Читать книгу Barford Abbey, a Novel: In a Series of Letters - Mrs. Gunning - Страница 6

Table of Contents

Miss WARLEY to Lady MARY SUTTON, in continuation.

Barford Abbey.

I think I have told your Ladyship, I was to be honour'd with the coach to convey me to the Abbey.—About half an hour after one it arriv'd, when a card was deliver'd me from Lady Powis, to desire my friends would not be uneasy, if I did not return early in the evening, as she hop'd for an agreeable party at whist, Lord Darcey being at the Abbey.

Mrs. Jenkings informed me, his Lordship was a ward of Sir James's just of age;—his estate genteel, not large;—his education liberal—his person fine—his temper remarkably good.—Sir James, said she, is for ever preaching lessons to him, that he must marry prudently;—which is, that he must never marry without an immense fortune.—Ah! Miss Warley, this same love of money has serv'd to make poor Lady Powis very unhappy. Sir James's greatest fault is covetousness;—but who is without fault?—Lord Darcey was a lovely youth, continued she, when he went abroad; I long to see if he is alter'd by travelling.—Edmund and his Lordship were school-fellows:—how my son will be overjoy'd to hear he is at the Abbey!—I detain you, Miss Warley, or could talk for ever of Lord Darcey! Do go, my dear, the family will expect you.—Promise, said I, taking her hand—promise you will not sit up late on my account.—She answer'd nothing, but pressing me to her bosom, seem'd to tell me her heart was full of affection.

The old coachman, as we drove up the lawn, eyed me attentively, saying to the footman, It will be so, John, you may depend upon it.—John answer'd only by a shrug.—What either meant, I shall not pretend to divine.—As I came near the house, I met Mr. Jenkings almost out of breath, and, pulling the string, he came to the coach-side. I was hurrying home, my dear young Lady, said he, to—to—to—Now faith I'm afraid you'll be angry.

Angry with you, Sir!—angry with you, Mr. Jenkings!—is it possible!

Then, to be plain, Madam, I was hurrying home, to request you would wear no cap.—Never shall I forget how pretty you look'd, when I saw you without one!—Of all things, I would this day wish you might look your best.

To satisfy him I had taken some little pains in honour to the family, I let back the hood of my cloke.—He examin'd the manner in which my hair was dress'd, and smiled his approbation;—which smile, though only seen in the eyes, was more expressive than a contraction of all the other features.—Wishing me a happy day, he bid the coachman drive on.

Coming within sight of the Abbey, my heart beat as if breaking from confinement.—I was oblig'd to call it to a severe trial—to ask, Why this insurrection—whence these tumults?—My monitor reply'd, Beware of self-sufficiency—beware of its mortifying consequences.—

How seasonable this warning against the worst of foes!—a foe which I too much fear was stealing on me imperceptibly—else why did I not before feel those sensations?—Could I receive greater honour than has been conferr'd on me by the noblest mind on earth!—by Lady Mary?—Could I behold greater splendor than Lady Mary is possess'd of!—What affection in another can I ever hope for like Lady Mary's!—Thus was I arguing with myself, when the coach-door open'd, and a servant conducted me to the drawing-room—where, I was receiv'd by Sir James and Lady Powis with an air of polite tenderness;—a kind of unreserve, that not only supports the timid mind, but dignifies every word—every action—and gives to education and address their highest polish.

Lord Darcey was sitting in the window, a book in his hand;—he came forward as Sir James introduc'd me, who said, Now, my Lord, the company of this young Lady will make your Lordship's time pass more agreeably, than it could have done in the conversation of two old people.—My spirits were flutter'd; I really don't recollect his reply; only that it shew'd him master of the great art, to make every one pleas'd with themselves.

Shall I tell you, my dear Lady, what are my thoughts of this Lord Darcey?—To confess then, though his person is amazingly elegant, his manners are still more engaging.—This I look upon to be the natural consequence of a mind illumin'd with uncommon understanding, sweetness, and refinement.

A short time before dinner the chaplain made his appearance—a venerable old man, with hair white as snow:—what renders his figure to be completely venerated, is the loss of sight.—Her Ladyship rising from her seat, led me towards him: Mr. Watson, said she, I am going to introduce a lady whose brightest charms will soon be visible to you.—The best man in the world! whisper'd she, putting my hand in his;—which hand I could not avoid putting to my lips.—Thank you, Miss Warley, said her Ladyship, we all revere this gentleman.—Mr. Watson was affected, some drops stole from their dark prisons, and he bless'd me as if I had been his daughter:—my pleasure was exquisite—it seem'd as if I had receiv'd the benediction of an angel.

Our subjects turn'd more on the celestial than the terrestrial, till dinner was serv'd up—when I found that good knight which has been so long banish'd to the side-board, replac'd in his original station.

How different this table from many others! where genteel sprightly conversations are shut out; where such as cannot feast their senses on the genius of a cook, must rise unsatisfied.

A similitude of manners between your Ladyship and Lady Powis, particularly in doing the honours of the table, struck me so much, that I once or twice call'd her Lady Mary.—Pray, Miss Warley, ask'd she, who is this Lady Mary?

What could occasion her confusion!—what could occasion the confusion of Sir James!—Never did I see any thing equal it, when I said it was Lady Mary Sutton!—The significant looks that were interchang'd, spoke some mystery;—a mystery it would be presumption in me to dive after. Her Ladyship made no reply—Sir James was eager to vary the subject—and the conversation became general.

Though autumn is far advanc'd, every thing here wears the face of spring.—The afternoon being remarkably fine Lady Powis, Lord Darcey, and myself, strolled out amongst the sweets.—We walk'd a considerable time; his Lordship was all gaiety, talk'd with raptures of the improvements; declar'd every thing he had seen abroad fell short of this delightful spot; and now, my dear Lady Powis, added he, with an air of gallantry, I can see nothing wanting.

Nothing wanting! return'd her Ladyship, sighing:—Ah! my Lord, you are not a parent!—you feel nothing of a parent's woe!—you do not hourly regret the absence of a beloved and only son! Don't look serious, my dear Lord, seeing him somewhat abash'd, you have hitherto tenderly loved me.—Perhaps I had a mind to augment your affection, by bringing to your recollection I was not happy.—His Lordship made no reply, but, taking her hand, lifted it respectfully to his lips.

Mr. Jenkings is this moment coming up the lawn. I see him from window;—excuse me, my dear Lady, whilst I step to ask him how he does.

I have been accounting to Mr. Jenkings for not coming home last night. Good man! every mark of favour I receive, enlightens his countenance.—The reasons I have given him, I shall now proceed to give your Ladyship.

I said we were walking;—I have said the conversation was interesting;—but I have not said it was interrupted by Sir James and Mr. Watson, who join'd us just as Lord Darcey had quitted the hand of Lady Powis.—A visit was propos'd to the Dairy-house, which is about a mile from the Abbey.—In our way thither, I was full of curiosity, full of inquiries about the neighbourhood, and whose seats such and such were, that enrich'd adjacent hills?—The neighbourhood, reply'd her Ladyship, is in general polite and hospitable.—Yes, said Sir James, and more smart young men, Miss Warley, than are to be met with in every county.—Yonder, continued he, live Mr. and Mrs. Finch—very rich—very prudent, and very worthy;—they have one son, a discreet lad, who seems to promise he will inherit their good qualities.

That which you see so surrounded with woods, is Sir Thomas Slater's, a batchelor of fifty-five; and, let me tell you, fair Lady, the pursuit of every girl in the neighbourhood;—his estate a clear nine thousand a-year, and—Hold, hold, interrupted Lord Darcey, in compassion to us young fellows, say no more of this redoubtable batchelor.

Well then, continued Sir James, since my Lord will have it so—let me draw your eye, Miss Warley, from Sir Thomas Slater's, and fix it on Lord Allen's: Observe the situation!—Nothing can be more beautiful, the mind of its owner excepted.

That house on the left is Mr. Winter's.—Chance!—Strange chance!—has just put him in possession of an immense fortune, with which he is going to purchase a coronet for his daughter.—The fellow does not know what to do with his money, and has at last found an ape of quality, that will take it off his hands.

In this manner was Sir James characterising his neighbours, when a sudden and violent storm descended.—Half a mile from the Dairy-house, the rain fell in such torrents, that we were wet through, before a friendly oak offer'd us its shelter.—Never shall I forget my own or Lord Darcey's figure: he stripp'd himself of his coat, and would have thrown it over Lady Powis. Her Ladyship absolutely refusing it, her cloak being thick, mine the reverse, he forc'd it upon me. Sir James a assisting to put my arms into the sleeves.—Nor was I yet enough of the amazon:—they even compell'd me to exchange my hat for his, lapping it, about my ears.—What a strange metamorphose!—I cannot think of it without laughing!—To complete the scene, no exchange could be made, till we reach'd the Abbey.—In this droll situation, we waited for the coach; and getting, in, streaming from head to toe, it more resembled a bathing machine, than any other vehicle.

A gentleman, who, after a chace of ten hours, had taken shelter under the roof of Sir James, was, at our return, stamping up and down, the vestibule, disappointed both in his sport and dinner, shew'd an aspect cloudy as the heavens.—My mortification was scarce supportable, when I heard him roar out, in a voice like thunder, What the devil have we here?—I sprang to the top of the stairs in a moment—there stopp'd to fetch breath; and again the same person, who had so genteelly accosted me, said to Lord Darcey—Great improvements, upon my soul!—You are return'd a mighty pretty Miss.—What, is this the newest dress at Turin?—I heard no more; her Ladyship's woman came and shew'd me to an apartment—bringing from her Lady's wardrobe a chints négligée, and a suit of flower'd muslin; in which I was soon equipp'd.

Lady Powis sent to desire I would come to her dressing room; and, embracing me as I entered, said, with, an air of charming freedom, If you are not hurt, my dear, by our little excursion, I shall be quite in spirits this evening.

I am only hurt by your Ladyship's goodness. Indeed, return'd she, I have not a close heart, but no one ever found so quick a passage to it as yourself.—Oh! Lady Mary, this is surely a heart like yours!—A heart like Mrs. Whitmore's!—Was you not surpris'd, my dear, continued her Ladyship, to be so accosted by the gentleman below?—Take no notice of what is said by Mr. Morgan.—that is his name;—he means well, and never goes into any person's house, but where his oddities are indulg'd.—I am particularly civil to him; he was an old school-fellow of Sir James's, one whose purse was always open to him.—Sir James, Miss Warley, was rather addicted to extravagance in the beginning of his life;—that, in some respects, is revers'd latterly.—I have been a sufferer—yet is he a tender generous husband. One day you shall know more.—I had a son, Miss Warley—Here Sir James interrupted her.—I come to tell you, said he, that Lord Darcey and myself are impatient for our tea.

O fie! Sir James, return'd Lady Powis, talk of impatience before an unmarried Lady!—If you go on at this rate, you will frighten her from any connection with your sex.—Not at all—not at all, said Sir James; you take us for better for worse.—See there, Miss Warley smiles.—I warrant she does not think my impatience unseasonable.—I was going to reply, but effectually stopped by her Ladyship, who said, taking my hand, Come, my dear, let us go down.—I am fond of finding excuses for Sir James; we will suppose it was not he who was impatient:—we will suppose the impatience to be Lord Darcey's.

Whilst regaling ourselves at the tea table, Mr. Morgan was in the dining-parlour, brightening up his features by the assitance of the cook and butler.—We were congratulating each other on the difference of our present and late situation, declaring there was nothing to regret, when Mr. Morgan enter'd.—Regret! cry'd he—what do you regret?—Not, I hope, that I have made a good dinner on a cold sirloin and pickled oysters?—Indeed I do, said Lady Powis:—Had I thought you so poor a caterer, I should have taken the office on myself.—Faith then, reply'd he, you might have eat it yourself:—Forty years, my good Lady, I have made this house my home, and did I ever suffer you to direct what, or when, I should eat?—

Sir James laugh'd aloud; so did her Ladyship:—I was inclin'd to do the same—but afraid what next he would say;—However, this caution did not screen me from particular notice.

What the duce have I here! said he, taking one of my hands—a snow-ball by the colour, and feeling? and down he dropp'd it by the side of Lord Darcey's, which rested on the table.

I was never more confounded.

You are not angry, my pretty Lady, continued he:—we shall know one another better;—but if you displease me—I shall thunder.—I keep all in subjection, except the muleish kind, making a low bow to Sir James. Saying this, he went in pursuit of Mr. Watson.—They soon re-enter'd together; a card-table was produc'd; and we sat down at it, whilst they solac'd themselves by a good fire.

My attention was frequently taken from the cards, to observe how it was possible such opposites as Mr. Watson and Mr. Morgan cou'd be entertain'd by one another's conversation.—Never saw I any two seemingly more happy!—The chearfulness of the former augmented;—the voice of the latter at least three notes lower.—This has been since explain'd to me by Lady Powis.—Mr. Morgan, she says, notwithstanding his rough appearance, is of a nature so compassionate, that, to people defective in person or fortune, he is the gentlest creature breathing.

Our party broke up at nine.—I sat half an hour after supper, then propos'd returning to Mr. Jenkings's.—Lady Powis would not hear me on this subject—I must stay that night at the Abbey:—venturing out such weather would hazard my health.—So said Sir James; so said Lord Darcey.—As for Mr. Morgan, he swore, Was he the former, his horses should not stir out for fifty pieces, unless, said he, Sir James chooses to be a fellow-sufferer with Lord Allen, who I have led such a chace this day, that he was forced to leave poor Snip on the forest.—Saying which, he threw himself back in the chair, and fell into a sound sleep.—About eleven I retir'd to my chamber;—a message first being sent to Mr. Jenkings.—Instead of going immediately to bed, I sat down and indulg'd myself with the satisfaction of writing to my beloved Lady Mary.—This morning I got up early to finish my packet; and though I have spent half an hour with Mr. Jenkings, shall close it before her Ladyship is stirring.

Your commands, my dear Lady, are executed.—I have wrote Mrs. Smith; and as soon as I receive her answer, shall, with a joyful heart, with impatient fondness, prepare to throw at your Ladyship's feet,

Your much honour'd,

and affectionate,

F. WARLEY.