The Wanderer; or, Female Difficulties (Volume 3 of 5)

An awkward general silence ensued, when Juliet, hearing other steps, was moving off; but Lady Aurora, following, and holding out her hand, affectionately said, 'Are you going, Miss Ellis? Must you go? And will you not bid me adieu?'

Touched to the soul at this public mark of kindness, Juliet was gratefully returning, when the voice of Lord Melbury spoke his near approach. Trembling and changing colour, her folded hands demanded excuse of Lady Aurora for a precipitate yet reluctant flight; but she had still found neither time nor means to escape, when Lord Melbury, who was playing with young Loddard, entered the gallery, saying, 'Aurora, your genealogical studies have lost you a most beautiful sea-view.'

The boy, spying Juliet, whom he was more than ever eager to join when he saw that she strove to avoid notice; darted from his lordship, calling out, 'Ellis! Ellis! look! look! here's Ellis!'

Lord Melbury, with an air of the most animated surprize and delight, darted forward also, exclaiming, 'Miss Ellis! How unexpected a pleasure! The moment I saw Mrs Ireton I had some hope I might see, also, Miss Ellis – but I had already given it up as delusory.'

Again the fallen countenance of Juliet brightened into sparkling beauty. The idea that even Lord Melbury had been infected by the opinions which had been circulated to her disadvantage, had wounded, had stung her to the quick: but to find that, notwithstanding he had been prevailed upon to acquiesce that his sister, while so much mystery remained, should keep personally aloof, his own sentiments of esteem remained unshaken; and to find it by so open, and so prompt a testimony of respect and regard, displayed before the very witnesses who had sought to destroy, or invalidate, every impression that might be made in her favour, was a relief the most exquisitely welcome to her disturbed and fearful mind.

Eager and rapid enquiries concerning her health, uttered with the ardour of juvenile vivacity, succeeded this first address. The party standing by, looked astonished, even abashed; while the face of Lady Aurora recovered its wonted expression of sweet serenity.

Mrs Ireton, now, was seized with a desire the most violent, to repossess a protegée whose history and situation seemed daily to grow more wonderful. With a courtesy, therefore, as foreign from her usual manners, as from her real feelings, she said, 'Miss Ellis, I am sure, will have the goodness to help me home with my two little companions? I am sure of that. She could not be so unkind as to leave the poor little things in the lurch?'

Indignant as Juliet had felt at the treatment which she had received, resentment at this moment found no place in her mind; she was beginning, therefore, a civil, however decided excuse; when Mrs Ireton, suspicious of her purpose, flung herself languishingly upon a seat, and complained that she was seized with such an immoderate pain in her side, that, if somebody would not take care of the two little souls, she should arrive at Brighthelmstone a corpse.

The Arramedes, Miss Brinville, and Selina, all declared that it was impossible to refuse so essential a service to a health so delicate.

The fear, now, of a second public scene, with the dread lest Lord Melbury might be excited to speak or act in her favour, forced the judgment of Juliet to conquer her inclination, in leading her to defer the so often given dismission till her return to Brighthelmstone; she acceded, therefore, though with cruel unwillingness, to what was required.

Mrs Ireton instantly recovered; and with the more alacrity, from observing that Lady Barbara Frankland joined the group, at this moment of victory.

'Take the trouble, then, if you please, Ma'am,' she replied, in her usual tone of irony; 'if it will not be too great a condescension, take the trouble to carry Bijou to the coach. And bid Simon keep him safe while you come back, – if it is not asking quite too great a favour, – for Mr Loddard. And pray bring my wrapping cloak with you, Ma'am. You'll be so good, I hope, as to excuse all these liberties? I hope so, at least! I flatter myself you'll excuse them. And, if the cloak should be heavy, I dare say Simon will give you his arm. Simon is a man of gallantry, I make no doubt. Not that I pretend to know; but I take it for granted he is a man of gallantry.'

Juliet looked down, repentant to have placed herself, even for another moment, in a power so merciless. Lord Melbury and Lady Aurora, each hurt and indignant, advanced, uttering kind speeches: while Lady Barbara, still younger and more unguarded, seizing the little dog, exclaimed 'No, I'll carry Bijou myself, Mrs Ireton. Poor Miss Ellis looks so tired! I'll take care of him all the way to Brighthelmstone myself. Dear, pretty little creature!' Then, skipping behind Lady Aurora, 'Nasty whelp!' she whispered, 'how I'll pinch him for being such a plague to that sweet Miss Ellis! Perhaps that will mend him!'

The satisfaction of Lady Aurora at this trait glistened in her soft eyes; while Lord Melbury, enchanted, caught the hand of the spirited little lady, and pressed it to his lips; though, ashamed of his own vivacity, he let it go before she had time to withdraw it. She coloured deeply, but visibly with no unpleasant sensation; and, grasping the little dog, hid her blushes, by uttering a precipitate farewell upon the bosom of Lady Aurora; who smilingly, though tenderly, kissed her forehead.

An idea that teemed with joy and happiness rose high in the breast of Juliet, as she looked from Lord Melbury to Lady Barbara. Ah! there, indeed, she thought, felicity might find a residence! there, in the rare union of equal worth, equal attractions, sympathising feelings, and similar condition!

'And I, too,' cried Lord Melbury, 'must have the honour to make myself of some use; if Mrs Ireton, therefore, will trust Mr Loddard to my care, I will convey him safely to Brighthelmstone, and overtake my sister in the evening. And by this means we shall lighten the fatigue of Mrs Ireton, without increasing that of Miss Ellis.'

He then took the little boy in his arms; playfully dancing him before the little dog in those of Lady Barbara.

The heart of Juliet panted to give utterance to the warm acknowledgements with which it was fondly beating; but mingled fear and discretion forced her to silence.

All the evil tendencies of malice, envy, and ill will, pent up in the breast of Mrs Ireton, now struggled irresistibly for vent; yet to insist that Juliet should take change of Mr Loddard, for whom Lord Melbury had offered his services; or even to force upon her the care of the little dog, since Lady Barbara had proposed carrying him herself, appeared no longer to exhibit dependency: Mrs Ireton, therefore, found it expedient to be again taken ill; and, after a little fretful moaning, 'I feel quite shaken,' she cried, 'quite in a tremour. My feet are absolutely numbed. Do get me my furred clogs, Miss Ellis; if I may venture to ask such a favour. I would not be troublesome, but you will probably find them in the carriage. Though perhaps I have left them in the hall. You will have the condescension to help the coachman and Simon to make a search. And then pray run back, if it won't fatigue you too much, and tie them on for me.'

If Juliet now coloured, at least it was not singly; the cheeks of Lady Aurora, of Lady Barbara, and of Lord Melbury were equally crimsoned.

'Let me, Mrs Ireton,' eagerly cried Lord Melbury 'have the honour to be Miss Ellis's deputy.'

'No, my lord,' said Juliet, with spirit: 'grateful and proud as I should feel to be honoured with your lordship's assistance, it must not be in a business that does not belong to me. I will deliver the orders to Simon. And as Mrs Ireton is now relieved from her anxiety concerning Mr Loddard, I beg permission, once more, and finally, to take my leave.'

Gravely then courtsying to Mrs Ireton, and bowing her head with an expression of the most touching sensibility to her three young supporters, she quitted the gallery.

notes

1

'Oh my loved country! – unhappy, guilty – but for ever loved country! – shall I never see thee more!'

2

'Sleep on, sleep on, my angel child! May the repose that flies me, the happiness that I have lost, the precious tranquillity of soul that has forsaken me – be thine! for ever thine! my child! my angel! I cease to call thee back. Even were it in my power, I would not call thee back. I prayed for thy preservation, while yet I had the bliss of possessing thee; cruel as were thy sufferings, and impotent as I found myself to relieve them, I prayed, – in the anguish of my soul, – I prayed for thy preservation! Thou art lost to me now! – yet I call thee back no more! I behold thee an angel! I see thee rescued for ever from sorrow, from alarm, from poverty, and from bitter recollections; – and shall I call thee back, to partake again my sufferings? – No! return to me no more! There, only, let me find thee, where thy felicity will be mine! – but thou! O pray for thy unhappy mother! Let thy innocent prayers be united to her humble supplications, that thy mother, thy hapless mother, may become worthy to join thee!'

3

'Alas, Madam! are you, also, deploring the loss of a child?'

4

'Ah, my friend! my much loved friend! have I sought thee, have I awaited thee, have I so fervently desired thy restoration – to find thee thus? Weeping over a grave? And thou – dost thou not recollect me? Hast thou forgotten me? – Gabriella! my loved Gabriella!'

5

'Gracious heaven! what do I behold? My Juliet! my tender friend? Can it be real? – O! can it, indeed, be true, that still any happiness is left on earth for me!'

6

'Ah! – upon me can you, yet, bestow a thought?'

7

'True, my dear friend, true! thy history, thy misfortunes, can never be terrible, never be lacerating like mine! Thou hast not yet known the bliss of being a mother; – how, then, canst thou have experienced the most overwhelming of calamities! a suffering that admits of no description! a woe that makes all others seem null – the loss of a being pure, spotless as a cherub – and wholly our own!'

8

'Here, here let us stay! 'tis here I can best speak to thee! 'tis here, I can best listen; – here, where I pass every moment that I can snatch from penury and labour! Think not that to weep is what is most to be dreaded; oh never mayst thou learn, that to weep – though upon the tomb of all that has been most dear to thee upon earth, is a solace, is a feeling of softness, nay of pleasure, compared with the hard necessity of toiling, when death has seized upon the very heart, merely to breathe, to exist, after life has lost all its charms!'

9

'See, if I am not still susceptible of pleasure! Thy society has made me forget the sad and painful duties that call me hence, to tasks that snatch me, – with difficulty, – from perishing by famine!'

10

'Ah, how I know thee by that trait! thy soul so noble! so firm in itself; so soft, so commiserating for every other! what tender, what touching recollections present themselves at this instant to my heart! Dearest Juliet! is it, then, indeed no dream, that I have found – that I behold thee again? and, in thee, all that is most exemplary, most amiable, and most worthy upon earth! How is it I can recover thee, and not recover happiness? I almost feel as if I were criminal, that I can embrace thee, – yet weep on!'

11

'Alas, my Juliet! sister of my soul! abandon not myself to sorrow for me! but speak to me, my tender friend, speak to me of my mother! where didst thou leave her? And how? And at what time? The most precious of mothers! Alas! separated from us both, – how will she be able to support such accumulation of misfortunes!'

12

'And why? Hast thou not seen thy relations? – Canst thou be seen, and not loved? – known, and not cherished? No, my Juliet, no! thou hast only to appear!'

13

'Oh far from me by any such insistence! Know I not well that thy admirable judgment, just counterpart of thy excellent heart, will guide thee to speak when it is right? Shall I not entirely confide in thee? – In thee, whose sole study has been always the good and happiness of others?'