Mystery and Confidence Volume Ii Part 1

Mystery and Confidence.

Vol. 2.

by Elizabeth Pinchard.

CHAP. I.

----To mourn because a sparrow dies, To rave in artificial ecstasies, Laments how oft her wounded heart has bled, And boasts of many a tear she never shed.

MISS MORE'S POEM ON SENSIBILITY.

The next day being Sunday, Lady St. Aubyn, attired in the most elegant undress, and attended by the Earl, made her appearance at the church: the expensive lace veil which shaded her fair face, and hung loosely below her waist, prevented the gazing of those around her from being too oppressive. The neighbouring families certainly had heard that Lord St. Aubyn had married a young person of a rank in life much inferior to his own, for secretly as every thing had been conducted, as no one could tell the name or family of his bride, such, at least, were the conjectures of those who knew him; yet, in spite of the prejudices which had been excited against her, the elegance of her form, and the modest composure of her demeanour, in a great measure overcame it, and all who were ent.i.tled, by their situation in life, to visit at the Castle, determined to do so; some prompted by mere curiosity, and some by less unworthy motives. The three or four following days, therefore, brought Ellen many visitors, and her own intuitive sense of propriety, added to the few general directions St. Aubyn had given her, and with the advantageous support his respectful attention gave her, prevented her appearing at all awkward; and these visits, which she had so greatly dreaded, pa.s.sed over with less pain than she had expected.

Amongst their first visitors were Sir William and Miss Cecil; the former of whom was a mere common-place character, whom, if you did not happen to see for sometime, you would be apt to forget you had ever seen at all; but the fine countenance of Laura, her expressive features, and the bright black eyes which animated them, charmed Ellen, who had never seen any woman before so pleasing: yet Laura was not strictly beautiful, and at this time the l.u.s.tre of her fine eyes was dimmed by the melancholy which pervaded her mind, for she said her little invalid was so much indisposed, and so weak, she would not have left her to go any where else; but she wished so very much to be introduced to Lady St. Aubyn she could not resist the temptation.

The very elegant manner in which she spoke, the clearness of her articulation, and sweetness of her voice, were strikingly agreeable; and St. Aubyn afterwards said that a few years before she had a gaiety of manner, enlivened by wit of a superior nature, with so much playfulness of expression, that by many people she was considered as merely a lively girl, and a little satirical; but time and misfortune had softened what at times might have been too severe in her opinions, had improved and mellowed her fine judgment, and given a pensive sweetness to her manners, which was occasionally relieved by flashes of her former gaiety and ready repartee. St. Aubyn shewed her a particular and most respectful attention, and told Ellen she would be charmed with Miss Cecil's drawings, which were the very finest he ever saw, except from the hands of a professed artist. He then, with a smile, addressed a few words to Laura in an undertone, to which she replied: "Oh, pray, my Lord, do not expose my juvenile follies: I might have done such things when we were mere children together, but I hope you think me wiser now!"

"The world," said he, "has perhaps made us both graver since the days you speak of; and that, in the eyes of many, will doubtless give us credit for an increase of wisdom; but believe me, my fair friend, I have lost so little of the romance of youth (if such you choose to term it), that I must hope you do not neglect the pleasing talent to which I alluded, and of which you must allow Lady St. Aubyn to judge: I a.s.sure you she has a great taste for poetry, and perhaps one day or other may follow your example, and court the Muses in her turn."

"Ah, my Lord!" said Laura, smiling and colouring: "I see you are determined not to keep my secret." "Tell me, Ellen," said St. Aubyn, "can you see any reason why Miss Cecil should wish to make a secret of her having succeeded very happily in some elegant little poetical compositions?" "No, indeed," replied Ellen: "it surely is a gift to be rather proud than ashamed of." "Ah, my dear Lady St. Aubyn, if you could conceive the illiberal prejudice of some minds, you would not wonder at my dislike to having these trifling attempts spoken of. A lady I knew, who was eminently gifted in that way, and indeed an excellent prose-writer also, was, from circ.u.mstances, obliged to be less scrupulous than I have been; and if you could have heard the things I have witnessed, when she entered or left a room, you would be amazed: while she, gentle, una.s.suming, and even timid, judging candidly of every one, unwilling to see faults, and detesting personal satire, had not the most remote idea of the severe and uncandid remarks she excited."

Ellen was really astonished at this account, as much as she was pleased with the spirit and grace with which it was delivered; and St. Aubyn said to her with an expressive smile, "You see, Ellen, our friend Ross had more reason than we were willing to allow him for _certain prohibitions_. However," added he, "I will not relinquish the hope that Miss Cecil will soon see how little she has to fear from any observations of such a nature from _you_." "I see it already," said Miss Cecil with quickness: "one glance at Lady St. Aubyn would convince the most incredulous that nothing but sweetness and candour can lodge in such a temple."

She then looked at her watch, and saying she had much exceeded her time, and Juliet would expect her, departed with her father, who had been deeply engaged in giving Doctor Montague a long account of a county-meeting, which had been held for some public purpose a few days before. They had scarcely driven from the door, when Miss Alton was announced; and as she entered, St. Aubyn whispered to Ellen--"Now you will see a character quite new to you." Then rising hastily, he crossed the room to meet the lady, exclaiming, "Heavens! my dear Miss Alton, how enchanted I am to see you look so well! You really improve every day, at least every year: for I believe it is at least that time since I saw you last." "Oh, my Lord," answered the lady in an affected tone, but in a voice the natural sharpness of which all her efforts failed to soften; "you flatter--don't try to make me vain. Lord bless me, you men have no mercy on us poor young women: but will you not introduce me to your Lady?"

Ellen, who at the distance from whence she had first seen this visitor imagined that she really was young and handsome, was astonished as she approached, to find in the white frock, sash, ringlets, and little straw hat of a girl, a woman apparently between fifty and sixty; and who vainly attempted to conceal, by a quant.i.ty of _rouge_ and a slight veil thrown over her face, the ravages which time had made in her countenance. Her spare figure gave her some resemblance to youthful slightness; but when near, the sharp bones, and angular projections of her face and person, sufficiently proved, that slender appearance was the result of lean old age, instead of girlish delicacy. In spite of the advanced season, she was clad so lightly, that she still s.h.i.+vered from the impression of the keen breeze which had a.s.sailed her as she crossed the Park, and gladly accepted a seat by the comfortable fire, though affecting to conceal her sufferings under an air of gaiety and ease.

St. Aubyn (who had known her many years, and had been from a boy accustomed to divert himself with her foibles, though he really felt a degree of regard for her, as, in spite of her oddities, she was not without a mixture of good qualities), after having introduced her to his bride, seated himself by her, and began to talk to her in a strain of such marked flattery, as really alarmed Ellen, who thought Miss Alton would certainly be offended; but her enormous vanity prevented her from perceiving that he was merely laughing at her, and she grew every moment more ridiculous. At last, turning to Ellen, she said in a pathetic tone, "Oh, my dear Madam, you cannot conceive how I have felt for you these two days! I declare I have not been able to sleep for thinking of you, and really have shed tears to imagine what a tax you have been paying: how you must have been fatigued by receiving such a succession of visitors! but every one must have some trouble. There is my dear friend, Mrs. Dawkins, the best of women--sweet woman, indeed--there she is lamenting at home such a vexation!" "What is the matter?" said St.

Aubyn, laughing, for he knew what sort of misfortunes Mrs. Dawkins and her friend Miss Alton generally lamented with so much pathos: "has she lost her little French dog, or has the careless coachman scratched the pannels of her new carriage?" "Oh, you sad man! how can you make a jest of the dear soul's uncommon sensibility? To be sure she has the tenderest feelings. She often says to me, 'my dear Alton, what should I do without you: you are the only person who can really feel for the misfortunes of a friend.' Sweet woman!"

"Well, but," said St. Aubyn, "you were going to tell us what has happened to this _amiable friend_ of your's."

"Nay, I will tell Lady St. Aubyn, she looks all softness and sensibility: but you are so wicked, you make a jest of every thing. Do you know, my dearest Lady St. Aubyn, just as poor Mrs. Dawkins was coming to make you a visit, this morning, nay, she was actually dressed, and had one foot on the step of the carriage, _I_ was in it, for she was so kind as to say she would bring me; so I thought, as I was to come with her, I need not put on a pelisse, or shawl, for you know they spoil one's dress. But I can't say but that it was rather cold walking, as I was at last obliged to do, for _just_ as she put her foot upon the step----" "What happened?" interrupted St. Aubyn, laughing still more at the emphatic manner in which poor Alton told her distressing story.--"Did she fall down and break her leg, or did the horses run away and carry off her kid slipper?"----"Now only hear him; did you ever see such a teasing creature: well, I am glad _I_ have not the task of keeping you in order; I don't know what even the sweet Countess will do with you."

This piece of self-congratulation threw St. Aubyn into a violent fit of laughing, in which even the grave Doctor Montague joined, and Ellen could hardly resist, though the fear of quite affronting her guest put a check upon her risibility.

"Well," said St. Aubyn, at last recovering himself a little, "but what really did happen to poor Mrs. Dawkins?"

"Nay, I protest I won't tell you, you wicked creature; I will tell Lady St. Aubyn some other time, for you do not deserve to hear any thing about it."

"Oh, yes, do, my dear Alton, tell, for really I am in great pain for poor Mrs. Dawkins, who has been standing so long with one foot upon the step: don't leave her in so dangerous a situation any longer."----"Well, then, if I must tell--at that moment up came a servant on horseback, to say her sister, Mrs. Courtenay, was on the road to her own house, in her way from Buxton, and would, with a whole train of children and servants, dine at her house to-day; and as they were coming directly, she was actually obliged to defer her visit to your Ladys.h.i.+p till to-morrow; and she was so sorry, and I am sure so was I, for I was obliged to walk here after all."

"Well, but," said Lord St. Aubyn, "notwithstanding this terrible shock to her feelings, she might have sent the carriage with _you_."----"Aye, so she might, to be sure; but poor dear soul, she was put in such a bustle she never thought of it; some people don't think----dear me, if I had a carriage of my own, I should be happy to make it useful to my friends, and not let them go broiling on foot two or three miles in warm weather or splas.h.i.+ng through the mud in the middle of winter."----"I believe you," said St. Aubyn; for with all her foibles, he knew Miss Alton was really good-natured, and willing to do a kind action.

"Well, my dear Miss Alton, if you will favour us with your company, and dine with us, Lady St. Aubyn will, I am sure, be happy to send you home in her carriage; and I promise you, if the Prince himself was to make us a visit, that should not prevent your having it."

Ellen joined in this invitation, to which the happy Miss Alton readily a.s.sented; and Ellen found her, after a little while, a more tolerable companion than she expected.

Miss Alton's particular pa.s.sion was for being with people who lived in style; if they had a t.i.tle so much the better; and as she would do any thing to make herself useful, and knew how to pay those little attentions which every body likes, she generally made herself agreeable, or so necessary, that she had admittance at almost all the houses of consequence in the neighbourhood. The entre of St. Aubyn Castle was the height of her ambition. St. Aubyn's mother, who lived much in the country, had been in the habit of receiving Miss Alton, when she was a girl, on familiar terms: the old Lady was fond of needle-work, and Alton a.s.sisted in filling up the groundwork of carpets, rugs, &c. with the most patient good humour; or was at any time ready to make up a whist or quadrille table; so that in those days she was very often a week or two together at the Castle, where St. Aubyn, at his vacations, had been accustomed to meet her, and to divert himself with her foibles, though he had always retained a degree of regard for her, a felicity which the death of the old Countess deprived her of, and she had never since ceased to regret; for though her other connections were respectable, they were not so high in fortune or consequence as the St.

Aubyns, and great was her joy to find herself once more an invited guest at the Castle.

Amongst her other friends, as her narrow income by no means permitted her to return their civilities in kind, she yet was always well received, for there was nothing she would not do to oblige: one Lady would send her in her carriage, if not well enough to go herself, to inquire the character of a servant; another would express a wish, in her hearing, for some game, or fruit, for a dinner party, and Miss Alton would set out the next morning "to try her luck," as she termed it, by calling at some of the higher sort of houses, where she was acquainted, and _wis.h.i.+ng_ she knew where to get a hare, or a pine-apple (according to which was wanted), "to oblige a friend to whom she owed a great many favours," the good natured hearer generally, if possible, was willing to oblige "poor Alton;" or if she did not succeed there, she would tramp a mile or two farther, and at worst could fairly boast what pains she had taken, even if they were not successful.

In London, if a notable friend wanted a cheap tr.i.m.m.i.n.g, or to match a silk or lace, yet did not like to go about to little shops herself, Alton would take a hackney coach, or walk if the weather permitted, and never rest till she had obtained the thing in question.

By these and similar means she had made a great many high acquaintance, and _eked_ out a small income by visits, sometimes a little too long, to each in turn.----She had thus acquired some amusing anecdotes, and was far from an unpleasing companion, especially when no male beings came in her way; but when with men, vanity and affectation took such full possession of her, that she became completely ridiculous. This Lady St.

Aubyn had an opportunity of seeing: when two or three gentlemen happened to call before dinner, her whole manner changed, and she became really absurd: her voice was softened----her head leant on one shoulder----a tolerably white hand and arm displayed in every possible att.i.tude, and she behaved, in every respect, like a very silly affected girl; but when they were gone, she was again tolerably conversable, and St. Aubyn, ceasing to play upon her foibles, and turning the conversation to such topics as were most likely to shew her to advantage, the afternoon and evening pa.s.sed pleasantly enough. Nor was St. Aubyn sorry to familiarise Ellen, by degrees, to company, or to do the honour of his table, before they should be obliged to receive the neighbouring families at dinner, many of whom he knew (especially two or three ladies who had unmarried daughters) would be eagerly looking out for any little omission in her, while Miss Alton was so delighted with the good things before her (certainly being _un peu gourmande_) with the beautiful new service of china, rich plate, &c. &c. that she never thought of her entertainers, except to express her pleasure in their kindness and attention: and they sent her home in the evening perfectly happy, and eager to tell dear Mrs. Dawkins what a delightful day she had spent, how happy the Earl was to see her, what a _sweet woman_ the Countess was, what fine china!

what a dessert! what an elegant new carriage! &c. &c.

CHAP. II.

Yet once again farewell, thou minstrel harp, Yet once again forgive my feeble sway, And little reck I of the censure sharp, May idly cavil at an idle lay.

Much have I owed thy strains on life's long way, Through secret woes the world has never known, When on the weary night dawn'd wearier day, And bitterer was the grief devour'd alone.

W. SCOTT.

The next month was past in receiving and returning visits; and the most pleasing among them was a sociable day pa.s.sed at Rose-Hill, the seat of Sir William Cecil. Miss Cecil promised, if Juliet, who now for some time had been tolerably well, should continue so, that Ellen should see her; though she very seldom admitted any company: "But I have said so much of you," said Laura, "that she is quite anxious to see you; and I am particularly anxious to familiarize her to you, both as it will I am sure give her pleasure, and facilitate our being often together."

Accordingly, after dinner, when they left the gentlemen, Miss Cecil led Lady St. Aubyn to Juliet's apartment.

Never had Ellen seen so interesting a being: this fair creature, now about fifteen, was a perfect model of beauty and symmetry; though so slightly formed, she appeared, "like a fairy vision, or some bright creature of the element:" her cheeks were faintly tinged with a hectic blush; her eyes were of the most dazzling brightness; her lips like coral; and her teeth of pearly whiteness; her fair hair was covered with a fine lace cap, and her fragile form enveloped in a large shawl.

"My love," said Laura, "here is Lady St. Aubyn, who is so good as to come and see you."

Juliet extended her white hand, and said in a voice of peculiar harmony, fixing at the same time her sparkling and penetrating eyes on Ellen's face, as if she wished to read her heart in her countenance, "Laura says she loves you already, and I am sure _I_ shall." The simple navete of her voice and manner went to the heart of Ellen, who could not help embracing her tenderly, while she felt the tears start to her eyes at seeing one so young and lovely in a state of health so precarious.

After a little more conversation, Ellen put her hand accidentally on a small book which lay half concealed by one of the pillows of Juliet's couch, and said with that native politeness which ever prevented her from doing any thing rude or intrusive, "May I look at the subject of your studies?" "Yes," said Juliet, with an angelic smile, "If you please." Ellen opened the book. It was in a character totally unknown to her. "Do you read Greek?" asked the fair Juliet, with a simplicity and absence of design which proved her question was serious; and this interrogation, which would from most people to a young woman be absolutely ridiculous, from Juliet appeared merely a natural wish to know whether her new friend was as able as herself to read the book she held in her hand; for strange as it may appear, it was a copy of the New Testament in Greek; and Juliet read it as easily as if it had been English.

"My dear Juliet," said Laura, "few females make that language their study; I conclude, therefore, Lady St. Aubyn does not know it any more than myself." "Oh, I wish you both did," said Juliet: "if you could but know the delight I feel from reading the Scripture in its original language!--If I live till next summer I hope the Hebrew Bible will be as familiar to me as that book is now."

It is impossible for language to do justice to the perfect innocence and artlessness with which she spoke: she seemed to think her own wonderful attainments no more extraordinary than other girls do of being able to read a newspaper, or work a handkerchief: not a trace of affectation or pedantry was visible in her manner: she had a childishness of voice and tone that singularly contrasted with the subjects on which she spoke; for Laura, willing to let Ellen see what a wonderful creature she was, led her to speak of astronomy; and a celestial globe happening to be on a table before her, led her by degrees to display her extraordinary knowledge in that science--of the dimensions and motions of the heavenly bodies, their distances from the sun and from each other, &c. all of which she explained in the clearest and most perspicuous manner, making such happy allusions to the poets who have touched on the subject, and ill.u.s.trating it by such apt comparisons, as shewed her imagination was as brilliant, as the calculations she readily made proved her memory was accurate.

Lady St. Aubyn, who had at every leisure hour since her marriage been engaged in studying this and other interesting subjects of useful knowledge, could in some degree appreciate the value and extent of this sweet girl's extraordinary acquirements, and was lost in admiration of her abilities, and the industry with which, notwithstanding her ill health, she had cultivated them.

This happened to be a day in which Juliet was unusually well, for in general she declined all conversation, and spent most of her time in studying the Scriptures, in devotional exercises, and promoting every plan which her health would permit her to join in for the relief of the poor; for her early piety and extensive charity were as remarkable as her other attainments were wonderful: but this day she was so well, that at Laura's solicitation, in which Ellen earnestly joined, she placed herself at a chamber organ that stood in her apartment, which she touched with great taste and science; and was at last prevailed on to accompany it with a voice of the most angelic sweetness.

She sung only sacred music, and now delighted Ellen with "Angels ever bright and fair;" and, "I know that my Redeemer liveth:" and while her pure lips poured forth these exquisite specimens of musical inspiration, the soft and pious expression of her heavenly countenance, for ever fixed and hallowed them in the remembrance of her hearers.

To Ellen she seemed hardly a being of this world, and her young and enthusiastic heart was melted with the tenderest love for one so very far superior to any thing she could have imagined.

From this day the St. Aubyns and Cecils spent a great part of their time together, and the highly polished manners of Miss Cecil, her excellent judgment, and fine taste, were extremely advantageous to Lady St.

Aubyn. Without losing her natural grace and sweet simplicity, she gradually acquired more of that style which marks both the woman of fas.h.i.+on and the possessor of intellectual knowledge; even her beauty improved with the encreased intelligence of her mind, and the serenity of her heart; for now for the first time she felt entirely happy; scarcely a cloud overshadowed her.

St. Aubyn was every day more tender and attentive, and every day expressed himself more pleased and delighted with his choice. Those starts of agitation and gloom which on their first acquaintance had appeared in him so frequently, were now very seldom seen. He received frequent letters from Spain, which he told Ellen were from his friend the Marquis of Northington, who was there in a diplomatic situation, and was engaged in seeking a person, by means of his extensive connections on the Continent, who alone could unravel some mysterious circ.u.mstances of the most material consequence to _him_. "But when found," said St.