Читать книгу The Greatest Regency Romance Novels - Maria Edgeworth - Страница 104

Table of Contents

Contains a very brief account of every material occurrence that happened in regard of our fair widow, during the space of a whole year, with some other particulars of less moment

Mr. Thoughtless was not at home when the news of Mr. Munden's death arrived; but, as soon as he was informed of it, he went to his sister; and, on finding her much more deeply affected at this accident than he could have imagined, pressed her, in the most tender terms, to quit that scene of mortality, and return to his house: the persuasions of a brother, who of late had behaved with so much kindness towards her, prevailed on her to accept of the invitation; and, having given some necessary orders in regard to the family, was carried away that same night in a chair, with the curtains close drawn.

She saw no company, however, till after the funeral; and, when that was over, Lady Loveit was the first admitted. As Mrs. Munden was still under a great dejection of spirits, which was visible in her countenance, 'If I did not know you to be the sincerest creature in the world,' said Lady Loveit, 'I should take you to be the greatest dissembler in it; for it would be very difficult for any one less acquainted with you, to believe you could be really afflicted at the death of a person whose life rendered you so unhappy.'

'Mistake me not, Lady Loveit,' answered she; 'I do not pretend to lament the death of Mr. Munden, as it deprives me of his society, or as that of a person with whom I could ever have enjoyed any great share of felicity, even though his life had made good the professions of his last moments: but I lament him as one who was my husband, whom duty forbids me to hate while living, and whom decency requires me to mourn for when dead.'

'So, then,' cried Lady Loveit, 'I find you take as much pains to grieve for a bad husband, as those who have the misfortune to lose a good one do to alleviate their sorrows: but, my dear,' continued she, with a more serious air, 'I see no occasion for all this. I am well assured that your virtue, and the sweetness of your temper, enabled you to discharge all the duties of a wife to Mr. Munden while alive; and with that I think you ought to be content: he is now dead—the covenant between you is dissolved—Heaven has released you—and, I hope, forgiven him; decency obliges you to wear black—forbids you to appear abroad for a whole month—and at any publick place of diversion for a much longer time; but it does not restrain you from being easy in yourself, and chearful with your friends.'

'Your ladyship speaks right,' said Mrs. Munden: 'but yet there is a shock in death which one cannot presently get over.'—'I grant there is,' replied Lady Loveit; 'and if we thought too deeply on it, we should feel all the agonies of that dreadful hour before our time, and become a burden to ourselves and to the world.'

It is certain, indeed, that the surprize and pity for Mr. Munden's sudden and unexpected fate had at the first overwhelmed her soul; yet, when those emotions were a little evaporated, she rather indulged affliction, because she thought it her duty to do so, than endeavoured any way to combat with it.

It was not, therefore, very difficult to reason her out of a melancholy which she had in a manner forced upon herself, and was far from being natural to her; and when once convinced that she ought to be easy under this stroke of Providence, became entirely so.

The painful task she had imposed upon her mind being over, more agreeable ones succeeded: the remembrance of Mr. Trueworth—his recovered love—the knowledge he had of hers—and the consideration that now both of them were in a condition to avow their mutual tenderness without a crime, could not but transfuse a sensation more pleasing than she had ever before been capable of experiencing.

In the mean time, that gentleman passed through a variety of emotions on her account; nor will it seem strange he should do so to any one who casts the least retrospect on his former behaviour; he had loved her from the first moment he beheld her; and had continued to love her for a long series of time with such an excess of passion, that not all his reason on her ill-treatment of him, and her supposed unworthiness, was scarce sufficient to enable him wholly to desist: a new amour was requisite to divide his wishes—the fondness and artful blandishments of Miss Flora served to wean his heart from the once darling object—but there demanded no less than the amiable person, and more amiable temper, of Miss Harriot, to drive thence an idea so accustomed to preside. All this, however, as it appeared, did not wholly extinguish the first flame; the innocence of the charming Miss Betsy fully cleared up—all the errors of her conduct reformed—rekindled in him an esteem; the sight of her, after so many months absence, made the seemingly dead embers of desire begin to glow, and, on the discovery of her sentiments in his favour, burst forth into a blaze: he was not master of himself in the first rush of so joyous a surprize—he forgot she was married—he approached her in the manner the reader has already been told; and for which he afterwards severely condemned himself, as thinking he ought to be content with knowing she loved him, without putting her modesty to the blush by letting her perceive the discovery he had made.

As Lady Loveit, without suspecting the effect which her discourse produced, had been often talking of the ill-treatment she received from Mr. Munden, and the necessity she had been under of quitting his house, the sincere veneration she now had for her made him sympathize in all the disquiets he was sensible she sustained; but when he heard this cruel husband was no more, and, at the same time, was informed in what manner she behaved, both in his last moments, and after his decease, nothing, not even his love, could equal his admiration of her virtue and her prudence.

What would he not now have given to have seen her! but he knew such a thing was utterly impracticable; and to attempt it might lose him all the tenderness she had for him: his impatience, however, would not suffer him to seem altogether passive and unconcerned at an event of so much moment to the happiness of them both; and he resolved to write, but to find terms to express himself so as not to offend either her delicacy, by seeming too presuming, or her tenderness, by a pretended indifference, cost him some pains; but, at length, he dictated the following little billet.

'To Mrs. Munden.

Madam,

I send you no compliments of condolence; but beg you to be assured, that my heart is too deeply interested in every thing that regards you, to be capable of feeling the least satisfaction while yours remains under any inquietude: all I wish at present is, that you would believe this truth; which, if you do, I know you have too much justice, and too much generosity, to lavish all your commiseration on the insensible dead, but will reserve some part for the living, who stand most in need of it. I dare add no more as yet, than that I am, with an esteem perfect and inviolable, Madam, your most obedient, most devoted, and most faithful servant,

C. Trueworth.'

These few lines, perhaps, served more to raise the spirits of Mrs. Munden than all she could receive from any other quarter; she nevertheless persevered in maintaining the decorum of her condition; and as she had resolved to retire into L——e in case of a separation from her husband, she thought it most proper to fix her residence in that place in her state of widowhood, at least for the first year of it.

Accordingly, she wrote to Lady Trusty to acquaint her with her intentions, and received an answer such as she expected, full of praises for her conduct in this point, and the most pressing invitations to come down with all the speed she could.

What little business she had in London was soon dispatched, and all was ready for her quitting it within a month after the death of Mr. Munden: places for herself and her maid were taken in the stagecoach—all her things were packed up, and sent to the inn; she thought nothing now remained but to take leave of Lady Loveit, whom she expected that same evening, being the last she was to stay in town; but, near as her departure was, fortune in the mean time had contrived an accident, which put all her fortitude, and presence of mind, to as great a trial as she had ever yet sustained.

Lady Loveit, having got a cold, had complained of some little disorder the day before; and though nothing could be more slight than her indisposition, yet, as she was pretty far advanced in her pregnancy, the care of her physician, and the tenderness of Sir Bazil, would not permit her by any means to expose herself to the open air.

Mrs. Munden being informed by a messenger from her of what had happened, found herself under an absolute necessity of waiting on her, as it would have been ridiculous and preposterous, as well as unkind, to have quitted the town for so long a time without taking leave of a friend such as Lady Loveit.

She could not think of going there without reflecting at the same time how strong a probability there was of meeting Mr. Trueworth; she knew, indeed, that he did not live at Sir Bazil's, having heard he had lately taken a house for himself; but she knew also, that his close connection with that family made him seldom let slip a day without seeing them; she therefore prepared herself as well as she was able for such an interview, in case it should so happen.

That gentleman had dined there; and on finding Lady Loveit was forbid going abroad, and Sir Bazil unwilling to leave her alone, had consented to stay with them the whole day: they were at ombre when Mrs. Munden came, but on her entrance threw aside the cards; Lady Loveit received her according to the familiarity between them, and Sir Bazil with little less freedom; but Mr. Trueworth saluted her with a more distant air. 'I had not the honour, Madam,' said he, 'to make you any compliments on either of the great changes you have undergone; but you have always had my best wishes for your prosperity.'

Mrs. Munden, who had pretty well armed herself for this encounter, replied with a voice and countenance tolerably well composed, 'Great changes indeed, Sir, have happened to us both in a short space of time.'—'There have so, Madam,' resumed he; 'but may the next you meet with bring with it lasting happiness!' She easily comprehended the meaning of these words, but made no answer, being at loss what to say, which might neither too much embolden, nor wholly discourage, the motive which dictated them.

After this, the conversation turned on various subjects, but chiefly on that of Mrs. Munden's going out of town: Mr. Trueworth said little; Lady Loveit, though she expressed an infinite deal of sorrow for the loss of so amiable a companion, could not forbear applauding her resolution in this point; but Sir Bazil would fain have been a little pleasant on the occasion, if the grave looks of Mrs. Munden had not put his raillery to silence. Perceiving the day was near shut in, she rose to take her leave; it was in vain that they used all imaginable arguments to persuade her to stay supper; she told them, that as the coach went out so early, it was necessary for her to take some repose before she entered upon the fatigue of her journey; Lady Loveit on this allowed the justice of her plea, and said no more.

The parting of these ladies was very moving; they embraced again and again, promised to write frequently to each other, and mingled tears as they exchanged farewels. Sir Bazil, who had really a very high esteem for her, was greatly affected, in spite of the gaiety of his temper, on bidding her adieu; and happy was it for Mrs. Munden that the concern they were both in hindered them from perceiving that confusion, that distraction of mind, which neither she nor Mr. Trueworth were able to restrain totally the marks of as he approached to make her those compliments, which might have been expected on such an occasion, even from a person the most indifferent; his tongue, indeed, uttered no more than words of course, but his lips trembled while saluting her; nor could she in that instant withhold a sigh, which seemed to rend her very heart: their mutual agitations were, in fine, too great not to be visible to each other, and left neither of them any room to doubt of the extreme force of the passion from which they sprang.

The motive which had made her refuse staying supper at Sir Bazil's, was to prevent Mr. Trueworth from having any pretence to wait upon her home, not being able to answer how far she could support her character, if exposed to the tender things he might possibly address her with on such an opportunity; and she now found, by what she had felt on parting with him, how necessary the precaution was that she had taken.

After a night less engrossed by sleep than meditation, she set out for L——e, where she arrived without any ill accident to retard her journey; and was received by Sir Ralph and Lady Trusty with all those demonstrations of joy, which she had reason to expect from the experienced friendship of those worthy persons.

As this was the place of her nativity, and her father had always lived there in very great estimation, the house of Lady Trusty at first was thronged with persons of almost all conditions, who came to pay their compliments to her fair guest; and as no circumstance, no habit, could take from her those charms which nature had bestowed upon her, her beauty and amiable qualities soon became the theme of conversation through the whole country.

She was not insensible of the admiration she attracted; but was now far from being elated with it: all the satisfaction she took out of her dear Lady Trusty's company was in reading some instructive or entertaining book, and in the letters of those whom she knew to be her sincere friends; but she had not been much above two months in the country before she received one from a quarter whence she had not expected it. It was from Mr. Trueworth, and contained as follows.

'To Mrs. Munden.

Madam,

I have the inexpressible pleasure to hear that you are well by those whom you favour with your correspondence; but, as they may not think any mention of me might be agreeable to you, I take the liberty myself to acquaint you that I live; and flatter myself that information is sufficient to make you know that I live only to be, with the most firm attachment, Madam, your eternally devoted servant,

C. Trueworth.'

These few lines assuring her of his love, and at the same time of his respect, by his not presuming once to mention the passion of which he was possessed, charmed her to a very high degree, and prepared her heart for another, which, in a few weeks after, he found a pretence for sending to her. It contained these lines.

'To Mrs. Munden.

I am now more unhappy than ever; Lady Loveit is gone out of town, and I have no opportunity of hearing the only sounds that can bless my longing ears: in pity, therefore, to my impatience, vouchsafe to let me know you are in health—say that you are well—it is all I ask. One line will cost you little pains, and be no breach of that decorum to which you so strictly adhere; yet will be a sovereign specifick to restore the tranquillity of him who is, with an unspeakable regard, Madam, your unalterable, and devoted servant,

C. Trueworth.'

Mrs. Munden found this epistle so reasonable, and withal couched in such respectful terms, that she ought not to refuse compliance with it; and, accordingly, wrote to him in this manner.

'To Charles Trueworth, Esq.

Sir,

The generous concern you express for my welfare demands a no less grateful return. As to my health, it is no way impaired since I left London; nor can my mind labour under any discomposure, while my friends continue to think kindly of me. I am, with all due respect, Sir, yours, &c.

B. Munden.'

Upon this obliging answer he ventured to write again, intreating her to allow a correspondence with him by letters while she remained in L——e; urging, that this was a favour she could not reasonably deny to any friend who desired it with the same sincerity she must be convinced he did.

Mrs. Munden paused a little; but finding that neither her virtue nor her reputation could any way suffer by granting this request, her heart would not permit her to deny both him and herself so innocent a satisfaction; and by the next post gave him the permission he petitioned for, in these words.

'To Charles Trueworth, Esq.

Sir,

I should be unjust to myself, as well as ungrateful to the friendship with which you honour me, should I reject any proofs of it that are consistent with my character to receive and to return: write, therefore, as often as you think proper; and be assured I shall give your letters all the welcome you can wish, provided they contain nothing unsuitable to the present condition of her who is, as much as you ought to expect, Sir, yours, &c.

B. Munden.'

After this, an uninterrupted intercourse of letters continued between them for the whole remainder of the year. Mr. Trueworth was for the most part extremely cautious in what manner he expressed himself; but whenever, as it would sometimes so happen, the warmth of his passion made him transgress the bounds which had been prescribed him, she would not seem to understand, because she had no mind to be offended.

Thus equally maintaining that reserve which she thought the situation she was in demanded, and at the same time indulging the tenderness of her heart for a man who so well deserved it, she enjoyed that sweet contentment which true love alone has the power of bestowing.