Containing an account of some difficulties our heroine was involved in, arising from an old exploded notion, that interest ought not to be the sole consideration in marriage.
Full of these melancholy reflections, I resolved to write to Mr. Damer, acquaint him with what had passed, and intreat his advice in the uneasy and perplexed state of my mind. Not that I had the least intention of being governed by it, if he recommended to me compliance with my aunt’s commands in favour of the baronet; but this I was well assured, from his good sense and natural rectitude of mind, he would not do, since it could never be supposed that such a man could be my choice; but I was willing to stand clear in his opinion, and pay him the deference that was due to the quality of guardian which he had so kindly assumed.
“I had been writing near two hours, for I had given him a circumstantial detail of every thing that had passed with regard to the baronet, whose character I treated with great contempt; but what was worse, my aunt herself did not escape some satirical strokes of my pen for her ready concurrence with the old man’s proposals; and although I mentioned her (as it was my duty) with all imaginable love and respect, yet I could not help humorously rallying upon some of her notions, which were really odd enough, and I placed them in the most glaring light.
“The prodigious length of my letter first gave me notice that I had been a long time thus employed; and, looking at my watch, I found it was past our usual hour for tea, and wondered that I had not been summoned down stairs. I therefore made haste to conclude my letter, that I might send it to the post, when my aunt unfortunately entered the room. I started up from my chair when I saw her; and, hastily crushing the letter all in my hand, I put it into my pocket, not without betraying some signs of confusion.
“So, Henrietta, said my aunt, have I caught you? Caught me! madam, said I, considering whether she might not have been looking over my shoulder while I was writing so saucily about her; for guilt like love makes every thing seem possible that we fear. Yes, said she, have you not been writing? Nay, don’t deny it, pursued she (for I hesitated and knew not what to say, lest she should desire to see my letter) it is no wonder that poor Sir Isaac Darby was rejected with so much scorn, when there is a favoured lover with whom you correspond privately.
“Bless me, madam, cried I, who has told you so? I correspond privately with a favoured lover!—This is some cruel calumny invented by an enemy to deprive me of your good opinion. Well, said my aunt, shew me the letter you conveyed so hastily into your pocket upon my appearance, and then I shall know what to think.
“You never, madam, replied I, used to desire to see my letters; nor would you now, but in consequence of some suspicion very unfavourable to me. That suspicion, interrupted my aunt, whatever it is, will be greatly strengthened by your refusing to shew me what you have been writing.
“Surely, madam, replied I, that is not just, I may have been writing to Mr. Damer, or to my brother. To your brother, said my aunt, I am certain you was not writing, because you have not heard from him for several months, and don’t know how to direct to him (which indeed was but too true). It is possible that you were writing to Mr. Damer; but why refuse to shew me your letter? you can have no transactions with him that I ought not to be acquainted with: but I am persuaded that letter was not designed for Mr. Damer; and there needs no more to convince me that you are carrying on a private, and therefore an improper correspondence, than your thus obstinately refusing to shew it me.
“My aunt had reason for what she said: nothing was more easy, if I was really innocent, than to shew her the letter, which would remove her suspicions; but this, as I had managed that fatal letter, it was impossible for me to do. By not shewing it, I confirmed those suspicions she had so unjustly conceived, which might indeed have disagreeable consequences; but by shewing it, I was sure to incur her resentment for the liberties I had taken with her.
“How did I that moment inwardly regret my vanity, which had suffered me to rally the faults of a person on whom I so absolutely depended, merely to display my wit. I was so vexed at the dilemma to which I had reduced myself, that I burst into tears.
“Oh! I see how it is, said my aunt, keep your letter, Henrietta, I am convinced sufficiently. She hurried out of my chamber at these words. Shocked to the soul at having thus incurred the imputation of entertaining a secret lover, I went after her, resolving in that first emotion to shew her the letter, and rather be thought ungrateful to her, than guilty of an imprudence so disadvantageous to my character; but she was already at the bottom of the stairs, and I had time to make new reflections which prevented my former purpose.
“I considered that since there was no foundation for her fears of my listening to a private address, I might easily find means to undeceive her, and justify myself; but if I shewed her a letter, in which she was mentioned with so great freedom, I might possibly never be able to remove those ill impressions of me which she would doubtless receive, and I should be all my life branded for ingratitude.
“I was so terrified at this thought, that I resolved to put it out of my power to expose myself to such a misfortune, by destroying the fatal letter, which I did with a precipitation that left no time for second thoughts. When this was over, I expected to have found myself more calm and easy, but it was quite otherwise. I had given foundation to believe that I was engaged in a love-intrigue; for surely all clandestine addresses may be termed so, since there is too much mystery, contrivance, and little arts, necessary to them, not to give great pain to a delicate mind. I burst into tears at the reflection. My aunt’s woman, who had a very tender regard for me, came into my chamber, and, finding me so disordered, begged to know what had happened.
“I related every thing that had passed between my aunt and I, but did not own to all the little freedoms I had taken with her in my letter; yet said enough to convince her, that I could not well show it to my aunt.
“Mrs. White, for that was her name, was very much concerned for my situation: she told me, that her lady and Mr. Danvers were in close conference. It is certainly he, said she, who has infused these suspicions into my lady, which, by this unfortunate circumstance of the letter, are now confirmed: she gave me such plain hints of the chaplain’s selfish dispositions and designs, that it seemed highly probable he would spare no artifices to lessen my aunt’s affection for me; for, since he had failed in making me a convert, which perhaps might have answered other views, he was desirous of keeping my aunt entirely to himself, and so manage her conscience, which he had the direction of, as that holy mother-church and he might divide her spoils.
“All this considered, my condition seemed so dangerous, that I begged Mrs. White to send a porter with a message from me to Mr. Damer, desiring to see him; for I resolved to regulate my conduct on this occasion wholly by his advice. She left me to do what I had desired her; and I remained alone in my chamber till nine o’clock, at which time I was summoned to supper.
“I found only my aunt and Mr. Danvers: I was a little confused; for knowing what suspicions I laboured under in my aunt’s mind, I thought I had the air of a guilty person, and I felt that I blushed, and blushed the more for that reason.
“My aunt looked very coldly upon me; Mr. Danvers had the appearance of one that was very much concerned that all was not well between us: my aunt scarce spoke three words during supper; it was not my part surely to talk much; and Mr. Danvers accommodated himself to the present temper of my aunt; so that this was a very gloomy meal.
“When the cloth was removed, I was going to withdraw, for it seemed as if my presence was a restraint upon my aunt; but I considered that such a step being unusual, would imply a consciousness of something wrong in me, and that being innocent, it was my part to seek an explanation. I therefore addressed myself to my aunt, and begged she would give me an opportunity of clearing myself, by telling me who had poisoned her mind with suspicions to my prejudice.
“The chaplain was about to leave the room upon my entering on this subject. There is no necessity, sir, said I, for your retiring; I dare say the cause of my aunt’s displeasure against me is no secret to you. My aunt has been told that I receive addresses from some man in private, and that I correspond with him; I declare this to be absolutely false, and I beg to know from whom you had your information, madam, said I, again directing myself to her, that I may refute this calumny; I am very confident the person who has thus maliciously injured me, will not dare to maintain the falshood to my face.
“Whether the chaplain thought this was meant for him, I know not; but although he had continued standing, as if he intended to leave us to ourselves, yet I had no sooner uttered these last words than he resumed his seat immediately, as if he would shew me he was not in the least affected by them; but I observed that he fixed his eyes upon my aunt, and expected her answer with some emotion.
“Before I comply with your condition, said my aunt, do you, Henrietta, agree to mine; let me see that letter you wrote to-day. I looked at the chaplain; I saw an alteration in his countenance, he was evidently more composed. Oh! thought I, sighing, how great would my triumph be, if I had this letter to show, and could show it without fear!
“You hesitate, Henrietta, pursued my aunt, why, if that letter was not to a lover, why do you refuse to produce it? I declare, madam, said I, upon my word and honour, that the letter was to Mr. Damer—Well, let me see it, said my aunt, and I shall be satisfied—I cannot show it to you, madam, replied I, in a faultering accent (for I dreaded the inference that would be drawn from what I was going to confess) I have torn it. Well, said my aunt, with a calmness that cost her some pains to maintain; and why did you tear it? it was not written to be torn, that is certain—But I will answer for you, niece, you tore it that I might not see it; and why might not I see it if it was to Mr. Damer—Again I protest, said I, that it was to him; but I did not chuse to let you see it, it was a long letter, full of impertinences: you would have thought I was very free in my observations on some particular persons, more free than became me perhaps—You might have been offended, and I tore it to prevent your seeing it.
“My aunt looked down, paused, and seemed not wholly dissatisfied with my manner of accounting for the reluctance I shewed to deliver my letter to her; but before she would declare herself, it was necessary she should consult her oracle, and that could not be done before me. She therefore put an end to the conversation, by ringing the bell for her woman. I attended her to her chamber, at the door of which she bade me good night, telling me, she would talk further with me in the morning.
“I endeavoured to make Mrs. White comprehend, by a look I gave her unobserved, that I wished to speak to her; and accordingly she came to me, after my aunt was in bed, and delivered the answer the porter had brought from Mr. Damer; he was out of town, but expected back in a week or two, was what the servants told him.
“Mrs. White repeated her offers of service to me, but dropped some expressions which shewed she would be glad to be assured that I really had no secret engagement which might justify my aunt’s concern.
“These doubts, hinted with great respect, were so far from being resented by me, that I conceived the better opinion of her discretion, and confided absolutely in her sincerity. I made her quite easy with regard to the subject of her fears; and she repaid this condescension with the kindest assurances of attachment to me and care of my interests.
“I went to bed, full of hope that I had in part removed my aunt’s suspicions, and relying on my innocence, I was persuaded I should soon restore myself to her good opinion; but innocence is not always a security to its possessor, because malice attains its ends by arts, which a good mind cannot conceive, and therefore is unable to guard against.
“Mrs. White informed me in a whisper, as I was going into my aunt’s dressing-room next morning, where we always breakfasted, that her lady and the chaplain had been talking together for half an hour. I drew no favourable omen from this intelligence, nor from my aunt’s looks, which were very cold and constrained.
“When breakfast was over, and Mr. Danvers had withdrawn, I expected she would enter into some conversation with me on the subject of the letter; but finding she talked of indifferent things, I took occasion to mention it myself, and begged to know if she had any doubts still remaining in her mind.
“Surely, replied my aunt, you think I am a person that can be very easily imposed upon. Then you are resolved, madam, said I, with some peevishness (for indeed I was horridly vexed to find her so strongly prejudiced) to believe I encourage a clandestine address, notwithstanding every appearance to the contrary.
“No indeed, interrupted my aunt, I am not so unreasonable, miss; it is because there are very strong appearances against you, that I am forced to believe what you would not have me—that letter, Henrietta—but no more on this subject at present, I am going to my house near Windsor forest tomorrow; we shall there have leisure enough to talk over this affair, and there I shall open my mind freely to you. I curtesied and was silent.
“My aunt took me with her to pay some morning visits, and seemed to be in very good humour; but her words, that she would open her mind freely to me at Windsor, gave me a great deal of anxiety. I did not doubt but I was to be prest again on the subject of sir Isaac Darby, and I was prepared for an obstinate resistance; but I was apprehensive that this resistance to my aunt’s will, meeting with the unaccountable suspicions she had entertained, would infallibly ruin me with her. O my brother! thought I, why are you not here to countenance and protect me; or why have you so long neglected me, as to leave me in suspence whether I have a brother or not!
“This thought, and several others no less painful, spread an air of pensiveness and melancholy on my countenance, which my aunt, as I perceived, by some hints that dropped from her, interpreted to my disadvantage. In short, my dear, she imputed my pensiveness to the concern I was under at leaving town, as I could not expect to have many opportunities of seeing at Windsor this lover who had possession of my heart.
“You cannot imagine, miss Woodby, how much I suffered in being obliged to restrain my indignation at being thus treated; to have a phantom of a lover conjured up to teaze me with, and to combat suspicions which had not the least foundation, but in prejudice and caprice, against which plain truth and reason were very unequal arms: for how should reason remove what would never have been admitted, if reason had not been first set aside? Nothing was ever more improbable than that I should have a secret lover: I never went any where without my aunt; her visiters were mine; I could see no body without her knowledge: how was this engagement formed? But her chaplain had doubtless assured her, that I had a secret engagement, and she piously believed him, in contradiction to her own judgment: this was one of those cases that required an implicit faith; and in matters of faith, you know, Roman catholics are not permitted to exercise their reason.
“We set out next morning for Windsor: the chaplain and my aunt’s woman being in the coach, the conversation was wholly upon indifferent things. After dinner was over, my aunt took me into her closet, and entered into a long discourse, which it would tire you to repeat—but the substance of it was my unhappy situation, when she took me out of the hands of lady Manning—her tenderness for me; the great things she designed to do for me, nothing less than making me her sole heir; the folly of marrying for love, exemplified in my father’s marriage; her fears that I was going to throw myself away on some young fop, who would make me miserable; sir Isaac Darby’s generous passion for me, his great estate, the handsome settlements he proposed to make; and lastly, the pleasure I would give her, by suiting in this case my inclinations to my interest.
“To all this I answered very particularly; I acknowledged she had shewn a parental tenderness for me, and I had paid her, and ever would pay her, I said, the duty and obedience due from a child to a parent: that in the article of marriage, my natural parents would certainly have allowed me a negative voice, which was all I claimed now, since I was absolutely resolved not only never to marry without her consent, but not to admit of any address which she disapproved. I begged her never to propose sir Isaac Darby to me again, because my heart wholly rejected him; though at the same time I protested (as I might well do) that my affections were entirely disengaged.
“All your asseverations, replied my aunt (who had listened to me with many signs of impatience) signify nothing without you marry sir Isaac Darby; and by that only shall I be convinced that your head does not run upon some wild showy fellow, who will make your heart ake.
“Here (continued she) is a baronet of an ancient family, a large estate, of good morals, not disagreeable in his person—but what is person in a man? who loves you, who will make you a large jointure,22 who gives you a title, place, equipage, all that a prudent sensible woman can desire, and you refuse him; grant that he is older than you, he has the more wisdom—(O my dear, how difficult it was for me to forbear laughing here); but you are not in love with him—let me tell you, Henrietta, that is not a plea for a young woman of delicacy—What, is it not possible for you to make a good wife to an honest gentleman, without bringing with you all that romantic passion which forces girls to jump out of windows to get to their fellows! and, for the sake of a man who possibly a few weeks before was an absolute stranger to them, break through every tie of natural affection, and, to be a wife, be contented to be neither daughter, sister, nor niece?
“I was going to speak—My aunt in a peremptory manner laid her hand on my mouth. I will not hear a word more, said she, on this subject; if you refuse to give your hand to sir Isaac, I know what I am to think—I allow you two days to consider of it. Hitherto I have treated you as my own child; if you comply you shall find me a mother, if not I am only your aunt; and you know how some who stand in that degree of relation to you behave. This was pretty plain, my dear; I was so shocked that I suffered my aunt to go out of the closet without making any answer; and retired to my own chamber to weep in freedom.”