuptials; and Miss Betsy made no excuses, or order to protract the time, but agreed with as much readiness as her future bridegroom could have wished.
The good Lady Trusty, as well as the two Mr. Thoughtlesses, however, being not yet able to assure themselves that nothing was to be feared from the uncertainty of her temper, did every thing in their power to keep her in good-humour with her fate; and to their endeavours it may, perhaps, be ascribed, much more than to the force of her own resolution that she ceased to be guilty of any thing that might give the least cause of discontent to Mr. Munden, or betray that which, in spite of all she could do, preyed upon herself.
To these assiduities of her friends, another motive might also be added for the keeping up her spirits, which was, that of her mind being continually employed: Mr. Munden had taken a very handsome house--the upholsterer received all the orders for the furnishing it from her--there were, besides, many other things necessary for the rendering it compleat, that were not in his province to supply; the going, therefore, to shops and warehouses for that purpose, took a very great part of her time. What could be spared from these, and some other preparations for her wedding, either Lady Trusty, or her brothers, had the address to engage: one or other of them were always with her, till the night was far advanced, and sleep became more welcome than any meditations she could indulge.
The appointed day at length arrived--she was conducted to the altar by Sir Ralph Trusty; where, being met by Mr. Munden, the ceremony of marriage was performed, none being present at it but Lady Trusty and her two brothers; for as she could not have celebrated it with that pomp and eclat agreeable to a woman of her humour, she had earnestly desired it might be done with all the privacy imaginable.
The indissoluble knot now tied, they proceeded to Pontac's; where an elegant entertainment being prepared for them by Mr. Munden's orders, they dined; and afterwards went all together to a lodging Mr. Munden had hired, for a small time, in a little village five or six miles from London.
This he had done to oblige his bride, who had told him she desired to be lost to the world till the first discourse of their marriage should be over, to avoid the visits and congratulations of their friends on that occasion.
It would be needless to tell the reader that there was a general scene of joy amidst this little company: Mr. Munden expressed, and indeed, felt, an infinity of transport, on having triumphed over so many difficulties, which had for a long time continually risen to impede his wishes. The two Mr. Thoughtlesses were extremely overjoyed, on thinking a period was put to all their cares in relation to their sister: Lady Trusty also, and Sir Ralph, looking on this marriage, as things were circumstanced, highly convenient for Miss Betsy, were very much pleased; so that it must necessarily follow, that an event, which cost so much pains to bring about, must occasion a general content in the minds of all those who had so strenuously laboured for it.
Amidst this scene of joy, Miss Betsy herself was the only person whose countenance discovered the least pensiveness; nor was hers any more than what might be attributed to the modesty of a virgin bride.
Lady Trusty, however, who had observed her all day with an attentive eye, thought it proper to give her some admonitions concerning her future behaviour, before she took her leave.
To this end, she drew her into another room, apart from the company; and having told her she had something of moment to say to her, began to entertain her in the following manner.
'My dear child,' said she, 'you are now, I fear, more through your compliance with the desires of your friends than through your own inclination, entered into a state, the happiness of which greatly depends on the part you act in the first scenes of it: there are some women who think they can never testify too much fondness for their husbands, and that the name of wife is a sufficient sanction for giving a loose to the utmost excesses of an extravagant and romantick passion; but this is a weakness which I am pretty certain you will stand in no need of my advice to guard against. I am rather apprehensive of your running into a contrary extreme, equally dangerous to your future peace, as to that of your husband. A constant and unmoved insensibility will in time chill the most warm affection, and, perhaps, raise suspicions in him of the cause, which would be terrible indeed: beware, therefore, I conjure you, how you affect to despise, or treat with any marks of contempt, or even of too much coldness, a tenderness which he has a right to expect you should return in kind, as far, at least, as modesty and discretion will permit you to bestow.
'As to your conduct in family affairs,' continued this good lady, 'I would have you always confine yourself to such things as properly appertain to your own province, never interfering with such as belong to your husband: be careful to give to him all the rights of his place, and, at the same time, maintain your own, though without seeming to be too tenacious of them. If any dispute happen to arise between you concerning superiority, though in matters of the slightest moment, rather recede a little from your due than contend too far; but let him see you yield more to oblige him than because you think yourself bound to do so.
'Mr. Munden, I flatter myself, has every qualification to make you happy, and to shew that your friends, in advising you to marry him, have not misled your choice: but as perfection is not to be found on this side the grave, and the very best of us are not exempt from the frailties of human nature, whatever errors he may happen to fall into, as it does not become you to reprimand him, I wish you would never take notice you have observed them. A man of the strictest honour and good sense may sometimes slip--be guilty of some slight forgetfulness--but then he will recover of himself, and be ashamed of his mistake; whereas reproaches only serve to harden the indignant mind, and make it rather chuse to persevere in the vices it detests, than to return to the virtues it admires, if warned by the remonstrances of another.
'But, above all things,' added she, 'I would wish you to consider that those too great gaieties of life you have hitherto indulged, which, however, innocent, could not escape censure while in a single state, will now have a much worse aspect in a married one.
'Mistake me not, my dear,' pursued she, after a pause, finding, by Miss Betsy's countenance, that what she had said on this score had stung her to the quick; 'I would not have you deprive yourself of those pleasures of life which are becoming your sex, your age, and character; there is no necessity that, because you are a wife, you should become a mope: I only recommend a proper medium in these things.'
Her ladyship was going on, when Miss Betsy's servants, whom she had ordered to bring such part of her baggage as she thought would be needful while she staid in that place, came with it into the chamber; on which this kind adviser told her fair friend that she would refer what she had farther to say on these subjects till another opportunity.
Miss Betsy replied, that she would treasure up in her heart all the admonitions she should at any time be pleased to give her; and that she hoped her future conduct would demonstrate that no part of what her ladyship had said was lost upon her.
With these words they returned into the dining-room; and the close of day soon after coming on, Sir Ralph and his lady, with the two Mr. Thoughtlesses, took leave of the bride and bridegroom, and came back to town.
Chapter V
Seems to demand, for more reasons than one, a greater share of attention than ordinary, in the perusal of it
The fair wife of Mr. Munden (Miss Betsy now no more) had promised nothing at the altar that she was not resolved religiously to perform: she began seriously to consider on the duties of her place; she was ignorant of no part of them; and soon became fully convinced that on a strict observation of them depended her honour--her reputation--her peace of mind--and, in fine, all that was dear to a woman of virtue and understanding.
To give the more weight to these reflections, she also called to her mind the long perseverance of Mr. Munden--his constant assiduities to please her--his patient submitting to all the little caprices of her humour; and establishing in herself an assured belief of the ardour and sincerity of his affection to her, her gratitude, her good-nature, and good-sense, much more than compensated for the want of inclination; and without any of those languishments, those violent emotions, which bear the name of love, rendered her capable of giving more real and more valuable proofs of that passion than are sometimes to be found among those who profess themselves, and are looked upon by the world, as the most fond wives.
In spite of her endeavours, the thoughts of Mr. Trueworth would, however, sometimes come into her mind; but she repelled them with all her might: and as the merits of that gentleman would, in reality, admit of no comparison with any thing that Mr. Munden had to boast of, she laboured to overbalance the perfections of the one, by that tender and passionate affection with which she flattered herself she now was, and always would be, regarded by the other.
Thus happily disposed to make the bonds she had entered into easy to herself, and perfectly agreeable to the person with whom she was engaged, he had, indeed, a treasure in her beyond what he could ever have imagined, or her friends, from her former behaviour, had any reason to have expected; and, had he been truly sensible of the value of the jewel he possessed, he would have certainly been compleatly blessed: but happiness is not in the power of every one to enjoy, though Heaven and fortune deny nothing to their wishes. But of this hereafter.
At present, all was joy and transport on the side of the bridegroom--all complaisance and sweetness on that of the bride. Their whole deportment to each other was such as gave the most promising expectations of a lasting harmony between them, and gladdened the hearts of as many as saw it, and interested themselves in the felicity of either of them.
They continued but a few days in the retirement which had been made choice of for the consummation of their nuptials, Mr. Munden was naturally gay, loved company, and all the modish diversions of the times; and his wife, who, as the whole course of this history has shewn, had been always fond of them to an excess, and whose humour, in this point, was very little altered by the change of her condition, readily embraced the first proposal he made of returning to town, believing she should now have courage enough to appear in publick, without testifying any of that shamefacedness on account of her marriage, which she knew would subject her to the ridicule of those of her acquaintance who had a greater share of assurance.
For a time, this new-married pair seemed to have no other thing in view than pleasure. Mr. Munden had a numerous acquaintance--his wife not a few. Giving and receiving entertainments, as yet, engrossed their whole attention--each smiling hour brought with it some fresh matter for satisfaction; and all was chearful, gay, and jocund.
But this was a golden dream, which could not be expected to be of any long continuance. The gaudy scene vanished at once, and soon a darkening gloom overspread the late enchanting prospects. Mr. Munden's fortune could not support these constant expences. He was obliged to retrench somewhere; and, not being of a humour to deny himself any of those amusements he was accustomed to abroad, he became excessively parsimonious at home, insomuch that the scanty allowance she received from him for housekeeping, would scarcely furnish out a table fit for a gentleman of an estate far inferior to that he was in possession of, to sit down to himself; much less to ask any friend who should casually come in to visit him, to partake of.
Nothing can be more galling to a woman of any spirit, than to see herself at the head of a family without sufficient means to support her character as such in a handsome manner. The fair subject of this history had too much generosity, and, indeed, too much pride, in her composition, to endure that there should be any want in so necessary an article of life; and, as often as she found occasion, would have recourse for a supply to her own little purse.
But this was a way of going on which could not last long. She complained of it to Mr. Munden; but, though the remonstrances she made him were couched in the most gentle terms that could be, he could not forbear testifying a good deal of displeasure on hearing them. He told her that he feared she was a bad oeconomist; and that, as she was a wife, she ought to understand that it was one of the main duties of her place to be frugal of her husband's money, and be content with such things as were suitable to his circumstances.
The surly look with which these words were accompanied, as well as the words themselves, made her easily perceive, that all the mighty passion he had pretended to have had for her, while in the days of courtship, was too weak to enable him to bear the least contradiction from her now he became a husband.
She restrained, however, that resentment which so unexpected a discovery of his temper had inspired her with, from breaking into any violent expressions; and only mildly answered, that she should always be far from desiring any which would be of real prejudice to his circumstances; but added, that she was too well acquainted with his fortune, not to be well assured it would admit of keeping a table much more agreeable to the rank he held in life, and the figure he made in other things.
'I am the best judge of that,' replied he, a little disdainfully; 'and also, that it is owing to your own want of management that my table is so ill supplied. I would wish you, therefore, to contrive better for the future; as you may depend upon it that, unless my affairs take a better turn, I shall not be persuaded to make any addition to my domestick expences.'
'I could wish then, Sir,' cried she, with a little more warmth, 'that henceforth you would be your own purveyor; for I confess myself utterly unable to maintain a family like ours on the niggard stipend you have allotted for that purpose.'
'No, really, Madam,' answered he, very churlishly, 'I did not marry in order to make myself acquainted with how the markets go, and become learned in the prices of beef and mutton. I always looked on that as the province of a wife; it is enough for me to discharge all reasonable demands on that score: and, since you provoke me to it, I must tell you, Madam,' continued he, 'that what my table wants of being compleat, is robbed from it by the idle superfluities you women are so fond of, and with which, I think, I ought to have no manner of concern.'
As she was not able to comprehend the meaning of these words, she was extremely astonished at them; and, in a pretty hasty manner, demanded a detail of those superfluities he accused her of: on which, throwing himself back in his chair, and looking on her with the most careless and indifferent air he could assume, he replied in these terms.
'I know not,' said he, 'what fool it was that first introduced the article of pin-money into marriage-writings. Nothing, certainly, is more idle; since a woman ought to have nothing apart from her husband; but, as it is grown into a custom, and I have condescended to comply with it, you should, I think, of your own accord, and without giving me the trouble of reminding you of it, convert some part of it, at least, to such uses as might ease me of a burden I have, indeed, no kind of reason to be loaded with. As, for example,' continued he, 'coffee, tea, chocolate, with all the appendages belonging to them, have no business to be enrolled in the list of housekeeping expences, and consequently not to be taken out of what I allow you for that purpose.'
Here he gave over speaking; but the consternation his wife was in preventing her from making any immediate answer, he resumed his discourse. 'Since we are upon this topick, my dear,' said he, 'it will be the best to tell you at once what I expect from you--it is but one thing more--which is this. You have a man entirely to yourself; I am willing he should eat with the family; but as to his livery and wages, I think it highly reasonable you should be at the charge of.'
The innate rage which, during the whole time he had been talking, swelled her breast to almost bursting, would now no longer be confined. 'Good Heavens!' cried she, 'to what have I reduced myself!--Is this to be a wife!--Is this the state of wedlock!--Call it rather an Egyptian bondage!--The cruel task-masters of the Israelites could exact no more. Ungrateful man! pursued she, bursting into tears, 'is this the love, the tenderness, you vowed?'
Overwhelmed with passion, she was capable of uttering no more; but continued walking about the room in a disordered motion, and all the tokens of the most outrageous grief and anger. He sat silent for some time; but, at last, looking somewhat more kindly on her than he had done--'Pr'ythee, my dear,' said he, 'don't let me see you give way to emotions so unbecoming of yourself, and so unjust to me. You shall have no occasion to complain of my want of love and tenderness--you know what my expectations are; and when once I have gained my point, you may be sure, for my own sake, I shall do every thing suitable to it. I would only have you behave with a little prudence for the present.'
In concluding these words, he rose and took hold of her hand; but approached her with an air so cold and indifferent, as was far from atoning, with a woman of her penetration, for the unkindness of his late proposal. 'No, Mr. Munden!' cried she, haughtily turning from him, 'do not imagine I am so weak as to expect, after what you have said, any thing but ill-usage.'
'I have said nothing that I have cause to repent of,' answered he; 'and hope that, when this heat is over, you will do me the justice to think so too. I leave you to consider it, and bring yourself into a better humour against my return.' He added no more; but took his hat and sword, and went out of the room.
She attempted not to call him back; but retired to her chamber, in order to give a loose to passions more turbulent than she had ever known before.
Chapter VI
Contains a second matrimonial contest, of worse consequence than the former
Whoever considers Miss Betsy Thoughtless in her maiden character, will not find it difficult to conceive what she now endured in that of Mrs. Munden. All that lightened her poor heart, all that made her patiently submit to the fate her brothers had, in a manner, forced upon her, was a belief of her being passionately loved by the man she made her husband: but thus cruelly undeceived by the treatment she had just met with from him, one may truly say, that if it did not make her utterly hate and despise him, it at least destroyed at once, in her, all the respect and good-will she had, from the first moment of her marriage, been endeavouring to feel for him.
It is hard to say whether her surprize at an eclaircissement she had so little expected, her indignation at Mr. Munden's mean attempt to encroach upon her right, or the shock of reflecting, that it was by death alone she could be relieved from the vexations with which she was threatened by a man of his humour, were most predominant in her soul; but certain it is, that all together racked her with most terrible convulsions.
She was in the midst of these agitations, when Lady Trusty came to visit her. In the distraction of these thoughts she had forgot to give orders to be denied to all company, which otherwise she would doubtless have done, even without excepting that dear and justly valued friend.
She endeavoured, as much as possible, to compose herself, and prevent all tokens of discontent from appearing in her countenance, but had not the power of doing it effectually enough to deceive the penetration of that lady; she immediately perceived that something extraordinary had happened to her; and, as soon as she was seated, began to enquire into the cause of the change she had observed in her.
Mrs. Munden, on considering what was most prudent in a wife, from the first moment of her becoming so, had absolutely resolved always to adhere, as strictly as possible, to this maxim of the poet--
'Secrets of marriage should be sacred held, Their sweets and bitters by the wife conceal'd.'
But finding herself pretty strongly pressed by a lady to whom she had the greatest and most just reason to believe she ought to have nothing in reserve, she hesitated not long to relate to her the whole story of the brulée she had with her husband.
Lady Trusty was extremely alarmed at the account given her; and because she would be sure not to mistake any part of it, made Mrs. Munden repeat several times over every particular of this unhappy dispute; then, after a pause of some minutes, began to give her advice to her fair friend in the following terms.
'It grieves me to the soul,' said that excellent lady, 'to find there is already any matter of complaint between you--you have been but two months married; and it is, methinks, by much too early for him to throw off the lover, and exert the husband: but since it is so, I would not have you, for your own sake, too much exert the wife; I fear he is of a rugged nature--it behoves you, therefore, rather to endeavour to soften it, by all the means in your power, than to pretend to combat with unequal force; you know the engagements you are under, and how little relief all the resistance you can make will be able to afford you.'
'Bless me, Madam!' cried Mrs. Munden, spiritously, 'would your ladyship have me give up, to the expence of housekeeping, that slender pittance allowed for cloaths and pocket-money in my marriage articles?'
'No, my dear,' cried Lady Trusty; 'far be it from me to give you any such counsel: on the contrary, I am apprehensive that, if you should suffer yourself to be either menaced, or cajoled, out of even the smallest part of your rights, it is possible that a man of Mr. Munden's disposition might hereafter be tempted to encroach upon the whole, and leave you nothing you could call your own.
'It is very difficult, if not wholly impossible,' continued she, 'to judge with any certainty, how to proceed with a person whose temper one does not know; I am altogether a stranger to that of Mr. Munden, nor can you as yet pretend to be perfectly acquainted with it: all I can say, therefore, is, that I would have you maintain your own privileges, without appearing to tenacious of them.'
'I have then no other part to take,' said Mrs. Munden, 'than just to lay out, in the best manner I can, what money he is pleased to allow, without making any addition, what accidents soever may happen to demand it.'
'I mean so,' replied Lady Trusty; 'and whenever there is any deficiency, as some there must necessarily be, in what might be expected from your way of living, I would not have you seem to take the least notice of it: behave, as if entirely unconcerned, contented, and easy; leave it to him to complain; and when he does so, you will have an opportunity, by shewing the bills of what you have laid out, of proving, that it is not owing to your want of good management, but to the scarcity of the means put into your hands, that his table is so ill supplied; but still let every thing you urge on this occasion be accompanied with all the softness it is in your power to assume.'
To this Mrs. Munden, with a deep sigh, made answer, that though she was an ill dissembler, and besides had little room, from her husband's late carriage towards her, to flatter herself with any good effect of her submission, yet she would endeavour to follow her ladyship's counsel, in making the experiment, however irksome it might be to her to do so.
They had a very long conversation together on this head; during the whole course of which Lady Trusty laboured all she could to persuade the other to look on her situation in a much less disagreeable light then, in reality, it deserved.
But how little is it in the power of argument, to reason away pain! one is much more deeply affected with what one feels than what one hears: the heart of Mrs. Munden was beset with thorns, which all the words in the world would have been ineffectual to remove; disappointed in every thing that could have rendered this marriage supportable to her--her good-nature abused--her spirit humbled and depressed--no considerations were of force to moderate her passions, but that melancholy one that, as her misfortunes were without a remedy, the best, and indeed the only relief that fate permitted, was in patiently submitting.
She acted, nevertheless, in every respect, for several days, conformable to the method Lady Trusty had prescribed, and restrained her temper so as neither by word or action to give Mr. Munden any just cause of offence: he also kept himself within bounds, though it was easy for her to perceive, by his sullen deportment, every time he was at table, how ill he was satisfied with the provisions set before him.
A cold civility on the one side, and an enforced complaisance on the other, hindered the mutual discontent that reigned in both their hearts from being perceptible to any who came to visit them, and also from breaking into any indecencies between themselves; till one day a gentleman of fine consideration in the world happening, unexpectedly, to come to dine with them, Mr. Munden was extremely shocked at being no better prepared for his entertainment.
'What! my dear,' said he to his wife, 'have you nothing else to give us?' To which she replied, with a great presence of mind, 'I am quite ashamed and sorry for the accident; but you know, my dear, we both intended to dine abroad to-day, so I gave a bill of fare accordingly; and this gentleman came too late to make any addition to what I had ordered.'
It may be easily supposed the guest assured them that there needed no apologies, that every thing was mighty well, and such like words of course: so no more was said upon this subject.
But the pride of Mr. Munden filled him with so much inward rage and spite, that he was scarce able to contain himself till his friend had taken leave; and he no sooner was at liberty to say what he thought proper, without incurring the censure of being unmannerly or unkind, than he began to reproach her in the most unjust and cruel terms, for having, as he said, exposed him to the contempt and ridicule of a person who had hitherto held him in the highest esteem.
She made no other reply than that she was no less confounded than himself at what had happened--that it was not in her power to prevent it--that she could wish to be always prepared for the reception of any friend--and that she was certain, when he reflected on the cause, he would be far from laying any blame on her.
In speaking these words, she ran to her cabinet; and, as Lady Trusty had directed, produced an account to what uses every single shilling she had received from him had been converted since the last dispute they had with each other on this score.
In presenting these papers to him, 'Read these bills,' said she, 'and be convinced how little I deserve such treatment from you: you will find that there are no items inserted of coffee, tea, or chocolate; articles,' continued she, with an air a little disdainfully, 'which you seemed to grumble at, though yourself and friends had the same share in, as well as me and mine.'
'Rot your accounts!' cried he, tearing the papers she had given him into a thousand pieces; 'have you the folly to imagine I will be troubled with such stuff? It is sufficient I know upon the whole what ought to be done; and must plainly tell you, once for all, that you should rather think of retrenching your expences, than flatter yourself with expecting an increase of my allowance to you.'
'My expences! my expences,' reiterated she with vehemence, 'what does the man mean?'--'My meaning,' answered he, sullenly, 'would need no explanation, if you had either any love for me, or prudence enough to direct you to do what would entitle you to mine: but since you are so ignorant, I must tell you, that I think my family too much encumbered; you have two maids--I do not desire you to lessen the number, but they are certainly enough to wait upon you in the morning; I have a man, for whom I never have any employment after that time, and he may wait at table, and attend you the whole afternoon; I see therefore no occasion you have to keep a fellow merely to loiter about the house, eat, drink, and run before your chair when you make your visits. I insist, therefore, that you either discharge him, or consent to give him his livery and wages, and also to allow for his board out of your own annual revenue of pin-money.'
What usage was this for a young lady, scarce yet three months married; endued with every qualification to create love and esteem, accustomed to receive nothing but testimonies of admiration from as many as beheld her, and addressed with the extremest homage and tenderness by the very man who now seemed to take pride in the power he had obtained of thwarting her humour, and dejecting that spirit and vivacity he had so lately pretended to adore.
How utterly impossible was it for her now to observe the rules laid down to her by Lady Trusty! Could she, after this, submit to put in practice any softening arts she had been advised, to win her lordly tyrant into temper? Could she, I say, have done this, without being guilty of a meanness, which all wives must have condemned her for?
But though the answers she gave to the proposal made her by this ungenerous husband, were such as convinced him she would never be prevailed upon to recede from any part of what was her due by contract, and though she testified her resentment, on his attempting such a thing, in terms haughty enough, yet did she confine herself within the limits of decency, not uttering a single word unbecoming of her character, either as the woman of good understanding, or the wife.
Mr. Munden's notions of marriage had always been extremely unfavourable to the ladies--he considered a wife no more than an upper-servant, bound to study and obey, in all things, the will of him to whom she had given her hand: and how obsequious and submissive soever he appeared when a lover, had fixed his resolution to render himself absolute master when he became a husband.
On finding himself thus disappointed in his aim, he was almost ready to burst with an inward malice; which not daring to wreak, as perhaps at that time he could have wished, he vented it in an action mean and spiteful indeed, but not to be wondered at in a man possessed of so small a share of affection, justice, or good-nature.
The reader may remember, that Mr. Trueworth, in the beginning of his courtship to Miss Betsy, had made her a present of a squirrel; she had still retained this first token of love, and always cherished it with an uncommon care: the little creature was sitting on the ridge of it's cell, cracking nuts, which his indulgent mistress had bestowed upon him: the fondness she had always shewn of him put a sudden thought into Mr. Munden's head; he started from his chair, saying to his wife, with a revengeful sneer, 'Here is one domestick, at least, that may be spared!' With these words he flew to the poor harmless animal, seized it by the neck, and throwing it with his whole force against the carved work of the marble chimney, it's tender frame was dashed to pieces.
All this was done in such an instant, that Mrs. Munden had not time to make any attempt for preventing it; but the sight of so disastrous a fate befalling her little favourite, and the brutality of him who inflicted it, raised emotions in her, which she neither endeavoured, nor, at that instant, could have the power to quell.
'Monster!' cried she, 'unworthy the name man; you needed not have been guilty of this low piece of cruelty, to make me see to what a wretch I am sacrificed.'--'Nor was there any occasion for exclamations such as these,' replied he, scornfully, 'to make me know that I am married to a termagant!'
Many altercations of the like nature passed between them; to which Mrs. Munden was the first that put a period: finding herself unable to restrain her tears, and unwilling he should be witness of that weakness in her, she flew out of the room, saying at the same time, that she would never eat, or sleep with him again.
Chapter VII
Gives an exact account of what happened in the family of Mr. Munden, after the lamentable and deplorable death of his lady's favourite squirrel; with several other particulars, much less significant, yet very necessary to be told
If Mr. Munden had set his whole invention to work, in order to find the means of rendering himself hateful in the eyes of his wife, he could not have done it more effectually than by his savage treatment of her beloved squirrel: many circumstances, indeed, concurred to set this action of his in the most odious light that could possibly be given it.
In the first place, the massacre of so unhurtful a creature, who never did any thing to provoke it's fate, had something in it strangely splenetic and barbarous.
In the next, the bloody and inhuman deed being perpetrated by this injurious husband, merely in opposition to his wife, and because he knew it would give her some sort of affliction, was sufficient to convince her, that he took pleasure in giving pain to her, and also made her not doubt but he would stop at nothing for that purpose, provided it were safe, and came within the letter of the law.
It grieved her to be deprived of a little animal she so long had kept, with whose pretty tricks she had so often been diverted; and it must be confessed, that to be deprived of so innocent a satisfaction, by the very man she had looked upon as bound by all manner of ties to do every thing to please her, was enough to give the most galling reflections to a woman of her delicacy and spirit.
But there was still another, and, by many degrees, a more aggravating motive for her indignation: if she had purchased this squirrel with her own money, or if it had been presented to her by any other hands than those of Mr. Trueworth, not only the loss would have been less shocking to her, but also the person, by whom she sustained that loss, would, perhaps, have found less difficulty in obtaining her forgiveness.
She kept her promise, however, and ordered a bed to be made ready for her in another room. Mr. Munden came not home that night till very late; and being told what his wife had done, took not the least notice of it; but happening to meet her the next morning, as she was coming down stairs, 'So, Madam,' said he, 'I suppose you fancy this obstinate disobedience to your husband is mighty becoming in you!'
'When a husband,' answered she, 'is ignorant of the regard he ought to have for his wife, or forgets to put it in practice, he can expect neither affection nor obedience, unless the woman he has married happens to be an idiot.'
They passed each other with these words; and she went directly to Lady Trusty, being impatient to acquaint her with the behaviour of her husband towards her since she last had seen her.
This worthy lady was astonished beyond measure at the recital; it seemed so strange to her, that a gentleman of Mr. Munden's birth, fortune, and education, should ever entertain the sordid design of obliging his wife to convert to the family uses what had been settled on her for her own private expences, that she could not have given credit to it from any other mouth than that of the weeping sufferer: his killing of the squirrel also, though a trifle in itself, she could not help thinking denoted a most cruel, revengeful, and mean mind.
But how much soever she condemned him in her heart, she forebore expressing the whole of her sentiments on this occasion to his wife, being willing, as they were joined to each other by the most sacred and indissoluble bonds, rather to heal, if possible, the breach between them, than to add any thing which might serve to widen it.
She told her that, though she could not but confess that Mr. Munden had behaved towards her, through this whole affair, in a manner very different from what he ought to have done, or what might have been expected from him, yet she was sorry to find that she had carried things to that extremity; particularly she blamed her for having quitted his bed: 'Because,' said she, 'it may furnish him with some matter of complaint against you; and, likewise, make others suspect you have not that affection for him which is the duty of a wife.'
Mrs. Munden making no answer to this, and looking a little perplexed--'I do not mean, by what I have said,' resumed Lady Trusty, 'to persuade you to take any steps towards a reconciliation; that is, I would not have you confess you have been in the wrong, or tell him you are sorry for what you have done: that would be taking a blame upon yourself you do not deserve; and he would imagine he had a right to expect the same on every trifling occasion. It may be, he might be imperious and ill-natured enough to create quarrels merely for the sake of humbling your spirit and resentment into submission.
'But as to live in the manner you are likely to do together,' continued she, 'cannot but be very displeasing in the eye of Heaven, and must also expose both of you to the censure and contempt of the world, when once it comes to be known and talked of, some means must be speedily found to bring about an accommodation between you.'
'O, Madam!' cried the other, hastily interrupting her, 'how impossible is it for me ever to look with any thing but disdain and resentment on a man who, after so many protestations of eternal love, eternal adoration, has dared to treat me in this manner! No!' added she, with greater vehemence than before, 'I despise the low, the grovelling mind; light and darkness are not more opposites than we are, and can as easily agree.'
'You must not think, nor talk in this fashion,' said the good lady; 'all you can accuse him of will not amount to a separation; besides, consider how odd a figure a woman makes who lives apart from her husband; there is an absolute necessity for a reconciliation; and, as it is probable that neither of you will pursue any measures for that purpose, it is highly proper your friends should take upon them to interpose in the affair.'
It was a considerable time before Mrs. Munden could be persuaded, by all the arguments Lady Trusty made use of, that either her duty, her interest, or her reputation, required she should forgive the insults she had received from this ungrateful and unworthy husband.
The good lady would not, however, give over till she had prevailed on her not only to listen to her reasons, but also to be at last perfectly convinced by them: this point being gained, the manner in which the matter should be conducted was the next thing that employed her thoughts.
It seemed best to her that the two Mr. Thoughtlesses should not be made acquainted with any part of what had passed, if the business she so much wished to see accomplished could be effected without their knowledge: her reason for it was this; they were both men of pretty warm dispositions, especially the younger; and as they had been so assiduous in promoting this match, so early a breach, and the provocations given for it by Mr. Munden, might occasion them to shew their resentment for his behaviour in a fashion which would make what was already very bad, much worse.
'Sir Ralph is a man in years,' said she; 'has been your guardian; and I am apt to believe that, on both these accounts, his words will have some weight with Mr. Munden: the friendship which he knows is between us, will also give me the privilege of adding something in my turn; and, I hope, by our joint mediation, this quarrel may be made up, so far, at least, as that you may live civilly together.'
Mrs. Munden made no other reply to what her ladyship had said, than to thank her for the interest she took in her affairs, and the trouble she was about to give Sir Ralph on her account.
The truth is, this young lady would in her heart have been much better satisfied that there had been a possibility of being separated for ever from a person who, she was now convinced, had neither love nor esteem for her, rather than to have consented to cohabit with him as a wife, even though he should be prevailed upon to request it in the most seemingly submissive terms.
While they were in this conversation, a message came from Mr. Edward Goodman, containing an invitation to Sir Ralph and Lady Trusty, to an entertainment that gentleman had ordered to be prepared the next day for several of his friends, on a particular occasion; which, because the reader as yet is wholly ignorant of, it is highly proper he should be made acquainted with.
Chapter VIII
Presents the reader with some passages which could not conveniently be told before, and, without all doubt, have been for a long time impatiently expected
The spirits of Lady Mellasin had for several months been kept up by the wicked agents she had employed in the management of the worst cause that ever was taken in hand: those subtle and most infamous wretches, in order to draw fresh supplies of money from that unhappy woman, had still found means to elude and baffle all the endeavours of Mr. Goodman's honest lawyer to bring the manner to a fair trial.
But, at last, all their diabolical inventions, their evasions, their subterfuges, failing, and the day appointed which they knew must infallibly bring the whole dark mystery of iniquity to light, when all their perjuries must be explored, and themselves exposed to the just punishment of such flagitious crimes, not one of them had courage to stand the dreadful test, nor face that awful tribunal they had so greatly abused.
Yet so cruel were they, even to the very woman, all the remains of whose shattered fortune they had shared among them, as not to give her the least warning of her fate; nor, till the morning which she was made to hope would decide every thing in her favour, did she know she was undone, deserted, and left alone to bear the brunt of all the offended laws inflict on forgery.
What words can represent the horror, the confusion, of her guilty mind, when neither the person who drew up the pretended will, nor neither of those two who had set their names as witnesses, appearing, she sent in search of them, and found they were all removed from their habitations, and fled no one could inform her where.
Scarce had she the time to make her escape out of the court, before word was given to an officer to take her into custody: not daring to go home, nor knowing to whom she could have recourse for shelter in this exigence, she ran, like one distracted, through the streets, till she came to one of the gates of St. James's Park; where, meeting with a porter, she sent him to her lodgings, to order her daughter Flora and Mrs. Prinks to come that instant to her.
Mrs. Prinks immediately obeyed the summons, but Miss Flora had the audacity to desire to be excused, being then dressing to go on a business which, indeed, she then imagined was of much more consequence to herself than any thing relating to her mother could possibly be.
After this dissolute and unfortunate creature was left by Mr. Trueworth, in the manner described in the third volume of this history, she gave a loose to agonies which only those who have felt the same can be capable of conceiving.
Her shrieks, and the request Mr. Trueworth had made on his going out, brought up the woman of the house herself, to administer what relief was in her power to a lady who seemed to stand in so much need of it.
Having prevailed on her to come down stairs, she seated her in a little room behind the bar; and as she saw the violence of her passions threw her into frequent faintings, neglected nothing which she thought might be of service to recover her spirits and compose her mind.
As she was thus charitably employed, a young gentleman who used the house, and was very free with all belonging to it, happened to come it. Miss Flora, besides being handsome, had something extremely agreeable and engaging in her air; and had her heart been possessed of half that innocence her countenance gave the promise of, her character would have been as amiable as it was now the contrary.
There are some eyes which shine through their tears, and are lovely in the midst of anguish; those of Miss Flora had this advantage, and she appeared, in spite of her disorder, so perfectly charming to the stranger, that he could not quit the place without joining his endeavours to those of the good-natured hostess, for her consolation, and had the satisfaction to find them much more effectual for that purpose.
The afflicted fair-one, finding herself somewhat better, thanked the good woman, in the politest terms, for the pains she had been at; but the gentleman would not be denied seeing her safe home in a coach; saying, the air, on a sudden, might have too violent an effect on her so lately recovered spirits; and that it was not fit she should be alone, in case of accidents.
Miss Flora was easily prevailed upon to accept his obliging offer; he attended her home--stayed about half an hour with her--and entreated she would give him permission to come the next day and enquire after her health.
She knew the world too well, and the disposition of mankind in general, not to see that there was something more than mere compassion in the civilities he had shewn to her: she examined his person--his behaviour--and found nothing in either that was not perfectly agreeable; and though she had really loved Mr. Trueworth to the greatest excess that woman could do, yet, as she knew he was irrecoverably lost, she looked upon a new attachment as the only sure means of putting the past out of her head.
A very few visits served to make an eclaircissement of the thoughts they had mutually entertained of each other; and as he had found by the woman of the tavern, that the distress of this young lady had been occasioned by a love-quarrel with a gentleman who had brought her into that house, he began with expressing the utmost abhorrence of that injustice and ingratitude which some were capable of: 'But,' said he, 'if some of us have neither love nor honour for those that love us, we all certainly love our own happiness; and he must be stupid and insensible, indeed,' added he, embracing her with the warmest transport, 'who could not find it eternally within these arms!'
'You all talk so,' answered she, with the most engaging smile she could put on: 'but as my youth--innocence--and, perhaps, a little mixture of female vanity--have once misled me, it behoves me to be extremely cautious how the tender impulse gets a second time possession of my heart.'
In short, she put him not to a too great expence of vows and protestations before she either was, or pretended to be, convinced of the sincerity of his passion, and also rewarded it in as ample a manner as his soul could wish.
It is certain, that for a time this new gallant behaved with the extremest fondness towards her--did every thing the most ardent lover could do to please her--he treated her--carried her to all publick places of entertainment--and, what in her present circumstances was most necessary to her, was continually making her very rich and valuable presents.
But it could not be expected that an amour, entered into in this manner, and which had no solid esteem on either side for it's foundation, would be of any long continuance; the gentleman had a great deal of good-nature, but was gay and inconstant as the most variable of his sex--he found a new charm in every face that presented itself to him; and, as he wanted no requisites to please the fair, he too seldom failed in his attempts upon them.
Miss Flora was not ignorant that he had many amusements of this kind, even while he kept up the most tender correspondence with her; but perceiving that reproaches and complaints were equally in vain with a man of his humour, she had the cunning to forbear persecuting him with either; and by appearing always easy, degagée, and unconcerned, preserved her acquaintance with him, and received proofs of his liberality long after she had lost those of his inclination.
On being told that he was going on a party of pleasure into the south of France, she exercised all her wit and artifice to engage him to permit her to be one of the company; but he treated this request as a mere bagatelle--said the thing was utterly impracticable--that none of the gentlemen took any ladies with them--so he would not have her think of it.
It was in order to take her leave of him before his departure, that she was going to his lodgings when Lady Mellasin had sent for her into the Park.
The cool reception he had given her, sent her home in a very ill-humour, which was greatly heighted by a letter which she found Mrs. Prinks had left for her on the table.
That woman having joined her lady in the Park, and consulted together what was to be done, they took a hackney-coach, and drove to an obscure part of the town, where they hired lodgings in a feigned name; after which Mrs. Prinks hurried home, packed up what cloaths and other necessaries she thought would be immediately wanted; and, after having wrote a short account to Miss Flora of the misfortune that had happened, and given her directions where to come, returned, with all haste, to her disconsolate lady.
Chapter IX
Contains the catastrophe of Lady Mellasin's and her daughter Flora's adventures while on this side the globe
While this unhappy little family were in their concealment, each of them set their whole wits to work to find some means by which Lady Mellasin might be extricated from that terrible dilemma she had brought herself into.
But as this was a thing in it's very nature, as affairs had been managed, morally impossible to be accomplished, all their endeavours to that purpose only served to shew them the extreme vanity of the attempt, and consequently to render them more miserable.
Despair, at length, and the near prospect of approaching want, so humbled the once haughty spirit of Lady Mellasin, that she resolved on writing to Mr. Edward Goodman--to make use of all her rhetorick to soothe him into forgiveness for the troubles she had occasioned him--and, in fine, to petition relief from the very man whom she had made use of the most villainous arts to prejudice.
The contents of her letter to that much-injured gentleman were as follows.
'To Edward Goodman, Esq.
Sir,
Appearances are so much against me that I scarce dare say I am innocent, though I know myself so, as to any intention of doing you injustice: I cannot, however, forbear giving you a short sketch of the imposition which has been practiced upon me, and in my name attempted to be put on you.
The will, which has occasioned this long contest between us, was brought me by a person who told me he had drawn it up exactly according to my late husband's instructions, the very evening before he died; the subscribing witnesses gave me the same assurance; and also added, that Mr. Goodman was so well convinced of my integrity, and the wrong he had done me by suspecting it, that had he lived only to the next morning, he had resolved to send for me home, and be reconciled to me in the face of the world: so that, if the thing was a piece of forgery, these men are only guilty--I am entirely free from any share in it.
But as these proceedings, which I have unhappily been prevailed upon to countenance, have given you a great deal of trouble and expence, I sincerely ask your pardon for it: this is all the atonement I can make to Heaven for offences more immediately my own.
I am very sensible, notwithstanding, that, by what I have done, I have not only forfeited my claim to such part of the effects of Mr. Goodman as appertain to the widow of an eminent and wealthy citizen, but, likewise, all my pretensions to the friendship and favour of the person he has made his heir: yet, Sir, however guilty I may seem to you, or how great my faults in reality may have been, I cannot help being of opinion that, when you remember I was once the wife of an uncle, whose memory you have so much cause to value, you will think the name and character I have borne, ought to defend me from publick infamy, parish-alms, and beggary.
Reduced as I am, it would ill become me to make any stipulations, or lay a tax on the goodness I am necessitated to implore. No, Sir; as I can now demand nothing, so, also, I can hope for nothing but from your compassion and generosity; and to these two amiable qualities alone shall ascribe whatever provision you shall think fit to make for me out of that abundance I was once in full possession of.
I shall add no more, than to intreat you will consider, with some portion of attention and good-nature, on what I have lately been, and what I at present am, the most unfortunate, and most forlorn of womankind,
M. MELLASIN GOODMAN.
P.S. My daughter Flora, the innocent partner of my griefs and sufferings, will have the honour to deliver this to you, and, I hope, return with a favourable answer.'
Lady Mellasin chose to send Miss Flora with this letter, as believing her agreeable person, and manner of behaviour, would have a greater effect on that youthful heart of the person it was addressed to, than could have been expected from the formal and affected gravity of Mrs. Prinks.
It is not unlikely, too, but that she might flatter herself with the hopes of greater advantages by her daughter's going in person to Mr. Goodman's, than those which her letter had petitioned for. She had often heard and read of men whose resentment had been softened and melted into tenderness on the appearance of a lovely object: as the poet somewhere or other expresses it--
'Beauty, like ice, our footing does betray; Who can tread sure on the smooth, slipp'ry way?'
Miss Flora herself was also very far from being displeased at going on this errand; and as it was not proper for her to dress in the manner she would have done on making a visit to any other person, it cost her some time, before her setting out, to equip herself in such a deshabille as she thought would be most genteel and become her best.
She had the good fortune to find Mr. Goodman at home, and was immediately introduced to him. He was a little surprized at a visit made him by a young lady whom he had never seen before; but not enough to prevent him from receiving her with the utmost complaisance. He saluted her, seated her in a chair, and then asked her what commands she had to favour him with: on which, taking out the letter, and giving it to him, 'This, Sir,' said she, with a deep sigh, 'will inform you of the request that brings me here.'
Mr. Goodman read it hastily over; but, while he was doing so, could not forbear shaking his head several times; yet spoke nothing till after a pause of some minutes. 'Madam,' said he, 'as this is a business which I could not expect to have heard of, I must confess myself altogether unprepared how to proceed in it. If Lady Mellasin,' added he, 'will give herself the trouble to send in three or four days, she may depend on an answer from me.'
The coldness of these words, and the distant air he assumed while speaking them, so widely different from that with which he had accosted this lady on her first entrance, made her presently see she had nothing to hope from this embassy on her own account, and made her also tremble for that of her mother.
As he urged her not to stay, nor even gave the least hint that he was desirous of her doing so, she rose, and, with a most dejected air, took her leave; telling him, in going out, that she should not fail of acquainting Lady Mellasin with his commands; who, she doubted not, would be punctual in obeying them.
Mr. Goodman was, indeed, too well acquainted with the character of Miss Flora to be capable of receiving any impression from the charms nature had bestowed upon her, even though they had been a thousand times more brilliant than in effect they were, and she had not been the daughter of a woman who had rendered herself so justly hateful to him.
Lady Mellasin was shocked to the very soul at being told the reception her daughter had met with; and could not help looking upon it as a very bad omen of her future success. She doubted but by his saying that he must have time for deliberation, he meant that he would do nothing in this point, without having first consulted his friends; and she had no reason to expect that any of those he conversed with would give counsel in her favour.
To be reduced from a state of opulence and respect to one of poverty, contempt, and wretchedness, is terrible indeed! but much more so when accompanied with a consciousness of having deserved, by our vices and ill conduct, all the misfortunes we complain of.
Lady Mellasin having no pleasing reflection of having done her duty in any one point of life, it would not have been strange if, thus destitute of comfort from within, all succour from without, she had yielded herself to the last despair.
She, nevertheless, amidst all the distraction of her thoughts, still continued to testify a resolution seldom to be found among women of her abandoned principles; never departing from this maxim, that, in the worst of events, nothing was to be neglected. On the third day she sent Mrs. Prinks to wait upon Mr. Goodman for his answer; having experienced the little effect her daughter's presence had produced.
It is a thing well worth the observation of all degrees of people, that the truly generous never keep long in suspense the persons they think proper objects of their bounty. A favour that costs too much pains in obtaining, loses great part of it's value--it palls upon the mind of the receiver, and looks more like being extorted than bestowed.
Mr. Cowley, though a man whose great merit, one would think, should have set him above the necessity of making any request of a pecuniary nature, was certainly obliged, sometimes, to solicitations that were very uneasy to him, and drew from him this emphatick exclamation--
'If there's a man, ye gods, I ought to hate, Attendance and dependance be his fate!'
It soon occurred to Mr. Goodman in what manner it would best become him to act towards this unhappy woman; and also what conditions ought to be stipulated on her part. He had been told, both by the lawyer and the two Mr. Thoughtlesses, that it was his late uncle's intention that she should not be left without a decent provision; and being willing to conform, as much as possible, to all the desires of a person whom he had always esteemed as a parent, he passed by the injury which, since his death, she had attempted to do to himself; and, within the time he had mentioned to Miss Flora, wrote an answer to the request in the following terms.
'To Lady Mellasin Goodman.
Madam,
Though you cannot but be sensible that your late base attempt to invalidate my dear uncle's will, excludes you from receiving any benefit from it; yet, as I am determined, as far as in my power, to make the example of that excellent man the rule of all my actions, I shall not carry my resentment, for the injustice you have done me, beyond what he expressed for those much greater injuries he sustained by your infidelity and ingratitude. It was not his intention you should starve; nor is it my desire you should do so.
I am willing, Madam, to allow you a pension of one hundred pounds per annum, to be quarterly paid into whose hands soever you shall think fit to appoint for that purpose; but it must be on condition that you retire forthwith, and pass the whole remainder of your days in some remote part of the kingdom. The farther you remove from a town where your ill conduct has rendered you so obnoxious, the better.
This, Madam, is what I insist upon; and is, indeed, no more than what your own safety demands from you. A very strict search is making after your accomplices; and if they, or any of them, shall happen to be found, it will be in vain for you to flatter yourself with escaping that punishment which the offended laws inflict on crimes of this nature: nor would it be in my power to shield you from that fate which even the meanest and most abject of those concerned with you must suffer.
As I should be extremely sorry to see this, I beg you, for your own sake, to be speedy in your resolution, which, as soon as you inform me, I shall act accordingly. I am, yours, &c.
E. GOODMAN.'
This he ordered to be delivered to any one who should say they came from Lady Mellasin; and Mrs. Prinks accordingly received it.
Lady Mellasin, in the miserable circumstances to which she had reduced herself, was transported to find she should not be entirely without support. As for her being obliged to quit London, she was not in the least shocked at it, as there was no possibility for her even to appear publickly in it; and she was rather desirous, than averse, to be out of a place which could no longer afford her those pleasures and amusements she had once so much indulged herself in the enjoyment of.
But when she considered on her banishment, and ran over in her mind what part of England she should make choice of for her asylum, the whole kingdom appeared a desert to her, when driven from the gaieties of the court and capital: she therefore resolved to go farther, and enter into a new scene of life, which might be more likely to obliterate the memory of the former. She had heard much talk of Jamaica--that it was a rich and opulent place--that the inhabitants thought of little else but how to divert themselves in the best manner the country afforded, and that they were not too strict in their notions either as to honour or religion--that reputation was a thing littler regarded among them: so that, in case the occasion that had brought her thither should happen to be discovered, she would not find herself in the less estimation.
She, therefore, hesitated not to write a second letter to Mr. Goodman, acquainting him with her desire to go to that plantation; and hinting to him that, if it would be giving him too great a trouble to remit the quarterly payments he mentioned, she should take it as a particular favour if he would be pleased to bestow on her such a sum as he should think proper, in lieu of the annuity he had offered.
Mr. Goodman was extremely pleased with this proposal; and several letters having passed between them concerning the conditions, he agreed to give her two hundred pounds in specie, to provide herself with sufficient necessaries for the voyage, and eight hundred more to be deposited in the hands of the captain of the ship, to be paid on her arrival; with which she appeared very well satisfied, and gave him the most solemn assurances never to trouble him again.
But Miss Flora was all distraction at this event: the thoughts of leaving dear London were equally irksome to her with those of death itself. Fain would she have staid behind; but what could she do? Without reputation--without friends--without money--there was no remedy but to share her mother's fortune. Mrs. Prinks also, who, by living so long with Lady Mellasin, known to be in all her secrets, and agent in her iniquitous proceedings, could have no character to recommend her to any other service, continued with the only person she, indeed, was fit to live with; and they all embarked together on board a ship that was then ready to sail.
All Mr. Goodman's friends congratulated him on the service he had done his country, in ridding it of three persons who, by perverting the talents Heaven had bestowed upon them, to the most vile purpose, were capable of doing the greatest mischiefs to the more innocent and unwary. It was on this occasion that he made the invitation before-mentioned.
Chapter X
Returns to the affairs of Mrs. Munden
There were present at the entertainment made by Mr. Goodman, several other of his friends, besides Sir Ralph and Lady Trusty, the two Mr. Thoughtlesses, and Mrs. Munden. The husband of that lady had also received an invitation to be one of the guests; but he pretended a previous engagement would not permit him to accept the favour intended him.
He made his excuse, however, in terms so polite, and seemingly sincere, that none of the company, excepting those who were in the secret of the disagreement between him and his wife, had any apprehensions that his absence was occasioned by any other motive that what his message had expressed.
Sir Ralph Trusty and his lady, who were the only persons who had the least suspicion of the truth of this affair, could not help being a good deal concerned at it; but they forbore taking any notice, till the latter, perceiving Mrs. Munden had retired to a window at the farther end of the room, in order to give herself a little air, stept hastily towards her, and, in a low voice, accosted her in these terms.
'I see plainly, my dear,' said she, 'through the excuse your husband has made for not complying with Mr. Goodman's invitation; and am heartily sorry to find this fresh proof of the disunion between you. It is high time something should be attempted to put things on a better footing. I will desire Sir Ralph to send for Mr. Munden to-morrow, and we will try what can be done.'
'Your ladyship is extremely good,' replied the other; 'and I shall be always ready to submit to whatever you shall think proper for me: but I am determined to be entirely passive in this affair, and shall continue to live with Mr. Munden in the same manner I do at present, till a very great alteration in his behaviour shall oblige me to think I ought, in gratitude, to make some change in mine.'
Lady Trusty would not prolong the conversation, for fear of being observed; and they both rejoined the company. After this, there passed nothing of sufficient moment to acquaint the reader with; so that I shall only say, that, after a day, and great part of the ensuing night, spent in feasting, merriment and all that could exhilarate the spirits and excite good-humour, every one retired to their respective dwellings, highly satisfied with the manner in which they had been entertained by the younger merchant.
Lady Trusty was far from being forgetful of the promise she had made to her fair friend; and, after a serious consultation with Sir Ralph in what manner it was most proper to proceed, prevailed upon that gentleman, who was little less zealous than herself in doing good offices, to write the following billet to Mr. Munden.
'To George Munden, Esq.
Sir,
A business which, I am perfectly well assured, is of the utmost consequence both to your present and future happiness, obliges me to intreat the favour of seeing you this morning at my house; it not being so proper (for reasons I shall hereafter inform you of) for me to wait on you at yours.
As I have no other interest in what I have to impart, than merely the pleasure I shall take in doing you a service, and discharging what I think the duty of every honest man, I flatter myself you will not fail of complying immediately with my request; and, at the same time, believe me to be, what I am, with the greatest sincerity, Sir, your well-wisher, and most humble and most obedient servant,
RALPH TRUSTY.'
This letter being sent pretty early in the morning, Mr. Munden was but just out of bed when he received it--a breakfast much less pleasing to him than his chocolate. He doubted not but his wife had made Lady Trusty acquainted with the whole secret of his family-affairs; and therefore easily guessed on what score he was sent for in this pressing manner by Sir Ralph; and, as it was highly disagreeable to him to enter into any discussions on that head, it was some time before he could resolve within himself what answer he should send.
But whatever deficiencies there might be in this gentleman, none, excepting those of his own family, to whom he did not think it worth his while to be complaisant, could ever accuse him of want of politeness--a character so dear to him, that, perhaps he would not have forfeited it, even for the attainment of any other of the more shining and valuable virtues of his sex.
Perplexing, therefore, as he knew this interview must necessarily be to him, he could not think of behaving in an uncourtly manner to a gentleman of Sir Ralph Trusty's rank and fortune; and having ordered that the servant who brought the letter should come up, desired him, in the most affable terms, to acquaint his master that nothing should deprive him of the honour of attending him the moment he was dressed.
Sir Ralph Trusty, in his younger years, had lived very much in London, had kept the best company in it; and though he was perfectly sincere in his nature, and had a thorough contempt for all those idle superfluous ceremonies, which some people look upon as the height of good-breeding, and value themselves so much upon, yet he knew how to put them in practice when ever he found they would facilitate any point he had to gain; and as Mr. Munden was altogether the courtier in his behaviour, he thought it best to address him in his own way, and receive him rather in a manner as if he was about to praise him for some laudable action he had done, than make any remonstrances to him on a conduct which he wanted to convince him required some amendment.
After having said a great many obliging things to him, in order to bring him into a humour proper for his purpose, the politick old baronet began in these terms to open the business on which he had desired to speak with him.
'I have not words to make you sensible,' continued he, 'how much your absence was regretted yesterday by all the company at Mr. Goodman's, especially by the two Mr. Thoughtlesses, who, indeed, on all occasions, express the highest esteem and regard for you, both as a friend and brother; but I was more particularly affected, when, on coming home, my wife acquainted me with what she imagined the real cause that deprived us of you.
'She told me,' added he, 'that having the other day surprized Mrs. Munden in tears and great confusion, she would not leave her until she wrested from her a secret, which I am equally ashamed and sorry to repeat; but which you can be at no loss to guess at.'
Though Mr. Munden had foreseen on what account he was sent for, and had prepared himself for it, yet he could to forbear testifying some confusion; but, recovering himself from it as soon as he could, 'Yes, Sir Ralph, I easily perceive,' answered he, 'that my wife has been making some complaints against me to your lady, which, doubtless, have laid me under her displeasure, as I know the accuser has the advantage of the accused, in the opinion of those to whom they appeal.'
'Not at all,' cried Sir Ralph hastily; 'I dare answer that my wife is no less concerned for your sake, than for that of Mrs. Munden, at the unfortunate disagreement that has happened between you.'
As he was speaking these words, Lady Trusty, either by design or accident, passed by the door of the room where they were sitting. 'Come in, my dear,' said Sir Ralph to her, 'and justify yourself from being swayed against right reason, by any partial affection to your fair friend.'
'If you mean in the case of Mrs. Munden, as I suppose you do,' replied she, 'I can acquit myself with very great ease from any imputation on that score; and am ready, even before her husband, to give it as my judgment, that, in all disputes between persons who are married to each other, especially when carried to any height, neither of them are wholly faultless; for, though one may be the first aggressor, the other seldom, if ever, behaves so as not to incur some part of the blame.'
'Your ladyship is all goodness,' said Mr. Munden, very respectfully; 'and, in what you have said, discover not only a penetration, but also a love of justice, which can never be too much admired and applauded. What your ladyship has observed between me and Mrs. Munden, is exactly the thing; it is certain, that both of us have been to blame; I have, perhaps, acted in a manner somewhat too abruptly towards her, and she in one too resentful, and too imperious, towards me; and though I am willing to allow my dear Betsy all the merit of those good qualities she is possessed of, yet I cannot help giving her some part of the character Mr. Congreve ascribes to Zara in his Mourning Bride, and saying--
"That she has passion, which outstrips the winds, And roots her reason up."
Lady Trusty, who, for the sake of Mrs. Munden's reputation, was so eager to patch up a reconciliation at any rate between her and her husband, would not seem to defend her behaviour as a wife, while she gently accused him of having too far exerted the authority of a husband.
In a word, both Sir Ralph and his lady managed in so artful a manner, still blending cajolings with remonstrances, that, when they came to enter into a discussion on this affair, Mr. Munden, whatever he thought in his heart, could not forbear seeming to yield to the justice of their reasonings.
He consented, though not without some scruples, and a much greater share of inward reluctance than his complaisance would permit him to make shew of, to add one guinea per week to his allowance for the expences of his table. As to the rest, he readily enough agreed to meet his wife half way towards a reconciliation; assured them, that he was far from requiring any other submission on her part, than what he would set her the example of in himself, and that he wished nothing more than to exchange forgiveness with her.
On this, Lady Trusty dispatched a servant directly to Mrs. Munden, to let her know she must needs speak with her immediately, which summons was no sooner delivered than complied with.
This prudent lady having cast about in her mind all that was proper to be done, in order to accomplish the good work she laboured for, and had so much at heart, would not leave it in the power of chance to disappoint what she had so happily begun; and having prevailed over the ill-nature and sourness of the husband, thought it equally necessary to prevent the resentment, or inadvertency, of the wife from frustrating her endeavours.
On being told that Mrs. Munden was come, she ran down stairs to receive her, led her into a parlour, and informed her, as briefly as she could, all that part which she thought would be most satisfactory to her, of the conversation which had passed between them and Mr. Munden on her score.
Finding what she said was received by the other more coolly than she wished, she took that privilege which her rank, her age, and the friendship she had always shewn to her, might justly claim, to remonstrate to her, that it did not become her situation and character to stand too much upon punctilios at this time; when all that either was, or ought to be, dear to womankind, depended on a speedy accommodation with her husband: 'The unhappy brulée,' said she, 'has lasted too long--your servants must certainly know it--you cannot be assured of their secrecy--the whole affair, perhaps, with large additions to it, will soon become the talk of the town--every one will be descanting upon it; and how much soever Mr. Munden may be in fault, you cannot hope to escape your share in the censure.'
Poor Mrs. Munden, who looked upon this lady as a second mother, would not attempt to offer any thing in opposition to the arguments she used; and, besides, could not forbear avowing, within herself, the justice of them. 'Well, Madam,' answered she, with a deep sigh, 'I shall endeavour to follow your ladyship's advice; and, since I am a wife, will do my best to make the yoke I have submitted to, sit as lightly upon me as possible.'
Lady Trusty perceiving her spirits were very much depressed, omitted nothing, that the shortness of time would allow, to persuade her to believe, that her condition was not so unhappy, in reality, as she at present imagined it to be; and having brought her to somewhat of a more chearful temper, conducted her into the room where Sir Ralph and Mr. Munden were still discoursing on the matter in question.
'Welcome, my fair charge,' cried the former, taking her by the hand, and drawing her towards Mr. Munden; 'I have once already had the honour of giving you to this gentleman--permit me to do so a second time; I hope with the same satisfaction, on both sides, as at first.'
'On mine, by Heaven, it is!' replied Mr. Munden, flying hastily to embrace her, as she moved slowly forward; 'if my dearest Betsy will promise to forget what is past, the pains I have suffered, during this interruption of my happiness, will be a sufficient security for her, that I shall be very careful for the future to avoid doing any thing that may again subject me to the like misfortune.'
These words, and the tender air which he assumed in speaking them, were so much beyond what Mrs. Munden could have expected from him, after his late treatment of her, that all her pride, her anger, and even her indifference, subsided at that instant, and gave place to sentiments of the most gentle nature.
'You must believe,' answered she, with an infinity of sweetness in her voice and eyes, 'that I have also had my share of anguish: but whatever inquietudes you have sustained on my account must be forgotten on your part, as it shall be mine to make atonement for them by every thing in my power, which can flatter me with the hopes of doing so.'
Insensible and morose as Mr. Munden was, he could not avoid, on this obliging behaviour in his fair wife, being touched in reality with some soft emotions, which he so well knew how to magnify the appearance of, that not only herself, but the bye-standers, imagined he was the most transported man alive.
Impossible it is to express how much Sir Ralph, and his good lady, rejoiced to see this happy event: they entertained them very elegantly at dinner, in the afternoon they went all together to take the air in Kensington Gardens; and a great deal of company coming in the evening to visit Lady Trusty, every thing contributed to keep up the spirit and good-humour of the newly re-united pair.
Chapter XI
Contains some few particulars which followed the reconciliation
Though this reconciliation was not altogether sincere on the side of Mr. Munden, yet being made in the presence of Sir Ralph and Lady Trusty, it kept him from giving any flagrant remonstrations, at present, that it was not so; and he continued to live with his amiable wife in the most seeming good harmony for some time.
She, on her part, performed with the utmost exactitude all she had promised to him; and though she could not be said to feel for him all that warmth of affection which renders the discharge of our duty so great a pleasure to ourselves, yet her good-nature and good-sense well supplied that deficiency, and left him no room to accuse her of the least failure in what might be expected from the best of wives.
During this interval of tranquillity, she lost the society of two persons, the tenderness of whose friendship for her she had experienced in a thousand instances: Mr. Francis Thoughtless, who had stayed so long in town, merely through the indulgence of his commanding officer, was now obliged to repair to his regiment, then quartered at Leeds in Yorkshire; and Sir Ralph Trusty, having finished his affairs in town, his lady returned with him to their country-seat.
Thus was she almost at once deprived of the only two persons to whom she could impart her mind without reserve, or on whose advice she could depend in any exigence whatever; for, as to her elder brother, he was too eager in the pursuit of his pleasures, and too much absorbed in them, to be truly solicitous for any thing that did not immediately relate to them; she saw him but seldom, and, when she did so, there was a certain distance in his behaviour towards her which would not permit her to talk to him with that freedom she could have wished to do.
She had not, however, any fresh motive to regret their departure on this account; Mr. Munden continued to behave to her in much the same manner as he had done since the breach had been made up between them: he was, indeed, very much abroad; but as she was far from being passionately fond of him, and only desired he would treat her with civility when with her, the little she enjoyed of his company was no manner of affliction to her.
She still retained some part of that gaiety, and love of a variety of conversation, which had always been a predominant propensity in her nature; and though in all her excursions, and the liberties she took, she carefully avoided every thing that might taint her virtue, or even cast a blemish on her reputation, yet were they such, as a husband who had loved with more ardency, would not, perhaps, have been very easy under: on his part, also, the late hours he came home at--the messages and letters which were daily brought to him by porters, might have given much disquiet to a wife, not defended from jealousy by so great a share of indifference: but in this they were perfectly agreed--neither offered to interfere with the amusements of the other, nor even pretended to enquire into the nature of them.
Though this was a mode of living together, which was far from being capable of producing that happiness for which the state of marriage was ordained, yet was it perfectly easy to persons who had so little real affection for each other; and, however blameable in the eyes of the truly discreet, escaped the censure of the generality of mankind, by it's being so frequently practised.
But I shall not expatiate on their present manner of behaviour to each other, since it was not of any long continuance, but proceed to the recital of a little adventure, which, though it may seem trifling to the reader in the repetition, will hereafter be found of some consequence.
It was a mighty custom with Lady Mellasin and Miss Flora, when they had nothing of more consequence to entertain them, to go among the shops, and amuse themselves with enquiring after new fashions, and looking over that variety of merchandize which is daily brought to this great mart of vanity and luxury.
Mrs. Munden, while in a virgin state, and a boarder at Mr. Goodman's, used frequently to accompany those ladies when bent on such sort of rambles; and she still was fond enough of satisfying her curiosity this way, at such times as she found nothing else to do, or was not in a humour to give or receive visits.
Happening one day to pass by the well-furnished shop of an eminent mercer, and seeing several silks lie spread upon the counter, she was tempted to step in, and examine them more nearly. A great number of others were also taken from the shelves, and laid before her; but she not seeming to approve any of them, the mercer told her he had some curious pieces out of the loom that morning of a quite new pattern, which he had sent his man with to a lady of quality, and expected he would be back in a few minutes, so intreated she would be pleased either to stay a little, or give him directions where she might be waited upon.
Mrs. Munden complied with the former of these requests; and the rather, because, while they were talking, she heard from a parlour, behind the shop, a harpsichord very finely touched, accompanied with a female voice which sung, in the most harmonious accents, part of this air, composed by the celebrated Signior Bononcini--
'M'insegna l'amor l'inganno, Mi togl'al cor, l'assanno, Mi da l'ardir amor, Mi da l'ardir amor.'
The attention Mrs. Munden gave to the musick, preventing her from speaking, the mercer said he was sorry she was obliged to wait so long: 'I rather ought to thank you, Sir, for detaining me, since I have an entertainment more elegant than I could have expected elsewhere.'
'The lady sings and plays well indeed, Madam,' said he: 'she is a customer of mine, and sometimes does my wife the favour of passing an hour with her.'
The lady still continued playing; and Mrs. Munden expressing a more than ordinary pleasure in hearing her, the complaisant mercer asked her to walk into the parlour; to which she replied, she would gladly accept his offer, provided it would be no intrusion: he assured her it would not be accounted so in the least; and with these words conducted her into the room.
A few words served to introduce her to his wife, who being a very genteel, pretty sort of woman, received her with great civility: but the fair musician was no sooner told the effects her accents had produced on Mrs. Munden, than, though she was a foreigner, and spoke very broken English, she returned the compliment made her by that lady on the occasion, in a manner so perfectly free, and withal so noble, as discovered her to have been bred among, and accustomed to converse with, persons in the highest stations in life.
Vain as Mrs. Munden was of her perfections, she was always ready to acknowledge and admire those she found in others of her sex. There was something in this lady, that attracted her in a peculiar manner; she took as much delight in hearing her talk, as she had done in hearing her sing; she longed to be of the number of her acquaintance, and made her several overtures that way; which the other either did not, or would not, seem to understand.
The mercer's man returning with the silks his master had mentioned, Mrs. Munden thought, after the obliging entertainment she had received, she could do no less than become a purchaser of something: accordingly she bought a piece of silk for a night-gown; though at the time she had not the least occasion for it, nor, on her coming into the shop, had any intention to increase her wardrobe.
Having now no longer a pretence to stay, she gave the mercer directions where to send home the silk, and then took her leave: but could not do it without telling the lady, that she should think herself extremely happy in having the opportunity of a much longer conversation with her.
On her speaking in this manner, the other appeared in very great confusion; but having, after a pretty long pause, a little recovered herself, 'It is an honour, Madam,' said she, 'I would be extremely ambitious of; and had certainly taken the liberty to request it of you, if there were not a cruel peculiarity in my fate, which deprives me of all hopes of that, and many other blessings, I could wish to enjoy.'
Mrs. Munden was so much surprized at these words, that she could only reply, she was sorry a lady, who appeared so deserving, should be denied any thing she thought worthy of desiring.
It might well, indeed, seem a little strange that a lady so young, beautiful, and accomplished, should have any motive to induce her to speak in the terms she had done. Mrs. Munden had a good deal of curiosity in her composition; she thought there was something extraordinarily mysterious in the circumstances of this stranger; and was very desirous of penetrating into the secret.
About an hour after she came home, the mercer's man brought the silk: she enquired of him the name, condition, and place of abode, of the young lady she had seen at his master's; but received not the least information from him as to any of the questions she had put to him. He told her, that though she often bought things at their shop, yet his master always carried them home himself, and he was entirely ignorant of every thing relating to her.
This a little vexed her, because she doubted not but that, if she once found out her name, quality, and where she lived, her invention would supply her with the means of making a more particular discovery. She resolved, therefore, on going again to the shop, under the pretence of buying something, and asking the mercer himself, who she could not imagine would have any interest in concealing what she desired to know.
Some company coming in, prevented her from going that afternoon; but she went the next morning after breakfast. The mercer not happening to be at home, she was more than once tempted by her impatience to ask for his wife, and as often restrained by the reflection that such a thing might be looked upon as a piece of impertinence in a person so much a stranger: she therefore left the house without speaking to any body but the man she had seen the day before.
Her curiosity, however, would not, perhaps, have suffered her to stop here, if something of more moment had not fallen out to engage her attention, and put the other out of her head for the present.
The nobleman on whom Mr. Munden depended for the gift so often mentioned in this history, had been a long time out of town, and was but lately returned. He had heard in the country that Mr. Munden was married, and that his wife was very beautiful and accomplished.
On Mr. Munden's going to pay his compliments to him on his arrival, 'I congratulate you,' said he; 'I am told you are married, and have got one of the prettiest and most amiable women in London for a wife.'
'As to beauty, my lord,' replied he, 'there is no certain standard for it; and I am entirely of the poet's mind, that--
"'Tis in no face, but in the lover's eye."
'But whatever she is,' continued he, 'I am afraid she would be too vain if she knew the honour your lordship does her, in making this favourable mention of her.'
'Not at all,' rejoined the peer; 'but I shall not take her character from common fame--you must give me leave to be a judge of the perfections I have heard so much talk of: besides,' pursued he, 'I have a mind to see what sort of a house you keep; I think I will come some day, and take a dinner with you.'
It is not to be doubted but that Mr. Munden omitted nothing that might assure his lordship, that it was an honour which he was extremely ambitious of, and should be equally proud of receiving, though he durst not have presumed to have asked it.
The very next day being appointed for this grand visit, he went home to his wife, transported with the gracious behaviour of his patron towards him. He threw a large parcel of guineas into her lap; and charged her to spare nothing that might entertain their noble guest in a manner befitting his high rank, and the favours he expected one day to receive from him.
Mr. Munden could not have given any commands that would be more pleasing to his fair wife: feasting and grand company were her delight. She set about making the necessary preparations with the greatest alacrity imaginable; and it must be acknowledged that, considering the shortness of the time, she had sufficient to have employed the most able and experienced housewife.
Chapter XII
Is only the prelude to greater matters
It might be justly reckoned a piece of impertinence to take up the reader's time with a repetition of the bill of fare of the entertainment made on the above occasion; it will be sufficient to say that every thing was extremely elegant; that it was composed of the best chosen dishes, which were all served up in the greatest order; and that there was as great a variety of them as consisted with the table of a private gentleman, without incurring the censure of profuseness.
Such as it was, however, the noble lord seemed highly delighted with it; he praised every thing that came before him, almost to a degree of flattery; and took all opportunities of being yet more lavish in his encomiums on the beauty, wit, and elegance of the fair provider.
Mr. Munden was transported within himself at the satisfaction his patron expressed; and his wife also felt a secret joy on hearing the fine things said of her, which sparkled in her eyes, and gave an additional lustre to all her charms.
This nobleman, though past what is called the prime of life, was far from having arrived at those years which bring on decay; he was, besides, of a sanguine, vigorous complexion--had a very graceful person--a fine address--a great affluence of wit--and something so soft and engaging in his manner of behaviour to the ladies, as rendered him still a prodigious favourite with them.
He was too good a judge of what is amiable in womankind, not to discover immediately the many perfections Mrs. Munden was mistress of: he felt the whole force of her charms; and as he loved beauty more for his own sake than for that of the possessor, and never liked without desiring to enjoy, his eyes told her, at every glance, that he languished for an opportunity of declaring in a different manner the sentiments he had for her.
Mrs. Munden perfectly understood the language in which she found herself addressed: but, had she been less learned in it, an explanation soon presented itself.
Her husband, stepping to the head of the stair-case to give some orders to a servant, the peer took hold of one of her hands, and kissing it with the utmost raptures, 'Divine creature,' cried he, 'how unjust is fortune! that a face and person so formed for universal admiration, is not placed in a higher and more conspicuous sphere of life!'
She had not time to make any reply--Mr. Munden returned that moment--nor had the noble lord the least opportunity, while he staid, of speaking one word to her that was improper for a husband to be witness of.
He prolonged the time of his departure to a greater length than could have been expected from a person whose high office in the state permitted him much fewer hours of leisure than those in middling stations of life are happy enough to enjoy: when he went away, he assured both the husband and the wife that he quitted them with the utmost reluctance, and that he had never passed a day more agreeably in his whole life.
Mr. Munden was now in such high good-humour, that he no sooner found himself alone with his fair wife, than he took her in his arms, and kissed her very heartily--a favour not common with him since the first week of their marriage. He told her, moreover, she had behaved like an angel--that nothing could be more elegant than the dinner she had prepared--and that he could not have expected such a variety of covers, and so fine a dessert, for the money he gave her for that purpose.
'I think myself very happy,' answered she, 'that you approve so well of my management: but I fancy,' continued she with a smile, 'you will have some better opinion of my oeconomy when I tell you that it cost less than you imagine.'
'Is it possible!' cried he, in a pleasing surprize: 'I rather thought you had been kind enough to have added somewhat out of your own pocket, to render the entertainment so perfectly compleat.'
'No, I assure you,' resumed she; 'there remains no less than these three guineas of the sum you allowed me for this day's expence.' With these words, she laid the pieces she had mentioned on the table, which he was so ungenerous as to take immediately up and put it into his own pocket.
'Nay, Mr. Munden,' said she, while he was putting up the money, 'this is not dealing altogether so fairly by me as I have done by you: I expected that the trouble I have been at, deserved, at least, to be rewarded with what I have saved by my frugality.'
'Take care, my dear,' said he, laughing, 'how you lessen the merit of what you have done; I am willing to take it as an obligation to me; and, sure, you value an obligation to me at a much higher rate than three pieces.'
Though all this passed on both sides in a jocose way, yet, as it served to shew the niggardliness of Mr. Munden's temper, cannot be supposed to have increased either the love or respect his wife had for him.
She made, however, no other answer to what he had last said, than to tell him she found he was fashionable enough to suffer virtue to be it's own reward; and then turned the conversation, and continued in the same chearful humour as before any mention had been made of the three guineas. Mr. Munden did not go abroad the whole evening: but whether he chose to sup at home for the pleasure of enjoying his wife's company, or for the sake of partaking of the remainder of those dainties which had been so highly praised at dinner, is a point which, perhaps, might admit of some dispute.
It is certain, indeed, the yet unsubdued vanity of this young lady made her feel so much innate satisfaction in the admiration their noble visitor had expressed of her person and accomplishments, as gave a double sprightliness to her conversation that whole evening; and might, perhaps, render her more than ordinarily lovely in the eyes of her husband.
It is very far from being an improbability that some people may be apt to imagine she built a little too much on the veracity of the praises bestowed upon her by that nobleman: but those who think this way, will be convinced of their error when they shall presently find how far her conjectures were justified in this point.
She was sitting the next morning in a careless posture at one of the windows that looked into the street, ruminating sometimes on one thing, and sometimes on another, when she could not help observing a fellow on the other side of the way, who kept walking backwards and forwards, before the house, which, though he frequently passed thirty or forty paces, yet he took care never to lose sight of.
This seemed a little odd to her, as she sat there a considerable time, and the man still continued on his post: she doubted not but that he wanted to speak with some one or other of her family, but had not the least notion his business was with herself.
Being told breakfast waited for her, she went into her dressing-room, where she usually took it, and thought no farther of the man till Mr. Munden was dressed and gone out; but in less than a minute after he was so, she received intelligence from her footman, that there was a person had a letter for her, and said he would deliver it into no hands but her own.
On this she ran immediately down stairs; and found, to her great surprize, that he was no other than the fellow that she had seen loitering so long about the house. 'I am ordered, Madam,' said he, 'to give you this;' and at the same time presented her with a letter. 'From whom does it come?' demanded she. 'I am ignorant,' answered he, 'both of the person who sent it, and the business it contains: my orders were only to deliver it into your own hands;' and with these words went away with all the speed he could.
It must be confessed, a married woman ought not to have received a letter brought her in this manner, and without knowing whence it came: but curiosity prevailed above discretion; and she, hastily opening it, found it contained these lines.
'To Mrs. Munden.
Loveliest of your sex,
As not to adore you would be the greatest proof of insensibility, so not to wish, and even attempt every thing consistent with the character of a man of honour, for the obtaining some reward for that adoration, would be the most stupid piece of self-denial, becoming only of a stoick, or one more dead to all the joys of life. The force of your charms has made the conquest of a heart which only waits a favourable opportunity of throwing itself at your feet, not altogether without hope, in spite of the circumstances you are in, of being, in some measure, acceptable to you; at least it shall be so, if the most ardent and perfect passion that ever was, joined with the power of rendering you all manner of services, can give it merit in your eyes.
A very short time, I flatter myself, will explain to you what at present may seem a mystery: benignant Love will furnish the most faithful of his votaries with the means of declaring himself at full; and the flame with which he is inspired, instruct him also to give you such testimonies of his everlasting attachment, as the good understanding you are mistress of you will not permit you to reject; till when, I only beseech you to think, with some share of tenderness, on your concealed adorer.'
Utterly impossible is it to describe the situation of Mrs. Munden's mind, after having several times read over this epistle, and well examined the purport of it: she doubted not, one moment, but that it was dictated by the noble lord she had seen the day before, and whose behaviour to her had, in some degree, corresponded with the sentiments contained in it. If her vanity was delighted with the conquest she had made, her pride was shocked at that assurance which the daring lover seemed to flatter himself with of gaining her; and her virtue much more alarmed at the attempts which his rank and fortune might embolden him to make for that end.
At first she was resolved to shew the letter to her husband the moment he came home, and acquaint him with her sentiments on the matter, that he might take proper precautions to prevent her from being exposed to any future attacks from this dangerous nobleman.
But, on more mature deliberation, her mind changed: Mr. Munden was, at present, in tolerable good humour with her--she was willing, if possible, to preserve it in him; and, as she could not but think an information of this kind would give him a great deal of uneasiness, so she had also reason to apprehend the effects of it might, in some measure, innocent as she was, fall upon herself.
He had never yet discovered the least emotions of jealousy; and she knew not what suspicions her having received such a letter from one person might raise in him in relation to others. 'He may, possibly,' said she to herself, 'look upon every man that visits me as an invader of his right; and, consequently, I shall be debarred from all conversation with the sex.
'Besides,' continued she, 'I am not certain that this letter was sent me by the noble lord, or that he has in reality entertained any designs to the prejudice of my virtue; there is, indeed, a strong probability of it, even by his behaviour towards me yesterday: yet it may not be so; appearances often deceive us; and I might take that for the effect of love which proceeded only from complaisance; but, whatever his intentions are, it would certainly be the extremest folly and madness in me to inflame Mr. Munden against a person on whom his interest so much depends.
'It is no matter, therefore,' went she still on, 'whether it be the noble lord in question, or any other person who presumes to think so meanly of me as to address me in this audacious manner; it is, doubtless, in my power to keep out of the way of receiving any farther insults from him; and I am sufficiently capable myself of being guardian of my own honour, without disturbing a husband's peace about it.'
Thus ended the debate she had with herself on this occasion: she committed her letter to the flames; and resolved, that if ever the author was hardy enough to discover himself, to treat him with all the contempt due to him from affronted virtue.
Chapter XIII
Contains what every reader of an ordinary capacity may, by this time, easily guess at
Some of my readers will, doubtless, think Mrs. Munden entirely justified in making a secret of the above-mentioned letter to her husband, as she did so in regard to his peace; but others, again, who maintain that there ought to be no reserve between persons so closely united, will condemn her for it: I shall forbear to give my vote upon the matter; and only say, that if she had not acted with less prudence soon after, she might saved herself a very great shock, and her husband much vexation.
It was no more than three days after the great man had dined there, that Mr. Munden received a billet from him, which contained as follows.
'To George Munden, Esq.
Dear Munden,
I have so few days that I can call my own, that I am willing to make those few as happy as I can; and on that motive desire yours and your amiable wife's company to dinner with me to-morrow: I leave you to make both my request and compliments acceptable to her; and am, with all sincerity, dear Munden, yours, &c. &c.
----
P.S. I shall have a female relation with me, who will rejoice in an opportunity of becoming acquainted with Mrs. Munden.'
Mr. Munden desired the servant who brought this, to give his own and wife's most humble duty to his lord, and assure his lordship they would not fail to attend his commands.
Some friends being with him when this invitation was brought, hindered him from saying any thing of it at that time to his wife; but they were no sooner gone, than, with an air and voice elated even to an excess, he told her of the high favour conferred upon them by his right honourable patron.
Mrs. Munden was now more than ever convinced of the base designs Lord ---- had upon her, and that the letter she had received was sent by him: she therefore immediately determined within herself to let him see, by her not complying with this invitation, that she was neither ignorant what his intentions were, nor would do any thing that might give him the least encouragement to prosecute them.
But as she still judged it was wholly improper to acquaint Mr. Munden with any thing of the affair, she could form no other contrivance to avoid accompanying him in this visit, than by pretending herself seized with a sudden indisposition; which she resolved to do some few hours before the arrival of that wherein they should set out.
If she had persisted in this mind, it would have been highly laudable indeed: but, alas! the next morning inspired her with very different sentiments; vanity, that sly subverter of our best resolutions, suggested to her that there was no necessity for her behaving in the manner she had designed.
'What should I fear?' said she to herself; 'what danger threatens either my virtue or my reputation? A wife may certainly go any where with her husband: besides, a lady will be there, a relation of his lordship's; he can communicate nothing to me in their presence that I should blush to hear; and it would be rather ridiculous prudery, than discretion in me, to deny myself the satisfaction of such good company.'
It must be acknowledged, (for it but too plainly appears from every circumstances of this lady's conduct, both before and after marriage) that the unhappy propensity in her nature for attracting universal admiration, rendered her little regardful either of the guilt or the disquiets to which her beauty was accessary: if she was admired and loved, she cared not to what end; in short, it made her, perfectly uncorrupted and pure as her own inclinations were, rather triumph in, than regret, the power she had of inspiring the most inordinate and vicious ones in others.
Thus, more delighted than alarmed, she equipped herself with all the arts and laboured industry of female pride, for securing the conquest she had gained: safe as she imagined herself from all the encroachments of presumptuous love, she pleased herself with the thoughts of being looked upon by the adoring peer as Adam did upon the forbidden fruit--longing, wishing, but not daring to approach.
She had but just finished her embellishments, and was looking in the great glass to see if all was right, when Mr. Munden sent up stairs to know if she was ready, and to tell her his noble patron had sent his own chariot to fetch them: on hearing this she immediately tripped down stairs, singing, as she went, this part of an old song--
'With an air and a face, And a shape and a grace, Let me charm like beauty's goddess.'
Oh, how will the prudent, reserved part of the sex lament, that a young lady, endued with so many perfections, so many amiable qualities, should thus persevere in a vanity of which she had already experienced such vexatious consequences!
Lord ---- received them in a fashion which fully gratified the ambition of Mr. Munden, and the yet less warrantable expectations of his wife; the lady mentioned in the letter was already with him; who, on his lordship's presenting Mrs. Munden to her, saluted her with abundance of sweetness and good-breeding: she was a person of about thirty years of age; had been extremely handsome, and still retained the remains of charms which must have been very powerful in their bloom; nor was her conversation less agreeable than her person; she said little, indeed, but what she said was extremely to the purpose, and very entertaining; there was, notwithstanding, a certain air of melancholy about her, which she in vain attempted to conceal, though it was easy to perceive she made use of her utmost efforts for that purpose.
His lordship was extremely gay and spiritous, as, indeed, were all the company, during the whole time at dinner: but it was no sooner over, than he said to Mr. Munden, 'Dear Munden, I have a business to communicate to you which these ladies must forgive me if I make a secret of to them.' With these words he took Mr. Munden into another room, and spoke to him in the following manner.
'A person,' said he, 'has been guilty of an action in regard to me, which it is neither consistent with my honour or my humour to put up with: I will shew you,' continued he, giving him an unsealed letter, 'what I have wrote to him upon the occasion; and that will instruct you how I intend to proceed, and, at the same time, convince you of the confidence I repose in your friendship.'
Mr. Munden took the letter out of his lordship's hands, and found the contents as follows.
'To William W----, Esq.
Sir,
Though the affront you have offered me deserves the severest treatment, yet, in consideration of our former intimacy, I shall wave my peerage, and require no other satisfaction from you than what any private gentleman has a right to demand of another, in a case of the like nature.
I shall be in the Green Park to-morrow about eight in the morning, where I believe you have honour enough to meet me: bring with you any one person you think fit; the gentleman who puts this into your hands will accompany me.
Not that I mean our friends should be engaged in the quarrel; but think it proper that there should be some witnesses that no foul play is attempted on either side. I am, expecting your ready compliance, Sir, yours, &c.
----.'
'You see, Munden,' said he, perceiving he had done reading, 'the assurance I build on the sincerity of your attachment to me.'--'Your lordship does me an infinity of honour,' replied the other with a low bow, 'and I have nothing to regret, but that my sword must lie idle while your lordship's is employed.'
'As for that,' resumed the peer, 'I always thought it the utmost folly and injustice to set two people on cutting one another's throats, merely in compliment to their friends: but, my dear Munden,' pursued he, looking on his watch, 'I would have you go immediately; I believe you will find him at the Cocoa Tree; he is generally there about this hour--but if not, they will direct you where to find him.'
He sealed the letter while he was speaking; which being again delivered to Mr. Munden, they both returned into the room where the ladies were. Mr. Munden stayed no longer than while his footman called a hackney-coach to the door; as he was going out, the nobleman said to him, 'I doubt not but you will be back as soon as possible; in the mean time we three will amuse ourselves with a game at ombre.'
Mrs. Munden was a good deal surprized at her husband's departure; but had much more reason to be so, as well as alarmed, in a moment or two after.
Cards were but just laid upon the table, when a servant came hastily, and told the lady a messenger had brought word that her mother was suddenly seized with an apoplectic fit; that it was not yet known whether the old lady would recover, and that she must come home that instant.
On this she started up, seemed in a most terrible fright, and took her leave with a precipitation natural enough to the occasion, in a daughter possessed of any share of duty or affection.
This part of the history must be very unintelligible indeed, if the reader has not by this time seen, that all this was but a feint contrivance by the amorous nobleman, in order to get an opportunity of employing the whole battery of his rhetorick against the virtue he was impatient to triumph over.
This pretended kinswoman was, in fact, no more than a cast-off mistress of his lordship's; but, having her dependance entirely upon him, was obliged to submit in every thing to his will, and become an assistant to those pleasures with others which she could no longer afford him in her own person.
She was brought to his house that day for two reasons; first, as he knew not what fears, and what apprehensions, the beauty of Mrs. Munden might raise in her husband, and render him suspicious of the true motive of his being sent away, had no other company been there; and, secondly, to prevent that fair-intended victim of his unwarrantable flame from being too suddenly alarmed at finding herself alone with him.
Mrs. Munden, however, had no time to examine into the meaning of what she saw; and all she could recollect in that instant was, that she was in the house, and wholly in the power, of a person who had designs upon her, to which neither her honour, nor her inclinations, would permit her to acquiesce, and trembled for the event: but concealing the disorders of her mind as much as possible, 'Well, my lord,' said she, taking up the cards, and beginning to shuffle them, 'since we are deprived of a third person by this melancholy accident, what thinks your lordship of a game at picquet?'
'I think,' answered he, looking upon her with eyes which redoubled all her terrors, 'that to waste the precious time in cards, and throw away the golden opportunity of telling you how much my soul adores you, would be a stupidity which neither love nor fortune could forgive me for.'
In speaking these words he snatched one of her hands; and, in spite of her endeavours to withdraw it, pressed it to his mouth with an eagerness which would have convinced her, if she had not been so before, of the vehemence of those desires with which he was inflamed.
'Fie, my lord!' cried she, with an air as haughty and reserved as it was in the power of any woman to assume, 'this is not language with which the wife of him you are pleased to call your friend, could expect to be entertained.'
'Unreasonably urged!' cried he: 'ought my friendship for the husband to render me insensible to the beauties of the wife? or would your generous consenting to reward my passion, dissolve the union between us? No; on the contrary, it would rather be cemented; I should then love him not only for his own, but for your sake also, and should think myself bound to stretch my power to it's extremest limits to do him service: be assured, my angel, that in blessing me, you fix the happiness of your husband, and establish his future fortune in the world.'
These words, joined to Mr. Munden's being gone away, she knew not on what errand, made her shudder with the apprehensions that he might have been tempted, by the hopes of interest, to become yielding to the dishonourable intentions of his patron: but, willing to be more confirmed, 'I hope, my lord,' answered she, 'that you cannot think Mr. Munden has so mean a soul to accept of an establishment on such condition.'
'I could name some husbands, and those of the first rank, too,' said he, 'who, to oblige a friend, and for particular reasons, have consented to the complaisance of their wives in this point; but I desire no such sacrifice from Mr. Munden; there is no necessity for it; I have now sent him on a pretence too plausible for him to suspect the real motive of my wanting to get rid of him: I had a lady here also for no other end than to prevent him from feeling any disquiet on leaving us alone together--I shall always take the same precautions--all our interviews shall be as private as your own wishes, and my happiness be an eternal secret to the whole world as well as to your husband.
'Come, then, my charmer,' added he, attempting to take her in his arms, 'we have no time to lose--away, then, with all idle scruples--yield to my embraces--assist my raptures--and be assured that my whole soul, my fortune, and all my power can give, shall be at your disposal!'
It was the discomposure of Mrs. Munden's mind which alone hindered her from interrupting him during the former part of his speech; but the close of it, joined with the action which accompanied it, obliged her to collect all her scattered spirits; and flying to the other end of the room, in order to avoid his grasp, 'Forbear, my lord!' said she: 'know, I despise your offers; and set my virtue at a much higher rate than all the advantages you, or the whole world, would give in exchange.'
Lord ---- finding he had to do with a mistress of uncommon spirit, thought best to alter the manner of his addresses to her; and approaching her with an air much more humble and submissive than he had hitherto done, 'How I adore,' cried he, 'this noble disinterestedness in you! you will grant nothing but to love alone--be it so: your beauty is, indeed, above all other price. Let your husband reap all the advantages, and let it be yours to have the pleasure, like Heaven, to save from despair the man who cannot live without you.'
Perceiving, or at least imagining he perceived, some abatement in the fierceness of her eyes, on the change of his deportment, he persisted in it--he even threw himself on his knees before her; took hold of her hands, bathed them alternately with tears, then dried them with his kisses: in a word, he omitted nothing that the most passionate love, resolute to accomplish it's gratification, could suggest to soften her into compliance.
At another time, how would the vanity of this lady have been elated to see a person of such high consideration in the world thus prostrate at her feet! but at this, the reflection how much she was in his power, and the uncertainty how far he might exert that power, put to silence all the dictates of her pride, and rendered her, in reality, much more in awe of him, than he affected to be of her: she turned her eyes continually towards the door, in hopes of seeing Mr. Munden enter; and never had she wished for his presence with the impatience she now did.
The noble lord equally dreaded his return; and finding the replies she made to his pressures somewhat more moderate than they had been on the first opening his suit, flattered himself that a very little compulsion would compleat the work: he therefore resolved to dally no longer; and having ushered in his design with a prelude of some warm kisses and embraces, was about to draw her into another room.
She struggled with all her might; but her efforts that way being in vain, she shrieked, and called aloud for help. This a little shocked him; he let her go: 'What do you mean, Madam?' said he. 'Would you expose yourself and me to the ridicule of my servants?'--'I will expose myself to any thing,' answered she, 'rather than to the ruin and everlasting infamy your lordship is preparing for me!'
'Call not by so harsh a name,' cried he, 'the effects of the most tender passion that ever was: by heavens, I love you more than life! nay, life without you is not worth the keeping.' Speaking these words, he was about to lay hold of her again; and her cries having brought no body to her assistance, she must infallibly have been lost, if her better angel had not in that instant directed her eyes to a bell which hung in the pannel of the wainscot just behind the door of the room into which he was forcing her; she snatched the handle, and rung it with such vehemence that it resounded through the house.
This action made him release her with a kind of indignant fling; and a servant immediately coming up, 'I believe,' said she to him, 'my servant is below; pray order him to call me a chair this moment.' The peer, not often accustomed to such rebuffs, was so much confounded at the strength of her resolution, that he had not power to utter one word; and she, fearing another assault, ran to the door, which the footman hastily shut after him; and having opened it, 'Your lordship,' said she, 'has used me in a manner neither worthy of yourself nor me; I leave you to blush at the remembrance.'
She waited not to hear what reply he would have made, but flew down stairs into the hall; where a chair being presently brought, she threw herself into it, extremely disconcerted in her dress as well as mind.
Chapter XIV
Contains a brief recital of several very remarkable, and equally affecting, occurrences, of which the last-mentioned extraordinary adventure was productive, and which may justly enough be looked upon as yet more extraordinary than even the adventure itself
Mr. Munden, who was no less pleased and vain on the confidence his noble patron seemed to repose in him, than he was ambitious of the favours he hoped to receive from him, had been extremely diligent in the execution of that commission he had been entrusted with; but found much more difficulty in it than he could have imagined.
He was told at the bar of the Cocoa Tree, that the gentleman he inquired for had not been there since morning; that Sir John F---- had taken him home with him to dinner, and that in all probability they were still together.
Mr. Munden, on this, ordered the coachman to drive to Mark Lane, with all the speed he could; but had, on his coming there, the mortification to hear that Mr. W---- had left Sir John about a quarter of an hour before, and was gone to the other end of the town: on which he drove back to the Cocoa Tree, thinking he might now meet him there; but was again disappointed.
They informed him, however, that Mr. W---- had just called in, but staid no longer than to tell them he would be there again in half an hour. Mr. Munden was impatient at this delay, but could not think of returning to Lord ---- without having done the business he was sent upon: he therefore sat down, and waited till the other came, which was somewhat sooner than the time he had been made to hope.
These gentlemen, though far from being intimately acquainted, were not altogether strangers, having frequently met at the levee of Lord ----. They now saluted each other with the utmost politeness; after which, Mr. Munden drawing him to the most retired part of the room, 'I have had a chase after you, Sir,' said he, 'for a good part of this afternoon, and which would have been impertinent in me, if not excuseable by my being under an indispensable obligation of seeing you.'
'Then, Sir,' replied the other, 'whatever the business be, I shall think myself happy in being found.'--'This, Sir, will inform you,' said Mr. Munden, giving him the letter. 'From Lord ----!' cried Mr. W----, as soon as he saw the superscription. 'It is so,' answered Mr. Munden; 'and I am heartily sorry for the occasion.'
Mr. W---- made no reply to what Mr. Munden said, till he had examined the contents of the letter; and then, after putting it into his pocket with a careless air, 'I see into the meaning of this,' said he: 'an ugly accident, which I have but lately discovered, has, I believe, misrepresented me to his lordship. Could I be capable of what he at present thinks I am, I should be utterly unworthy of the condescension he vouchsafes me by this invitation: but, Sir, all this is founded on a mistake, which may easily be rectified; I will not give his lordship the trouble of going to the Green Park; I will wait on him at his own house at the hour he mentions; and if what I have to say to him does not fully convince him of my innocence, will follow either to that, or any other place he pleases; though no consideration in the world, except his own commands, should compel me to draw my sword against a breast I so much love and reverence.'
Mr. Munden replied, that he should be extremely glad to find an affair, which at present seemed to threaten such fatal consequences, was amicably made up; and, after having assured him that he would deliver what he had said to his lordship in the most exact manner, was about to take his leave; but could not do it so soon as he desired, the other still detaining him by beginning some subject or other of conversation, which, how frivolous soever, Mr. Munden could not break off too suddenly, without incurring the censure of abruptness and ill-manners.
Lord ---- in the mean time was in the utmost agitation; not for the return of Mr. Munden, for he very well knew the message he would bring, but that he had taken a great deal of pains to no purpose: the beauty of Mrs. Munden had inspired him with the most eager desire of enjoying her; the gaiety of her temper, joined to the temptations in his power to offer, had given him an almost assured hope of gaining her--and now, to find himself thus repulsed--repulsed with such disdain--left a surprize upon him which very much increased the shock of his disappointment.
Besides, as he doubted not but she would inform her husband of all that had passed between them, it gave the most mortal stab to that haughtiness too incident to opulence and grandeur, to reflect he had given a man, so much beneath him, an opportunity of triumphing over him in his mind.
He had not recovered his confusion, and was walking backwards and forwards in his drawing-room, with a disordered motion, when Mr. Munden returned; to whom he never spoke, nor looked upon. The satisfaction this gentleman had felt on finding the business of his embassy was like to terminate so happily, was very much damped at seeing himself received in this manner.
'I did not expect to find your lordship alone,' said Mr. Munden. 'I believe not,' replied he: 'but an unlucky accident at home deprived me of my cousin's company; and your wife, it seems, did not think herself safe with me.'
These last words, and the contemptuous tone in which they were expressed, put him into the extremest consternation: 'I hope, my lord,' cried he, 'that Mrs. Munden cannot have so far forgot herself as to have acted in any manner unbecoming of the respect due to your lordship.'--'Fine women will have their caprices,' resumed the peer: 'but no matter; let no more be said of it.'
Mr. Munden then proceeded to repeat what Mr. W---- had said to him; but his lordship took no notice, and seemed entirely unconcerned all the time he was speaking; till the other adding, that, if his lordship thought proper, he would attend him in the morning, in order to be at hand in case the event should require his presence, the peer replied peevishly, 'No, no; you need not come--I believe there will be no occasion; if there be, I can send for you.'
After this, Mr. Munden, easily perceiving his company was rather troublesome than agreeable, made a low obeisance, and withdrew, almost distracted in his mind at this sudden turn of temper in his patron, and no less impatient to hear what his wife had to say on that account.
It was not in one of the best of humours, as the reader may easily imagine, that he now came home; nor did he find Mrs. Munden in one very proper to alleviate his vexation. She was extremely pensive; and when he asked her, in somewhat of an imperious voice, the reason of having left Lord ---- in so abrupt a manner--'When you,' said she, 'forsook the guardianship of my honour, it was time for me to take the defence of it upon myself; which I could do no other way than by flight.'
'What is it you mean?' cried he. 'I am certain my lord has too much friendship for me to offer any rudeness to you.'--'Be not too certain,' answered she, 'of the friendship of that base great man.' She then began to repeat the discourse with which his lordship had entertained her, after being left alone with him; but had gone through a very small part of it before her husband interrupted her, saying, with a kind of malicious sneer, that he was positive there was nothing at all in what she apprehended--that it was impossible for the noble lord to be in earnest when he talked to her in such terms--that she had been deceived by her own vanity, to mistake for a serious design upon her virtue what was only meant for mere gallantry; and then added, with more passion, that he feared her idle resentment had lost him all his interest with the best of friends.
'Good Heavens!' cried she, 'defend me, and all virtuous women, from such gallantries! But know, Sir,' continued she, with a great deal of vehemence, 'that, but for that idle resentment, as you are pleased to call it, my ruin and your dishonour would have been compleated by this best of friends.'
'How!' said Mr. Munden, eagerly; 'he did not, sure, proceed to action?' Perceiving he was now in a disposition to listen with more attention to what she said, than hitherto he had done, she hesitated not to acquaint him with every particular of his lordship's behaviour to her, and the means by which she had defended herself.
During this recital, Mr. Munden bit his lips, and appeared in very great emotions. He spoke not a word, however, till his fair wife, pitying the anxieties she saw him under, desired him to think no more of this accident, since it was so happily got over. 'It may be so in your opinion,' answered he fiercely; 'but not in mine. I foresee the consequences; though you, perhaps, think not of them. It is true, my lord's behaviour is not to be justified; nor can yours in regard to me be so: you ought to have considered the dependence I had on him, and not have carried things with so high an hand. You might have doubtless evaded this attempt by more gentle and less affrontive methods: but that cursed pride of yours must be gratified, though at the expence of all my expectations.' With these words he flung out of the room; and this was all the return she met with from her ungrateful husband, for having resisted, with such courage and resolution, temptations which some women would have thought themselves absolved for yielding to the force of.
Ill-natured and perverse as Mr. Munden was, it must be confessed that his present situation, nevertheless, merited some compassion: he had a great share of ambition--loved both pleasure and grandeur to an excess; and, though far from being of a generous disposition, the pride and vanity of his humour made him do many things, through ostentation, which his estate would not well support. He kept company with persons of rank and fortune much superior to his own; and, as he bore an equal part in their expences whenever he was with them, he stood in need of some addition to his revenue: well, therefore, might he be chagrined at an accident that cast so dark a cloud over that prospect of interest and preferment he had flattered himself with from Lord ----.
But though this was the main point, it was not the sole subject of his discontent. The motives for his being sent by Lord ---- to Mr. W----, the pretended quarrel between them, and the trifling excuses made by the latter to detain him from making too quick a return, were all too obvious for him not to be assured that gentleman was privy to, and agreed to be an assistant in, the design his lordship had upon his wife.
Mr. W----, though the representative of a borough in C----, was, indeed, no more than a creature of Lord ----; to whose interest alone he was indebted for his seat in parliament: but it was not because Mr. Munden knew him to be obliged to do everything enjoined by his lordship, that restrained the resentment he conceived against him from breaking out, but because he considered that a quarrel between them on this score might occasion the affair to become publick, and expose both himself and wife to the ridicule of as many as should hear it.
Wrath, when enervate, especially if inflamed by any just provocation, is certainly very dreadful to be borne; and what this injured husband sustained in the first emotions of it, must have excited the pity of every reader of this history, if he had not afterwards meanly vented it where he had not the least occasion for disgust, but rather of the highest tenderness and admiration.
In the midst of these perplexities, however, let us leave him for a while, and return to her whose beauty had been the innocent cause of all this trouble to him, and danger to herself.
Wonderful, indeed, were the effects this last adventure produced in her. Many times before she had been on the very verge of ruin, and as often indebted merely to fortune for her preservation from the mischiefs into which her inadvertency had almost plunged her: but none of those dangers, those escapes, had ever been capable of making any lasting impression on her mind, or fixing her resolution to avoid running again into the same mistakes.
The cruel reproaches and reflections cast on her by Mr. Munden, filled her not now with the least resentment; for though she deserved them not upon the score he made them, yet she was conscious that she did so for going to the house of Lord ----, after having the strongest reasons to believe he had dishonourable intentions upon her.
She blushed to remember, that she had given herself leave to be pleased at the thoughts of appearing amiable in the eyes of that great man. 'Good God!' cried she, 'what infatuation possessed me! Am I not married? Is not all I am the property of Mr. Munden? Is it not highly criminal in any one to offer to invade his right? And can I be so wicked to take delight in the guilt to which I am in a manner accessary?
'The vanities of my virgin state,' continued she, 'might plead some excuse; but nothing now can be urged in my defence for persevering in them. The pride of subduing hearts is mine no more: no man can now pretend to love me but with the basest and most shameful views. The man who dares to tell me he adores me, contradicts himself by that very declaration; and while he would persuade me he has the highest opinion of me, discovers he has in reality the meanest.'
In fine, she now saw herself, and the errors of her past conduct, in their true light. 'How strange a creature have I been!' cried she; 'how inconsiderate with myself! I knew the character of a coquette both silly and insignificant; yet did every thing in my power to acquire it. I aimed to inspire awe and reverence in the men; yet, by my imprudence, emboldened them to the most unbecoming freedoms with me. I have sense enough to discern real merit in those who professed themselves my lovers; yet affected to treat most ill those in whom I found the greatest share of it. Nature has made me no fool; yet not one action of my life has given any proof of common reason.
'Even in the greatest and most serious affair of life--that of marriage,' added she with a deep sigh, 'have I not been governed wholly by caprice? I rejected Mr. Trueworth only because I thought I did not love him enough; yet gave my hand to Mr. Munden, whom, at that time, I did not love at all; and who has since, alas! taken little care to cultivate that affection I have laboured to feel for him.'
In summing up this charge against herself, she found that all her faults and her misfortunes had been owing either to an excess of vanity, a mistaken pride, or a false delicacy. The two former appeared now too contemptible in her eyes for her not to determine utterly to extirpate; but the latter she found less reason to correct, since it happened only in regard to Mr. Trueworth, and could never happen again, as both their marriages had put a total end to all tender communication between them.
This change in Mrs. Munden's humour, great and sudden as it was, did not, however, prove a transient one--every day, every hour, confirmed her in it; and if at any time her natural vivacity made her seem a little pleased on hearing her wit, her beauty, or any other perfection or accomplishment, too lavishly extolled, she presently checked herself for it; and assumed a look of reserve, which, though less haughty than she had sometimes put on upon different occasions, had not the less effect, and seldom failed to awe the flatterer into silence--a proof of which the reader will be immediately presented with.
Chapter XV
Contains such things as will be pleasing to those whose candid dispositions interest them in favour of the heroine of this history
Nothing so much encourages an unwarrantable passion for a married woman, as to know she has a husband regardless of her charms. A young gay gentleman, a companion of Mr. Munden's, privy to most of his secrets, and partner with him in many a debauch, had seen Mrs. Munden at Miss Airish's, where she still continued to visit. He had entertained a kind of roving flame for her, which his friendship for her husband could not prevent him from wishing to gratify; but, though they often met, he never could get an opportunity of declaring himself: all he could do was sometimes to whisper in her ear that she was divinely handsome--that he adored her--and that he died for her--and such like stuff; which she was too often accustomed to hear to take much notice of.
The indifferent opinion which most men of pleasure, or, in other words, genteel rakes of the town, have of women in general, joined to the too great gaiety he had observed in Mrs. Munden's behaviour, made him imagine there required little more for the gaining her than the making his addresses to her. The means of speaking to her in private seemed to him the sole difficulty he had to get over: and, in order to do so, he wrote to her in the following terms.
'To Mrs. Munden.
Madam,
A fine woman would reap little advantage from the charms she is mistress of, if confined to the languid embraces of a single possesser. Marriage takes off the poignancy of desire: a man has no relish for beauties that are always the same, and always in his power; those endearments generally make his happiness become disgustful to him by being his duty; and he naturally flies to seek joys yet untasted, in the arms of others. This, fair angel, is the case with us all--you have too much good-sense not to know it, or to expect your husband should vary from his sex in this particular.
Let those unhappy women, therefore, to whom nature has been niggard of her bounties, pine in an abandoned bed. You are formed to give and to receive the most unbounded joys of love--to bless and to be blest with the utmost profusion of extasies unspeakable.
To tell you how infinitely I adore you, and how much I have languished for an opportunity of declaring my passion, would require a volume instead of a letter: besides, my pen would but faintly express the sentiments of my soul--they will have more energy when whispered in your ear. I know such a thing is impossible at your own house, or at any of those where you visit. Favour me, then, I beseech you, with taking a little walk in the Privy Garden near the water-side, to-morrow about eleven; from which place, if my person and passion be not altogether disagreeable to you, we may adjourn to some other, where I may give you more substantial demonstrations how much I am, with the utmost sincerity, dear Madam, your eternally devoted, and most faithful admirer.
P.S. I do not sign my name for fear of accidents; but flatter myself my eyes have already said enough to inform you who I am.'
If this letter had come but a very small time before it did, it is possible that, though Mrs. Munden would even then have been highly offended at the presumption, yet her vanity and curiosity might have excited her to give the meeting required in it by the author; though it had only been, as she would then have imagined, merely to see who he was, and laugh at his stupidity for addressing her in that manner.
Not but she had some distant guess at the person; but whether it was him, or any other, who had taken this liberty, she now gave herself not the least concern: she was only desirous to put an entire stop to those audacious hopes she found he had entertained, and to keep herself from receiving any future solicitations, from the same quarter at least.
To send back his letter without any other token of her resentment and disdain at the contents, she thought would not be sufficient; and her ready wit, after a little pause, presented her with a method more efficacious. It was this.
She folded up the epistle in the same fashion it was when she received it, and inclosed it in another piece of paper; in which she wrote these lines.
'Sir,
As I cannot think any man would be weak enough to dictate an epistle of this nature to the wife of Mr. Munden, I must suppose you made some mistake in the direction, and sent that to me which was intended for some other woman, whose character it might better agree with.
I must intreat you, however, to be more careful for the future; for if any such impertinence should a second time arise, I shall think myself obliged to make a confidante of my husband, whose good-sense and penetration will, doubtless, enable him to discover the author, and his spirit and courage instruct him in what manner to resent the affront offered to his ever-faithful, and most affectionate wife,
B. MUNDEN.'
This had all the effect she wished it should have--the beau was ashamed of the fruitless attack he had made--wrote to her no more--avoided her sight as much as possible--and, whenever chance brought him into her company, behaved towards her with all the distance and respect imaginable.
This lady, now fully convinced how dangerous it was to be too much admired for her external charms, ceased even to wish they should be taken notice of; and set herself seriously about improving those perfections of the mind which she was sensible could alone entitle her to the esteem of the virtuous and the wife.
Mr. Munden, who had never been disquieted at the former part of his wife's behaviour, was equally insensible of this alteration in her: his cares, indeed, were too much taken up for re-establishing himself with his right honourable patron, to give any attention to what passed at home.
After much debating with himself, he thought it best to proceed so as not to let the noble lord imagine he was acquainted with any part of the attempt made upon his wife; but, though he attended his levee as usual, and seemed rather more obsequious than ever, he had the mortification to find himself very coolly received. He stood undistinguished in the circle which constantly waited the motions of that great man--was scarcely spoken to by him, and then with a kind of indrawn reserve, which made him justly enough apprehensive that he had little now to hope for from him.
The truth is, he saw through the policy of this dependant--he could not doubt but Mrs. Munden had told him of the violence he had offered to her--he was conscious of the baseness of it; but he was not angry with himself for it, though with the person he would have injured; and could not forgive him for the knowledge of his crime, though the other was willing to forgive the crime itself.
The treatment he received at Lord ----'s made him extremely churlish to his wife; he looked upon her as the primary cause of his misfortune, cursed his marriage with her, and even hated her for the beauties and good qualities which should have endeared her to him. Nothing she could say or do had the power of pleasing him; so that she stood in need of all her courage and fortitude to enable her to support, with any tolerable degree of patience, the usage she received.
To heighten her misfortune, the late levity of her temper had hindered her from cultivating an acquaintance with any one person, on whose secrecy, sincerity, and sedateness, she could enough depend for the disburdening her mind of those vexations with which it was sometimes overwhelmed.
But this was a matter of disquiet to her which she had not long to complain of. Heaven sent her a consolation of which she had not the least distant expectation, and restored her to a friend, by whom she had thought herself utterly forsaken, and whom she had not herself scarce thought of for a long time.
Lady Loveit was now but just returned from the country, where she had continued ever since her marriage to Sir Bazil. A famous French milliner being lately arrived from Paris with abundance of curiosities, her ladyship went to see if there was any thing she should think worth the purchasing. Mrs. Munden was led by the same curiosity; and it was at this woman's house that these ladies happened to meet after so long an absence from each other.
Mrs. Munden was a little confused at first sight of her, as bringing to her mind some passages which it was never in her power to think on with the indifference she wished to do. They embraced, however, with a great deal of affection--made each other the usual compliments on the mutual change of their condition; for Lady Loveit, by some accident, had heard of Mrs. Munden's marriage.
Though both these ladies were much more taken up with each other than with examining the trifles they came to see, yet neither of them would quit the shop without becoming customers. Lady Loveit perceiving that Mrs. Munden had neither coach nor chair at the door, after having asked what part of town she lived in, and finding it was not too much out of her way, desired she would give her leave to set her down in her chariot.
Mrs. Munden readily accepted the offer; and, being come to the door of her house, would have persuaded Lady Loveit to alight and come in: but she excused herself; and, at the same time, gave her a pressing invitation to her house as soon as an opportunity permitted. 'I know, Madam,' said she, smiling, 'that it is my duty to pay the first visit to your ladyship--yet, as you are here--' 'I should not stand on that punctilio with you,' interrupted Lady Loveit, with the same good-humour; 'but I expect company at home; and I know not but that they already wait for me.' The other then told her she would do herself the favour to attend her ladyship in a day or two: and this was all that passed at this first interview.
Mrs. Munden was extremely rejoiced at the opportunity of renewing her acquaintance with this lady; in which she had not the least room to doubt but that she should find what she so much wanted, a faithful adviser and an agreeable companion. They had always loved each other--there was a great parity of sentiment and principle between them; and as nothing but their different ways of thinking, in point of conduct towards the men, had hindered them from becoming inseparable friends, that bar being removed by Mrs. Munden's change of temper, and her being now what Lady Loveit always was, no other remained to keep them from communicating their thoughts with the utmost freedom to each other.
The visit promised by Mrs. Munden was not delayed beyond the time she mentioned. Lady Loveit received her without the least reserve; and they soon entered into conversation with the same sprightliness as before the change of their conditions.
Mrs. Munden had resolved within her self not to make the least mention of Mr. Trueworth's name; but feeling, notwithstanding, a good deal of impatience to hear something of him, artfully entered into a discourse which she knew must draw the other in to say something concerning him.
'I need not ask,' said she, 'how you liked the country; it is pretty plain, from your continuing there such a length of time, that you found more pleasures at Sir Bazil's seat than any you had left behind.'--'The house is well situated, indeed,' replied Lady Loveit; 'yet I have passed the least part of my time there since I left London; nor have we staid away so long entirely through choice, but have in a manner been detained by a succession of accidents altogether unforeseen.
'It took up six weeks,' continued she, 'to receive the visits which were every day crowded upon us from all parts of the country. This hurry being over, we could do no less than accompany Mr. Wellair and his lady, who had been with us all this while, to their house, where we staid about a fortnight; after which, Sir Bazil having promised my brother and sister Trueworth to pass some time with them in Oxfordshire, we crossed the country to that gentleman's fine seat; where, you may suppose, his arrival was welcomed in much the same manner Sir Bazil's had been in Staffordshire. Besides all his relations, intimate friends, tenants, and dependants, I believe there was scarce a gentleman or lady, twenty miles round, who did not come to congratulate him on his marriage and return.
'For the reception of those guests,' went she still on, 'the generous Mr. Trueworth omitted nothing that might testify his joy on the occasion of their coming. Feasting employed their days, and balls their nights. But, alas! in the midst of these variegated scenes of pleasure, death, sudden death! snatched away the source of all our joys, and turned the face of gladness into the most poignant grief.'
'Death! did your ladyship say?' cried Mrs. Munden, with an extraordinary emotion. 'Is, then, Mr. Trueworth dead?'--'No, Madam,' replied the other, wiping away some tears which the memory of this fatal accident drew from her eyes; 'Mr. Trueworth lives; and, I hope, will long do so, to be an honour to his country, and a comfort to all those who are so happy as to know him; for certainly there never was a man more endued with qualities for universal good: but it was his wife, his amiable wife, that died!'
'His wife!' cried Mrs. Munden, interrupting her a second time: 'is he already a widower?'--'Too soon, indeed, he became so!' answered Lady Loveit. 'Scarce three months were elapsed from that day which made her a bride to that which made her a lifeless corpse: we were all together, with some other company, one evening in the turret, which, by the help of some large telescopes Mr. Trueworth had placed there, commands the prospect of three counties at once, when my poor sister was seized suddenly ill. As she was supposed to be pregnant, her complaint at first was taken no other notice of than to occasion some pleasantries which new-married women must expect to bear: but she soon grew visibly worse--was obliged to be carried down stairs, and put directly into bed. The next morning she discovered some symptoms of a fever; but it proved no more than the forerunner of the small pox, of which distemper she died before her danger was apprehended, even by the physician.'
'How I pity both the living and the dead!' said Mrs. Munden. 'Mr. Trueworth, certainly, could not support so great a loss with any degree of moderation?'--'The shock at first,' replied Lady Loveit, 'was as much as all his philosophy and strength of reason could enable him to combat with. Sir Bazil, though deeply affected for the loss of so amiable a sister, was obliged to conceal his own sorrows, the better to allieviate those he saw him in; and this kept us for two whole months at his house after the ceremony of the funeral was over. We had then prevailed on him to return with us to London; every thing was prepared for our departure, when an unlucky accident happened to myself, which detained us for yet a considerable time longer.
'We were diverting ourselves one day with angling,' continued she; 'when, in endeavouring to cast my rod at too great a distance, I stooped so far over the bank, that I plunged all at once, head foremost, into the water. The pond, it seems, was pretty deep; and I was in some danger. Sir Bazil and Mr. Trueworth, seeing me fall, jumped in at the same instant; and, by their assistance I was brought safe to shore. I was immediately carried into the house, stripped of my wet garments, and put into a warm bed: but the fright had so great an effect upon me, that it caused an abortion, which, as I was then in the fifth month of my pregnancy, had like to have proved fatal to me. I was close prisoner in my chamber for several weeks; and, on my being just able to leave it, was advised to have recourse first to the Bristol and then to the Bath waters, for the better establishment of my health. Accordingly, we went to both those places--staid as long at each as I found needful for the purpose that brought me thither; and on my perfect recovery, Sir Bazil having some business at his estate, returned to Staffordshire--made a short excursion to Mrs. Wellair's, and then we bowled up to London.
'This,' added she, 'is the whole history of my eleven month's absence. I should also have told you that we had not Mr. Trueworth's company in our last ramble. One of the members for his county having vacated his seat by accepting an employment, Mr. Trueworth was prevailed upon, by a great number of gentlemen and freeholders, to oppose his being rechosen by setting up for a candidate himself. The election was to come on in a few days after our departure; and we have since heard that he succeeded in his attempt.'
Lady Loveit having finished her long narrative, and received the compliments of Mrs. Munden for the trouble she had given her, was beginning to ask some questions concerning her own affairs; but some ladies coming in, broke off, for the present, all conversation on this head; and Mrs. Munden soon after took leave, though not without receiving an assurance from the other of having her visit returned in a short time.