Wherein family-pride awakens those natural affections which family-pride had suppressed.
It was not long before I had this opportunity. She desired me one day to walk with her in the garden, having something to communicate to me greatly to my advantage; and, after a profound silence of about ten minutes, she looked archly at me, and asked me if I could guess what she had been doing for me? Indeed I cannot, madam, replied I. Well then I will tell you, said she, nothing less, I assure you, than providing you a husband. Indeed! said I, laughing, and pray, madam, who is this intended husband? Come, come, said she gravely, before I tell you who he is, you must promise me to make no silly objections; such as age, not being a fine gentleman, and the like. The person I have in my eye for you is a sober staid man, and blessed with means to support you handsomely, without depending upon any body. That indeed is something, replied I; but who is this person, madam? I have a good mind, said she, to tantalize you a little, by keeping you in suspence;—but in short the person I mean is honest Mr. Jones.
“Although I expected some very absurd and impertinent proposal, yet my imagination had never reached any thing so ridiculous as this Mr. Jones; for I had had his history from himself some time before. He had been taken by her father out of a parish-school, because he understood writing and accounts, to keep his books for him. Upon his young mistress’s marriage, he was advanced to be a clerk in her husband’s office; and here, having scraped up a little money, he made some successful ventures in trade, and had acquired about two thousand pounds. After Sir John’s death, my lady made him her steward, with a salary of fifty pounds a-year; and he was in this honourable and lucrative post, when she proposed him as a husband for me.
“My surprise was succeeded by a strong inclination to laugh, which, indeed, I took no pains to suppress; and pray, madam, said I, has this grave personage expressed any good liking to me?
“I hope you are not jesting, said she.—Why, did you expect me to be serious, replied I, upon such a proposal?
“Such a proposal, miss! repeated lady Manning colouring: if my daughter was in your circumstances, I should not be sorry such a proposal was made to her. Very likely, madam, returned I, and it might be more proper than to Mr. Courteney’s daughter, and the niece of the earl of ——
“This may look like vanity, my dear miss Woodby; but I confess I was excessively shocked at her levelling me with her daughter, when riches were out of the question; for I was contented to allow her all the superiority she could derive from them. Lady Manning made me a smarter answer, and delivered with more calmness than I expected from her.
“If the earl of ——, said she, behaved more like an uncle to you, miss, it would be oftener remembered that you are his niece; but, as it is, I do not know whether it may not be an advantage to you, to have it forgot; for there are very few gentlemen of small fortunes who would choose an indigent woman of quality for a wife.
“I hope however, madam, said I, that none but a gentleman will presume to offer himself to me; and I shall take care not to justify my uncle’s neglect, by encouraging any improper address.—You are very much in the right, miss, said lady Manning, one unfortunate marriage in a family is enough.
“’Tis well, madam, replied I, bursting into tears, you mean my father’s, no doubt; but it was no otherwise unfortunate than that it had not the sanction of my grand-father’s consent; my mother’s excellencies justified his choice; and she might have had a fortune too, though not equal to what he might have expected, if it had not been trusted in the hands of a villain, who broke to leave his own children fortunes, as many other villains have done.
“This last hint threw lady Manning into some confusion; for it was suspected that her grand-father, who was a corn-factor,17 had done the like: and, whether it was that she was afraid of my speaking still plainer, or that she was really concerned for having given me such just reason to complain of her, she thought fit to beg my pardon for what was past, and assured me, that whatever I might think of her, she was unalterably my friend.
“In my first emotions of resentment, I had resolved to write to Mr. Damer, and acquaint him with the treatment I had met with, which I knew would bring him immediately to my relief: but I considered that my leaving lady Manning in disgust might have disagreeable consequences; for she would not fail to represent every thing in such a manner as to make me appear in the wrong, and the world seldom espouses the part of the oppressed, because they who oppress have that on their side which is sure to exculpate them; they are rich: besides, the summer was now almost past, and she talked of going soon to London, where I could take an opportunity of leaving her without any noise, and of putting myself immediately under my guardian’s protection; but I was delivered from this disagreeable situation sooner than I expected, and by means which I had then no reason to hope for.
“Lady Manning was desirous of spending a few weeks at Bath before she returned to London. A lady happened to be there at that time, who, I afterwards learned, was my great aunt by my father’s side, and had followed the example of every branch of his family, in taking no notice of him after his marriage.
“This lady, lady Manning became acquainted with; and not knowing the relation in which she stood to me, she began one day to exclaim against the pride and folly of people in low circumstances, who expect to be considered on account of their birth, producing me as an instance, and relating how I had refused an honest man whom she had proposed to me for a husband, because he was not a gentleman, repeating my own words with a sneer; and therefore—Not a proper match for Mr. Courteney’s daughter.
“This being the first time she had named me, lady Meadows (for it was her) cried out in some astonishment, what, madam, is that pretty young lady (so she was pleased to say) that I saw with you once in the rooms, Mr. Courteney’s daughter?
“Lady Manning answering in the affirmative—good heaven! said lady Meadows, and have I lived to hear one of my family spoken of with such contempt?
“One of your family, madam! interrupted lady Manning, surprised.
“Yes, said lady Meadows, one of my family, who has done you too much honour to accept of an obligation from you; how could you presume to propose your scoundrel steward for a husband to my niece? but I will take her out of your hands immediately; you shall be paid for her board; my nephew’s daughter shall not lie under an obligation to any upstart cit.18
“It is not to be doubted that lady Manning replied with great bitterness; but lady Meadows, from whom I afterwards had these particulars, was in too much emotion to listen to her. She immediately quitted the walk, for they were on the Parade;19 and getting into her chariot, told lady Manning, that she was going to her lodgings to fetch me away.
“Thus, my dear miss Woodby, did I recover a relation, a friend, a benefactress, in a woman, who for many years, had had no intercourse with my father, and disclaimed him, as the rest of his relations had done, on account of his marriage: she whose resentment could not be softened by time; whose compassion could not be awakened by distress; she who had silenced the soft pleadings of nature, yet listened to the voice of pride; and from a sense of the affront that had been offered her family, in the husband proposed to me, she did all that a better motive could have suggested her to do.
“You may imagine I was greatly surprised, when a servant informed me, that lady Meadows was at the door in her chariot, and desired I would come to her. I had often heard my father mention this aunt of his, from whom, before his marriage, he had great expectations. I went down stairs in much confusion of mind, not knowing what this summons could mean, yet presaging some good; and as soon as I appeared, lady Meadows let down the glass, and desired me to come into the chariot. Her footman instantly opening the door, I got in, and placed myself by her, expecting when she would speak, and anxiously longing for an explanation.
“Lady Meadows gazed at me in silence, during some moments; then taking my hand, My dear, said she in a tender accent, you are very like your father. Poor Ned! added she with some emotion, he was not kindly used.—The tears streamed from my eyes at this mention of my father. I observed lady Meadows was greatly affected. Oh nature! thought I, why were thy tender feelings suppressed so long? Don’t weep, my dear, said she, I will be both father and mother to you.
“Had I been in another place, I should have thrown myself at her feet, to express my gratitude for this affectionate promise. I could not speak at that moment; I took her hand, kissed it, and wet it with my tears. She kindly wiped my eyes with her own handkerchief; then looking again in my face, as if with pleasure, you are like your mother too, I suppose, said she: I never saw her, but I have heard that she was very handsome.
“This obliging manner of mentioning my mother, which I so little expected from her, quite subdued me. My dear, said she, what is past cannot be helped; you are my daughter now; you shall be no longer obliged to lady Manning.—That woman, pursued she, rising in her temper as she spoke, has herself told me the insolence of her treatment of you; she then gave me an account of what had passed upon the Parade, as I have already related to you.
“Lady Manning thought to have injured me in your opinion, said I, and she has made me happy, by awakening your tenderness for me: I now forgive her for all her insults.
“But I never will forgive her, interrupted lady Meadows.—As soon as we come to my lodgings, you shall send for your cloaths, and never more enter her doors.
“I was very unwilling to part with lady Manning in this manner, and pressed my aunt to allow me to go and take leave of her civilly; but she positively refused, and I found she could not endure the least contradiction, which is indeed one of her foibles. I therefore contented myself with writing to her, and acquainted her with lady Meadow’s resolution in my favour; I made the best apology I could for leaving her so suddenly, and expressed some concern at the misunderstanding there was between lady Meadows and her, which made it impossible for me to wait on her.
“Politeness, my dear, is sometimes a great tax upon sincerity. Lady Manning had certainly treated me very ill, and in strict justice I was not obliged to shew any respect to a woman who had violated all the laws of hospitality with regard to me; but custom decides arbitrarily in these cases; and persons in a certain condition of life, make a science of hating one another with all the good breeding and complaisance imaginable.
“Lady Manning, according to this rule, returned a civil answer to my letter, wished me all happiness, and wherever she went, let loose all the asperity of her tongue against me. One calumny propagated by her hurt me more than the rest: she confidently reported that I had sacrificed my conscience to my interest; and that upon my aunt’s promising to settle her whole fortune upon me at her death, I had turned Roman catholick: for lady Meadows had been perverted to that religion by her husband, and, like all proselytes, was extremely bigotted to her new principles.
“I thought it became me to discountenance this report as much as possible; therefore I was more regular than ever in my attendance at church; and although my aunt, after we came to London, would often have engaged me to go to mass with her, intending no doubt to work me to her purpose by degrees; yet I constantly and steddily refused to gratify her in this particular, though in every other I studied to oblige her as much as possible. She would often engage me in arguments upon the subject of religion, which I generally strove to evade; and when I found that would not do, I defended myself with great courage, and with so much success, that she would tell me with an air, half smiling, half angry, I was too hard for her, and that she would consign me over to her chaplain.
“This chaplain, whose name is Danvers, is a priest of the order of the Jesuits: he had been recommended to lady Meadows by her late husband, whose memory she adored; and this powerful interest, joined to the jesuit’s insinuating manners, acquired him so great credit with lady Meadows, that she governed herself wholly by his advice; and that the great work of her salvation might be perfected, and her every word and action be under his direction, he lived in the house with her, where he ruled in a most arbitrary manner; his absolute empire over the conscience of my lady, rendering his dominion over all that had any dependance on her as uncontroled as he could desire.”
Here Henrietta stopped, observing her friend to look at her watch, which produced an exclamation that the reader will find in the following chapter.