LADY SUSAN
PART 6
XXIV
FROM
THE SAME TO THE SAME
Churchill.
Little
did I imagine, my dear Mother, when I sent off my last letter, that the
delightful perturbation of spirits I was then in would undergo so speedy, so
melancholy a reverse. I never can sufficiently regret that I wrote to you at
all. Yet who could have foreseen what has happened? My dear mother, every hope
which made me so happy only two hours ago has vanished. The quarrel between
Lady Susan and Reginald is made up, and we are all as we were before. One point
only is gained. Sir James Martin is dismissed. What are we now to look forward
to? I am indeed disappointed; Reginald was all but gone, his horse was ordered
and all but brought to the door; who would not have felt safe? For half an hour
I was in momentary expectation of his departure. After I had sent off my letter
to you, I went to Mr. Vernon, and sat with him in his room talking over the
whole matter, and then determined to look for Frederica, whom I had not seen
since breakfast. I met her on the stairs, and saw that she was crying. "My
dear aunt," said she, "he is going—Mr. De Courcy is going, and it is
all my fault. I am afraid you will be very angry with me, but indeed I had no
idea it would end so." "My love," I replied, "do not think
it necessary to apologize to me on that account. I shall feel myself under an
obligation to anyone who is the means of sending my brother home,
because," recollecting myself, "I know my father wants very much to
see him. But what is it you have done to occasion all this?" She blushed
deeply as she answered: "I was so unhappy about Sir James that I could not
help—I have done something very wrong, I know; but you have not an idea of the
misery I have been in: and mamma had ordered me never to speak to you or my
uncle about it, and—" "You therefore spoke to my brother to engage
his interference," said I, to save her the explanation. "No, but I
wrote to him—I did indeed, I got up this morning before it was light, and was
two hours about it; and when my letter was done I thought I never should have
courage to give it. After breakfast however, as I was going to my room, I met
him in the passage, and then, as I knew that everything must depend on that
moment, I forced myself to give it. He was so good as to take it immediately. I
dared not look at him, and ran away directly. I was in such a fright I could
hardly breathe. My dear aunt, you do not know how miserable I have been."
"Frederica" said I, "you ought to have told me all your
distresses. You would have found in me a friend always ready to assist you. Do
you think that your uncle or I should not have espoused your cause as warmly as
my brother?" "Indeed, I did not doubt your kindness," said she,
colouring again, "but I thought Mr. De Courcy could do anything with my
mother; but I was mistaken: they have had a dreadful quarrel about it, and he
is going away. Mamma will never forgive me, and I shall be worse off than
ever." "No, you shall not," I replied; "in such a point as
this your mother's prohibition ought not to have prevented your speaking to me
on the subject. She has no right to make you unhappy, and she shall NOT do it.
Your applying, however, to Reginald can be productive only of good to all
parties. I believe it is best as it is. Depend upon it that you shall not be
made unhappy any longer." At that moment how great was my astonishment at
seeing Reginald come out of Lady Susan's dressing-room. My heart misgave me
instantly. His confusion at seeing me was very evident. Frederica immediately
disappeared. "Are you going?" I said; "you will find Mr. Vernon
in his own room." "No, Catherine," he replied, "I am not
going. Will you let me speak to you a moment?" We went into my room.
"I find," he continued, his confusion increasing as he spoke,
"that I have been acting with my usual foolish impetuosity. I have
entirely misunderstood Lady Susan, and was on the point of leaving the house
under a false impression of her conduct. There has been some very great
mistake; we have been all mistaken, I fancy. Frederica does not know her
mother. Lady Susan means nothing but her good, but she will not make a friend
of her. Lady Susan does not always know, therefore, what will make her daughter
happy. Besides, I could have no right to interfere. Miss Vernon was mistaken in
applying to me. In short, Catherine, everything has gone wrong, but it is now
all happily settled. Lady Susan, I believe, wishes to speak to you about it, if
you are at leisure." "Certainly," I replied, deeply sighing at
the recital of so lame a story. I made no comments, however, for words would
have been vain.
Reginald
was glad to get away, and I went to Lady Susan, curious, indeed, to hear her
account of it. "Did I not tell you," said she with a smile,
"that your brother would not leave us after all?" "You did,
indeed," replied I very gravely; "but I flattered myself you would be
mistaken." "I should not have hazarded such an opinion,"
returned she, "if it had not at that moment occurred to me that his
resolution of going might be occasioned by a conversation in which we had been
this morning engaged, and which had ended very much to his dissatisfaction,
from our not rightly understanding each other's meaning. This idea struck me at
the moment, and I instantly determined that an accidental dispute, in which I
might probably be as much to blame as himself, should not deprive you of your
brother. If you remember, I left the room almost immediately. I was resolved to
lose no time in clearing up those mistakes as far as I could. The case was
this—Frederica had set herself violently against marrying Sir James." "And
can your ladyship wonder that she should?" cried I with some warmth;
"Frederica has an excellent understanding, and Sir James has none."
"I am at least very far from regretting it, my dear sister," said
she; "on the contrary, I am grateful for so favourable a sign of my
daughter's sense. Sir James is certainly below par (his boyish manners make him
appear worse); and had Frederica possessed the penetration and the abilities
which I could have wished in my daughter, or had I even known her to possess as
much as she does, I should not have been anxious for the match." "It
is odd that you should alone be ignorant of your daughter's sense!"
"Frederica never does justice to herself; her manners are shy and
childish, and besides she is afraid of me. During her poor father's life she
was a spoilt child; the severity which it has since been necessary for me to
show has alienated her affection; neither has she any of that brilliancy of
intellect, that genius or vigour of mind which will force itself forward."
"Say rather that she has been unfortunate in her education!"
"Heaven knows, my dearest Mrs. Vernon, how fully I am aware of that; but I
would wish to forget every circumstance that might throw blame on the memory of
one whose name is sacred with me." Here she pretended to cry; I was out of
patience with her. "But what," said I, "was your ladyship going
to tell me about your disagreement with my brother?" "It originated
in an action of my daughter's, which equally marks her want of judgment and the
unfortunate dread of me I have been mentioning—she wrote to Mr. De
Courcy." "I know she did; you had forbidden her speaking to Mr.
Vernon or to me on the cause of her distress; what could she do, therefore, but
apply to my brother?" "Good God!" she exclaimed, "what an
opinion you must have of me! Can you possibly suppose that I was aware of her
unhappiness! that it was my object to make my own child miserable, and that I
had forbidden her speaking to you on the subject from a fear of your
interrupting the diabolical scheme? Do you think me destitute of every honest,
every natural feeling? Am I capable of consigning HER to everlasting misery
whose welfare it is my first earthly duty to promote? The idea is
horrible!" "What, then, was your intention when you insisted on her
silence?" "Of what use, my dear sister, could be any application to
you, however the affair might stand? Why should I subject you to entreaties
which I refused to attend to myself? Neither for your sake nor for hers, nor
for my own, could such a thing be desirable. When my own resolution was taken I
could not wish for the interference, however friendly, of another person. I was
mistaken, it is true, but I believed myself right." "But what was
this mistake to which your ladyship so often alludes! from whence arose so
astonishing a misconception of your daughter's feelings! Did you not know that
she disliked Sir James?" "I knew that he was not absolutely the man
she would have chosen, but I was persuaded that her objections to him did not
arise from any perception of his deficiency. You must not question me, however,
my dear sister, too minutely on this point," continued she, taking me
affectionately by the hand; "I honestly own that there is something to
conceal. Frederica makes me very unhappy! Her applying to Mr. De Courcy hurt me
particularly." "What is it you mean to infer," said I, "by
this appearance of mystery? If you think your daughter at all attached to
Reginald, her objecting to Sir James could not less deserve to be attended to
than if the cause of her objecting had been a consciousness of his folly; and
why should your ladyship, at any rate, quarrel with my brother for an
interference which, you must know, it is not in his nature to refuse when urged
in such a manner?"
"His
disposition, you know, is warm, and he came to expostulate with me; his
compassion all alive for this ill-used girl, this heroine in distress! We
misunderstood each other: he believed me more to blame than I really was; I
considered his interference less excusable than I now find it. I have a real
regard for him, and was beyond expression mortified to find it, as I thought,
so ill bestowed. We were both warm, and of course both to blame. His resolution
of leaving Churchill is consistent with his general eagerness. When I
understood his intention, however, and at the same time began to think that we
had been perhaps equally mistaken in each other's meaning, I resolved to have
an explanation before it was too late. For any member of your family I must
always feel a degree of affection, and I own it would have sensibly hurt me if
my acquaintance with Mr. De Courcy had ended so gloomily. I have now only to
say further, that as I am convinced of Frederica's having a reasonable dislike
to Sir James, I shall instantly inform him that he must give up all hope of
her. I reproach myself for having, even though innocently, made her unhappy on
that score. She shall have all the retribution in my power to make; if she
value her own happiness as much as I do, if she judge wisely, and command
herself as she ought, she may now be easy. Excuse me, my dearest sister, for
thus trespassing on your time, but I owe it to my own character; and after this
explanation I trust I am in no danger of sinking in your opinion." I could
have said, "Not much, indeed!" but I left her almost in silence. It
was the greatest stretch of forbearance I could practise. I could not have
stopped myself had I begun. Her assurance! her deceit! but I will not allow
myself to dwell on them; they will strike you sufficiently. My heart sickens
within me. As soon as I was tolerably composed I returned to the parlour. Sir
James's carriage was at the door, and he, merry as usual, soon afterwards took
his leave. How easily does her ladyship encourage or dismiss a lover! In spite
of this release, Frederica still looks unhappy: still fearful, perhaps, of her
mother's anger; and though dreading my brother's departure, jealous, it may be,
of his staying. I see how closely she observes him and Lady Susan, poor girl! I
have now no hope for her. There is not a chance of her affection being
returned. He thinks very differently of her from what he used to do; he does
her some justice, but his reconciliation with her mother precludes every dearer
hope. Prepare, my dear mother, for the worst! The probability of their marrying
is surely heightened! He is more securely hers than ever. When that wretched
event takes place, Frederica must belong wholly to us. I am thankful that my
last letter will precede this by so little, as every moment that you can be
saved from feeling a joy which leads only to disappointment is of consequence.
Yours
ever, &c.,
XXV
LADY
SUSAN TO MRS. JOHNSON
Churchill.
I
call on you, dear Alicia, for congratulations: I am my own self, gay and
triumphant! When I wrote to you the other day I was, in truth, in high
irritation, and with ample cause. Nay, I know not whether I ought to be quite
tranquil now, for I have had more trouble in restoring peace than I ever
intended to submit to—a spirit, too, resulting from a fancied sense of superior
integrity, which is peculiarly insolent! I shall not easily forgive him, I
assure you. He was actually on the point of leaving Churchill! I had scarcely
concluded my last, when Wilson brought me word of it. I found, therefore, that
something must be done; for I did not choose to leave my character at the mercy
of a man whose passions are so violent and so revengeful. It would have been
trifling with my reputation to allow of his departing with such an impression
in my disfavour; in this light, condescension was necessary. I sent Wilson to
say that I desired to speak with him before he went; he came immediately. The
angry emotions which had marked every feature when we last parted were
partially subdued. He seemed astonished at the summons, and looked as if half
wishing and half fearing to be softened by what I might say. If my countenance
expressed what I aimed at, it was composed and dignified; and yet, with a
degree of pensiveness which might convince him that I was not quite happy. "I
beg your pardon, sir, for the liberty I have taken in sending for you,"
said I; "but as I have just learnt your intention of leaving this place
to-day, I feel it my duty to entreat that you will not on my account shorten
your visit here even an hour. I am perfectly aware that after what has passed
between us it would ill suit the feelings of either to remain longer in the
same house: so very great, so total a change from the intimacy of friendship
must render any future intercourse the severest punishment; and your resolution
of quitting Churchill is undoubtedly in unison with our situation, and with
those lively feelings which I know you to possess. But, at the same time, it is
not for me to suffer such a sacrifice as it must be to leave relations to whom
you are so much attached, and are so dear. My remaining here cannot give that
pleasure to Mr. and Mrs. Vernon which your society must; and my visit has
already perhaps been too long. My removal, therefore, which must, at any rate,
take place soon, may, with perfect convenience, be hastened; and I make it my
particular request that I may not in any way be instrumental in separating a
family so affectionately attached to each other. Where I go is of no
consequence to anyone; of very little to myself; but you are of importance to
all your connections." Here I concluded, and I hope you will be satisfied
with my speech. Its effect on Reginald justifies some portion of vanity, for it
was no less favourable than instantaneous. Oh, how delightful it was to watch
the variations of his countenance while I spoke! to see the struggle between
returning tenderness and the remains of displeasure. There is something
agreeable in feelings so easily worked on; not that I envy him their
possession, nor would, for the world, have such myself; but they are very
convenient when one wishes to influence the passions of another. And yet this
Reginald, whom a very few words from me softened at once into the utmost
submission, and rendered more tractable, more attached, more devoted than ever,
would have left me in the first angry swelling of his proud heart without
deigning to seek an explanation. Humbled as he now is, I cannot forgive him
such an instance of pride, and am doubtful whether I ought not to punish him by
dismissing him at once after this reconciliation, or by marrying and teazing
him for ever. But these measures are each too violent to be adopted without
some deliberation; at present my thoughts are fluctuating between various
schemes. I have many things to compass: I must punish Frederica, and pretty
severely too, for her application to Reginald; I must punish him for receiving
it so favourably, and for the rest of his conduct. I must torment my
sister-in-law for the insolent triumph of her look and manner since Sir James has
been dismissed; for, in reconciling Reginald to me, I was not able to save that
ill-fated young man; and I must make myself amends for the humiliation to which
I have stooped within these few days. To effect all this I have various plans.
I have also an idea of being soon in town; and whatever may be my determination
as to the rest, I shall probably put THAT project in execution; for London will
be always the fairest field of action, however my views may be directed; and at
any rate I shall there be rewarded by your society, and a little dissipation,
for a ten weeks' penance at Churchill. I believe I owe it to my character to
complete the match between my daughter and Sir James after having so long
intended it. Let me know your opinion on this point. Flexibility of mind, a
disposition easily biassed by others, is an attribute which you know I am not
very desirous of obtaining; nor has Frederica any claim to the indulgence of
her notions at the expense of her mother's inclinations. Her idle love for
Reginald, too! It is surely my duty to discourage such romantic nonsense. All
things considered, therefore, it seems incumbent on me to take her to town and
marry her immediately to Sir James. When my own will is effected contrary to
his, I shall have some credit in being on good terms with Reginald, which at
present, in fact, I have not; for though he is still in my power, I have given
up the very article by which our quarrel was produced, and at best the honour
of victory is doubtful. Send me your opinion on all these matters, my dear
Alicia, and let me know whether you can get lodgings to suit me within a short
distance of you.
Your
most attached
XXVI
MRS.
JOHNSON TO LADY SUSAN
Edward
Street.
I
am gratified by your reference, and this is my advice: that you come to town
yourself, without loss of time, but that you leave Frederica behind. It would
surely be much more to the purpose to get yourself well established by marrying
Mr. De Courcy, than to irritate him and the rest of his family by making her
marry Sir James. You should think more of yourself and less of your daughter.
She is not of a disposition to do you credit in the world, and seems precisely
in her proper place at Churchill, with the Vernons. But you are fitted for
society, and it is shameful to have you exiled from it. Leave Frederica,
therefore, to punish herself for the plague she has given you, by indulging
that romantic tender-heartedness which will always ensure her misery enough,
and come to London as soon as you can. I have another reason for urging this:
Mainwaring came to town last week, and has contrived, in spite of Mr. Johnson,
to make opportunities of seeing me. He is absolutely miserable about you, and
jealous to such a degree of De Courcy that it would be highly unadvisable for
them to meet at present. And yet, if you do not allow him to see you here, I
cannot answer for his not committing some great imprudence—such as going to Churchill,
for instance, which would be dreadful! Besides, if you take my advice, and
resolve to marry De Courcy, it will be indispensably necessary to you to get
Mainwaring out of the way; and you only can have influence enough to send him
back to his wife. I have still another motive for your coming: Mr. Johnson
leaves London next Tuesday; he is going for his health to Bath, where, if the
waters are favourable to his constitution and my wishes, he will be laid up
with the gout many weeks. During his absence we shall be able to chuse our own
society, and to have true enjoyment. I would ask you to Edward Street, but that
once he forced from me a kind of promise never to invite you to my house;
nothing but my being in the utmost distress for money should have extorted it
from me. I can get you, however, a nice drawing-room apartment in Upper Seymour
Street, and we may be always together there or here; for I consider my promise
to Mr. Johnson as comprehending only (at least in his absence) your not
sleeping in the house. Poor Mainwaring gives me such histories of his wife's
jealousy. Silly woman to expect constancy from so charming a man! but she
always was silly—intolerably so in marrying him at all, she the heiress of a
large fortune and he without a shilling: one title, I know, she might have had,
besides baronets. Her folly in forming the connection was so great that, though
Mr. Johnson was her guardian, and I do not in general share HIS feelings, I
never can forgive her.
Adieu.
Yours ever,
To be continued
