Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine — Volume 53, No. 331, May, 1843

"An ancestor of mine," resumed the baronet, "on being presented at the Court of Charles II., soon after the Restoration, attracted the attention of that merry monarch and his witty courtiers, by the antique fashion of his cloak. 'Beaumantle! Beaumantle!' said the king, 'who gave thee that name?' My ancestor, who was a grave man, and well brought up, answered, 'Sire, my godfathers and my godmothers at my baptism.' 'Well responded!' said the king with a smile; 'and they gave thee thy raiment also, as it seems.' These last words were added in a lower voice, and did not reach the ear of my ancestor, but they were reported to him immediately afterwards, and have been treasured up in our family ever since. I thought it my duty to make it known to the world as an historical fact, strikingly illustrative of a very important period in our annals."

"Why, your name," said Miss Danvers, "appears to be historical in more senses than one."

"I hope soon—but I would not wish this to go beyond the present company," said Sir Frederic, and he looked round the circle with a countenance of the most imposing solemnity—"I hope soon that you will hear of it being elevated to the peerage—that is, when Sir Robert Peel comes into power."

"You know Sir Robert, then?" said Griffith, with perfect simplicity.

"Public men," said Sir Frederic, "are sufficiently introduced by public report. Besides, Mr Griffith—we baronets!--we constitute a sort of brotherhood. I have employed all my influence in the county, and I may safely say it is not little, to raise the character and estimation of Sir Robert, and I have no doubt that he will gladly testify his acknowledgment of my services by this trifling return. And as it is well known that my estates"—

But the baronet was interrupted in mid career by the announcement of dinner.

Miss Sherwood took the arm of Captain Garland, and directed Sir Frederic to lead down Miss Danvers.

"You will excuse my father," she said, as they descended, "for not meeting us in the drawing-room. His gout makes him a lame pedestrian. We shall find him already seated at the table."

At the dinner-table the same arrangement was preserved. Miss Sherwood had placed Captain Garland by her side, and conversed almost exclusively with him; while the Baronet was kept in play by the sedulous flattery of Miss Danvers.

After a few days, it became evident to all the household at Lipscombe Park that a new claimant for the hand of Miss Sherwood had appeared in the person of Captain Garland. The captain did not reside in the house, but, on the pretence of a very strong passion for trout-fishing, he had taken up his quarters in apartments within a most convenient distance of the scene of operations. It was not forgotten that, at the very time he made his appearance, Miss Danvers also arrived at the Park, and between these parties there was suspected to be some secret understanding. It seemed as if our military suitor had resolved to assail the fort from within as well as from without, and therefore had brought down with him this fair ally. Nothing better than such a fair ally. She could not only chant his praises when absent, (and there is much in that,) but she could so manœuvre as to procure for the captain many a tête-à-tête, which otherwise would not fall to his share. Especially, (and this task she appeared to accomplish most adroitly,) she could engage to herself the attentions of his professed and redoubtable rival, Sir Frederic Beaumantle. In fifty ways she could assist in betraying the citadel from within, whilst he stood storming at the gates, in open and most magnanimous warfare. Darcy was not slower than others to suspect the stratagem, and he thought he saw symptoms of its success. His friend Griffith had now left him; he had no dispassionate observer to consult, and his own desponding passion led him to conclude whatever was most unfavourable to himself. Certainly there was a confidential manner between Miss Sherwood and these close allies, which seemed to justify the suspicion alluded to. More than once, when he had joined Miss Sherwood and the captain, the unpleasant discovery had been forced upon him, by the sudden pause in their conversation, that he was the one too many.

But jealousy? Oh, no! What had he to do with jealousy? For his part, he was quite delighted with this new attachment—quite delighted; it would set at rest for ever the painful controversy so often agitated in his own breast. Nevertheless, it must be confessed that he felt the rivalry of Captain Garland in a very different manner from that of Sir Frederic Beaumantle. The baronet, by virtue of his wealth alone, would obtain success; and he felt a sort of bitter satisfaction in yielding Emily to her opulent suitor. She might marry, but she could not love him; she might be thinking of another, perhaps of her cousin Reginald, even while she gave her hand to him at the altar. But if the gallant captain, whose handsome person, and frank and gentlemanly manners, formed his chief recommendation, were to be the happy man, then must her affections have been won, and Emily was lost to him utterly. And then—with the usual logic of the passions, and forgetting the part of silence and disguise that he had played—he taxed her with levity and unkindness in so soon preferring the captain to himself. That Emily should so soon have linked herself with a comparative stranger! It was not what he should have expected. "At all events," he would thus conclude his soliloquy, "I am henceforward free—free from her bondage and from all internal struggle. Yes! I am free!" he exclaimed, as he paced his room triumphantly. The light voice of Emily was heard calling on him to accompany her in a walk. He started, he flew. His freedom, we suppose, gave him wings, for he was at her side in a moment.

Reginald had intended, on the first opportunity, to rally his cousin upon her sudden attachment to the captain, but his tongue absolutely refused the office. He could not utter a word of banter on the subject. His heart was too full.

On this occasion, as they returned from their walk through the park, there happened one of those incidents which have so often, at least in novels and story-books, brought about the happiness of lovers, but which in the present instance served only to bring into play the most painful feelings of both parties.

A prize-fight had taken place in the neighbourhood, and one of the numerous visitors of that truly noble exhibition, who, in order to do honour to the day, had deprived Smithfield market of the light of his countenance, was returning across the park from the scene of combat, accompanied by his bull-dog. The dog, who doubtless knew that his master was a trespasser, and considered it the better policy to assume at once the offensive, flew at the party whom he saw approaching. Emily was a little in advance. Darcy rushed forward to plant himself between her and this ferocious assailant. He had no weapon of defence of any kind, and, to say truth, he had at that moment no idea of defending himself, or any distinct notion whatever of combating his antagonist. The only reflection that occurred to his mind was, that if the animal satiated its fury upon him, his companion would be safe. A strong leg and a stout boot might have done something; Darcy, stooping down, put the fleshy part of his own arm fairly into the bulldog's jaws; assured that, at all events, it could not bite two persons at the same time, and that, if its teeth were buried in his own arm, they could not be engaged in lacerating Emily Sherwood. It is the well-known nature of the bull-dog to fasten where it once bites, and the brute pinned Darcy to the ground, until its owner, arriving on the spot, extricated him from his very painful position.

In this encounter, our senior wrangler probably showed himself very unskilful and deficient in the combat with wild beasts, but no conduct could have displayed a more engrossing anxiety for the safety of his fair companion. Most men would have been willing to reap advantage from the grateful sentiment which such a conduct must inspire; Darcy, on the contrary, seemed to have no other wish than to disclaim all title to such a sentiment. He would not endure that the incident should be spoken of with the least gravity or seriousness.

"I pray you," said he, "do not mention this silly business again. What I did, every living man who had found himself by your side would have done, and most men in a far more dexterous manner. And, indeed, if instead of yourself, the merest stranger—the poorest creature in the parish, man, woman, or child, had been in your predicament, I think I should have done the same."

"I know you would, Reginald. I believe," said Emily, "that if the merest idiot had been threatened with the danger that threatened me, you would have interposed, and received the attack yourself. And it is because I believe this of you, Reginald"——

Something apparently impeded her utterance, for the sentence was left unfinished.

"For this wound," resumed Darcy, after a pause, and observing that Emily's eye was resting on his arm, "it is really nothing more than a just penalty for my own want of address in this notable combat. You should have had the captain with you," he added; "he would have defended you quite as zealously, and with ten times the skill."

Emily made no answer; and they walked on in silence till they entered the Hall. Reginald felt that he had been ungracious; but he knew not how to retrieve his position. Just before they parted, Emily resuming, in some measure, her natural and cheerful manner, turned to her companion, and said—"Years ago, when you were cousin Reginald, and condescended to be my playfellow, the greatest services you rendered were to throw me occasionally out of the swing, or frighten me till I screamed by putting my pony into a most unmerciful trot; but you were always so kind in the making up, that I liked you the better afterwards. Now, when you preserve me, at your own hazard, from a very serious injury—you do it in so surly a manner—I wish the dog had bitten me!" And with this she left him and tripped up stairs.

If Darcy could have followed her into her own room, he would have seen her throw herself into an armchair, and burst into a flood of tears.

CHAPTER III

Miss Danvers, it has been said, (from whatever motive her conduct proceeded, whether from any interest of her own, or merely a desire to serve the interest of her friend, Captain Garland,) showed a disposition to engross the attentions of Sir Frederic Beaumantle as often as he made his appearance at Lipscombe Park. Now, as that lady was undoubtedly of good family, and possessed of considerable fortune, the baronet was not a little flattered by the interest which a person who had these excellent qualifications for a judge, manifestly took in his conversation. In an equal degree was his dignity offended at the preference shown by Miss Sherwood for Captain Garland, a man, as he said, but of yesterday, and not in any one point of view to be put in comparison with himself. He almost resolved to punish her levity by withdrawing his suit. The graver manner, and somewhat more mature age of Miss Danvers were also qualities which he was obliged to confess were somewhat in her favour.

The result of all this was, that one fine morning Sir Frederic Beaumantle might have been seen walking to and fro in his own park, with a troubled step, bearing in his hand a letter—most elaborately penned—carefully written out—sealed—but not directed. It was an explicit declaration of his love, a solemn offer of his hand; it was only not quite determined to whom it should be sent. As the letter contained very little that referred to the lady, and consisted almost entirely of an account, not at all disparaging, of himself and his own good qualities, it was easy for him to proceed thus far upon his delicate negotiation, although the main question—to whom the letter was to be addressed—was not yet decided. This letter had indeed been a labour of love. It was as little written for Miss Sherwood as for Miss Danvers. It was composed for the occasion whenever that might arise; and for these ten years past it had been lying in his desk, receiving from time to time fresh touches and emendations. The necessity of making use of this epistle, which had now attained a state of painful perfection, we venture to say had some share in impelling him into matrimony. To some one it must be sent, or how could it appear to any advantage in those "Memoirs of Sir Frederic Beaumantle," which, some future day, were to console the world for his decease, and the prospect of which (for he saw them already in beautiful hot-pressed quarto) almost consoled himself for the necessity of dying? The intended love-letter!--this would have an air of ridicule, while the real declaration of Sir Frederic Beaumantle, which would not only adorn the Memoirs above mentioned, but would ultimately form a part of the "History of the County of Huntingdon." We hope ourselves, by the way, to have the honour of editing those Memoirs, should we be so unfortunate as to survive Sir Frederic.

But we must leave our baronet with his letter in his hand, gazing profoundly and anxiously on the blank left for the superscription, and must follow the perplexities of Reginald Darcy.

That good understanding which apparently existed between Emily and Captain Garland seemed rather to increase than to diminish after the little adventure we recorded in the last chapter. It appeared that Miss Sherwood had taken Darcy at his word, and resolved not to think any the more kindly of him for his conduct on that occasion. The captain was plainly in the ascendant. It even appeared, from certain arrangements that were in stealthy preparation, that the happiness of the gallant lover would not long be delayed. Messages of a very suspicious purport had passed between the Park and the vicarage. The clerk of the parish had been seen several times at Lipscombe. There was something in the wind, as the sagacious housekeeper observed; surely her young missus was not going to be married on the sly to the captain! The same thought, however, occurred to Darcy. Was it to escape the suit of Sir Frederic Beaumantle, which had been in some measure countenanced by her father, that she had recourse to this stratagem?—hardly worthy of her, and quite unnecessary, as she possessed sufficient influence with her father to obtain his consent to any proposal she herself was likely to approve. Had not the state of his own feelings made him too interested a party to act as counsellor or mediator, he would at once have questioned Emily on the subject. As it was, his lips were closed. She herself, too, seemed resolved to make no communication to him. The captain, a man of frank and open nature, was far more disposed to reveal his secret: he was once on the point of speaking to Darcy about his "approaching marriage;" but Emily, laying her finger on her lip, suddenly imposed silence on him.

One morning, as Darcy entered the breakfast-room, it was evident that something unusual was about to take place. The carriage, at this early hour, was drawn up to the door, and the two young ladies, both dressed in bridal white, were stepping into it. Before it drove off Miss Sherwood beckoned to Darcy.

"I have not invited you," she said, "to the ceremony, because Captain Garland has wished it to be as private as possible. But we shall expect your company at breakfast, for which you must even have the patience to wait till we return." Without giving any opportunity for reply, she drew up the glass, and the carriage rolled off.

However Darcy might have hitherto borne himself up by a gloomy sense of duty, by pride, and a bitter—oh, what bitter resignation!--when the blow came, it utterly prostrated him. "She is gone!--lost!--Fool that I have been!--What was this man more than I?" Stung with such reflections as these, which were uttered in such broken sentences, he rapidly retreated to the library, where he knew he should be undisturbed. He threw himself into a chair, and planting his elbows on the table, pressed his doubled fists, with convulsive agony, to his brows. All his fortitude had forsaken him: he wept outright.

From this posture he was at length aroused by a gentle pressure on his shoulder, and a voice calling him by his name. He raised his head: it was Emily Sherwood, enquiring of him, quite calmly, why he was not at the breakfast-table. There she stood, radiant with beauty, and in all her bridal attire, except that she had thrown of her bonnet, and her beautiful hair was allowed to be free and unconfined. Her hand was still upon his shoulder.

"You are married, Emily," he said, as well as that horrible stifling sensation in the breast would let him speak; "you are married, and I must be for evermore a banished man. I leave you, Emily, and this roof, for ever. I pronounce my own sentence of exile, for I love you, Emily!--and ever shall—passionately—tenderly—love you. Surely I may say this now—now that it is a mere cry of anguish, and a misery exclusively my own. Never, never—I feel that this is no idle raving—shall I love another—never will this affection leave me—I shall never have a home—never care for another—or myself—I am alone—a wanderer—miserable. Farewell! I go—I know not exactly where—but I leave this place."

He was preparing to quit the room, when Emily, placing herself before him, prevented him. "And why," said she, "if you honoured me with this affection, why was I not to know of it till now?"

"Can the heiress of Lipscombe Park ask that question?"

"Ungenerous! unjust!" said Emily. "Tell me, if one who can himself feel and act nobly, denies to another the capability of a like disinterested conduct—denies it rashly, pertinaciously, without cause given for such a judgment—is he not ungenerous and unjust?"

"To whom have I acted thus? To whom have I been ungenerous or unjust?"

"To me, Reginald—to me! I am wealthy, and for this reason alone you have denied to me, it seems, the possession of every worthy sentiment. She has gold, you have said, let her gold content her, and you withheld your love. She will make much boast, and create a burdensome obligation, if she bestows her superfluous wealth upon another: you resolved not to give her the opportunity, and you withheld your love. She has gold—she has no heart—no old affections that have grown from childhood—no estimate of character: she has wealth—let her gratify its vanity and its caprice; and so you withheld your love. Yes, she has gold—let her have more of it—let her wed with gold—with any gilded fool—she has no need of love! This is what you have thought, what your conduct has implied, and it was ungenerous and unjust."

"No, by heaven! I never thought unworthily of you," exclaimed Darcy.

"Had you been the wealthy cousin, Reginald, of wealth so ample, that an addition to it could scarcely bring an additional pleasure, would you have left your old friend Emily to look out for some opulent alliance?"

"Oh, no! no!"

"Then, why should I?"

"I may have erred," said Darcy. "I may have thought too meanly of myself, or nourished a misplaced pride, but I never had a disparaging thought of you. It seemed that I was right—that I was fulfilling a severe—oh, how severe a duty! Even now I know not that I was wrong—I know only that I am miserable. But," added he in a calmer voice, "I, at all events, am the only sufferer. You, at least, are happy."

"Not, I think, if marriage is to make me so. I am not married, Reginald," she said, amidst a confusion of smiles and blushes. "Captain Garland was married this morning to Miss Julia Danvers, to whom he has been long engaged, but a silly selfish stepmother"——

"Not married!" cried Darcy, interrupting all further explanation.—"Not married! Then you are free—then you are"—— But the old train of thought rushed back upon his mind—the old objections were as strong as ever—Miss Sherwood was still the daughter of his guardian, and the heiress of Lipscombe Park. Instead of completing the sentence, he paused, and muttered something about "her father."

Emily saw the cloud that had come over him. Dropping playfully, and most gracefully, upon one knee, she took his hand, and looking up archly in his face, said, "You love me, coz—you have said it. Coz, will you marry me?—for I love you."

"Generous, generous girl!" and he clasped her to his bosom.

"Let us go in," said Emily, in a quite altered and tremulous voice, "let us join them in the other room." And as she put her arm in his, the little pressure said distinctly and triumphantly—"He is mine!--he is mine!"

We must take a parting glance into old Mr Sherwood's room. He is seated in his gouty chair; his daughter stands by his side. Apparently Emily's reasonings have almost prevailed; she has almost persuaded the old gentleman that Darcy is the very son-in-law whom, above all others, he ought to desire. For how could Emily leave her dear father, and how could he domicile himself with any other husband she could choose, half so well as with his own ward, and his old favourite, Reginald?

"But Sir Frederic Beaumantle," the old gentleman replied, "what is to be said to him? and what a fine property he has!"

As he was speaking, the door opened, and the party from the breakfast table, consisting of Captain Garland, and his bride, and Reginald, entered the room.

"Oh, as for Sir Frederic Beaumantle," said she who was formerly Miss Danvers, and now Mrs Garland, "I claim him as mine." And forthwith she displayed the famous declaration of the baronet—addressed to herself!