Contains a discovery which it is hoped the reader will not be displeased with.
Good Heaven!” exclaimed Henrietta, in the utmost astonishment, “what can this mean?”
“Look you child,” said the citizen, “my daughter tells me you have stole her diamond bracelet: any body but myself would send you to prison directly; but I am tender-hearted, and consider, that though I could hang you for this robbery, yet that would be poor satisfaction for such a loss: therefore in compassion I will spare your life, provided you immediately restore the bracelet.”
Henrietta had by this time collected her scattered spirits, and comprehended the motive of this malicious accusation.
“May I not see miss Cordwain, sir?” said she, in a composed accent; “I am pretty sure that I can convince her she wrongs me greatly by this strange suspicion.”
“See her! what should you see her for?” replied the old man, “unless you will give me back the bracelet: you must not think to move her with your whining; her intreaties shall not save you if you are obstinate; so look to it: but come, perhaps you will have the grace to repent, and return the bracelet; come along.”
Saying this, he pulled her up stairs, and led her, with no great complaisance, into his daughter’s chamber, who sat exulting in her successful mischief, and the disgrace she had fixed upon the creature that presumed to rival her: a blush however dyed her cheeks at the sight of Henrietta, who, with a look that at once expressed the highest contempt of her mean accuser, and calm confidence in her own untainted innocence, asked her how she had so far offended her as to make her seek her life?
“Offended me, creature!” said miss Cordwain, “have you the assurance to imagine that I am uneasy because—because—You vain saucy flirt—who told you that I could be jealous of you? and so you suppose—but you shall produce my bracelet.”
“Ay, that she shall,” cried the citizen; “I wish we were in town, I would carry her before alderman Grey-goose immediately. Come, girl, don’t be a fool, but deliver up the bracelet, for this is hanging matter, let me tell you.”
“Do you really intend, madam,” said Henrietta, looking on miss Cordwain with a most contemptuous smile, “to go through with this malicious accusation? and are you resolved to perjure yourself, and swear that I have got your bracelet?”
“What does the creature mean!” interrupted miss Cordwain, colouring.
“My meaning is,” said Henrietta, “that your bracelet is certainly in your own possession; and that you pretend to have lost it only to fix a scandal upon me.”
“O my God!” cried miss Cordwain, putting her hand to her head: “the excessive insolence of this wench affects me so, I believe I shall faint—Dear papa, let her go about her business, I had rather lose ten bracelets than suffer so much uneasiness. Dear sir, let her go, one time or other she will meet with her deserts. She will not stop at this theft, but somebody else may bring her to justice; I will have nothing more to do with her.”
“Base woman?” cried Henrietta, almost choaked with rage. “No, I will not take the liberty you offer me: has our laws, think you, no punishment for a calumny like this, that strikes at life as well as reputation? You shall be forced to prove your charge, and my fame shall be cleared to your everlasting confusion.”
Miss Cordwain, conscious of her guilt, and apprehensive of the consequences of what she had done, knew not what answer to make to this menace. As for the citizen, he stared with stupid wonder upon the injured fair one: for the extraordinary emotion she was in, gave such vehemence to her utterance, and such fire to her eyes, that he even trembled, as if in the presence of some superior being. But poor Henrietta, after this sudden sally of rage, found her heart so oppressed with the indignity she had suffered, that she burst into a violent passion of tears.
Miss Cordwain was ready to renew her insults, when she found her so mortified, and her father being recovered from his pannic, again urged her to restore the bracelet; when a servant came in, and informed them, that dinner was going to be served, and that his lord and lady expected them in the dining-room.
Miss Cordwain immediately obeyed the summons, for she dreaded the conclusion of this affair. When she entered the room, the countess, who knew nothing of what had happened, seeing her look very pale, asked her, if she was well? and lord B——, who had promised his father to cure her jealousy by redoubled assiduity for the future, approached, and, with a well counterfeited tenderness, expressed his concern for her indisposition.
Miss Cordwain, who had been assured by her father that the earl earnestly desired the match between his son and her should go forward, resolved not to protract it by any shew of resentment at what was past, and therefore received his little assiduities with all the complaisance she was mistress of; but desirous of mortifying him in the person of her who had so greatly attracted his notice, as well as to give him an opinion of the softness of her disposition, she told him, that indeed she was prodigiously discomposed; that her maid had robbed her; “and my father,” added she, “threatens the poor wretch with a prosecution, and I was weak enough to be excessively shocked with her blubbering.”
“Has your maid robbed you, miss?” said the countess, extremely surprised.
“She has stolen a diamond bracelet from me this very morning, madam,” replied miss Cordwain.
“Impossible!” cried lord B——, in a transport that deprived him of all consideration; “miss Courteney could not be guilty of any thing mean or scandalous.”
These words were scarce uttered, when he discovered and repented of his indiscretion; but it was now too late to repair it.
“Miss Courteney!” repeated miss Cordwain, recovering from her surprise; “who is miss Courteney, my lord?”
The countess, perceiving her son was embarrassed, endeavoured to relieve him, by asking miss Cordwain some questions concerning her loss; but that young lady would not be diverted from her question.
“This creature has a variety of names, I suppose (said she): she hired herself to me by the name of Benson, and Courteney it seems is that she has been formerly known by. Sure I have been very unfortunate to get such a wretch to attend me.”
“Madam,” said lord B——, again thrown off his guard by his indignation at hearing a woman of Henrietta’s merit so grosly abused, “you don’t know who you are speaking of?”
“Why, do you know?” said the earl to his son, in an accent that shewed how extremely he was displeased with his imprudence.
“Yes, my lord (replied he) I do; and madam,” pursued he, addressing himself to miss Cordwain, “I am sure you will have candor enough to excuse my engaging with some warmth in the defence of the unfortunate young lady, who is now your servant, when you shall know that she is the niece of the earl of ——, and that it is her firm attachment to the religion she was brought up in, which hinders her from succeeding to a very large estate, and makes it necessary for her to go to service for a subsistence.”
This account brought tears into the eyes of the countess, who inly applauded herself for her discernment in the favourable sentiments she had conceived for Henrietta before she knew who she was.
The earl appeared moved, and was beginning to ask his son some questions concerning this fair unfortunate, when miss Cordwain fetched a deep sigh, and fell back in her chair.
Rage at this discovery of her rival’s birth and extraordinary merit, and terror, lest the scandalous accusation she had forged against her, should end in her own disgrace, operated so powerfully upon her spirits, that she fainted away.
While the countess supported her, lord B—— rang the bell very deliberately for assistance; and the earl, not much concerned at an accident, which he imputed to a jealousy that proved her passion for his son, took that opportunity to remind him that it was his interest to improve the affection this young woman had for him.
The countess, who had in vain searched her pockets for a smelling-bottle, ordered a servant, who appeared at the summons of the bell, to bring one off her toilet; when Mr. Cordwain entered the room, and, seeing his daughter in that condition, made but one step from the door to the place where she sat, exclaiming, “Oh! my child, what ails my child? is she dead?”
“Don’t be alarmed,” said the countess, “it is only a fainting fit, she will recover presently.”
Lord B——, who was ashamed to appear wholly inactive upon this occasion before his designed father-in-law, had presence of mind enough to take a decanter of water from the side-board, and sprinkle some of it on miss Cordwain’s face.
This remedy was applied so successfully, that she immediately opened her eyes, but the first object they met had like to have closed them again; for her father, hearing a smelling-bottle called for, remembered that she always carried one or two about her, and, searching her pockets with trembling haste, pulled out, with a smelling-bottle, the bracelet which she had concealed there, as a place where it was likely to be most secure, being subject to no search but her own.
The old man made none of those reflections upon this accident, which were obvious enough to every one else; but, perceiving his daughter was beginning to recover, presented the bracelet, instead of the smelling-bottle to her, conceiving the former to be the best restorative.
“See, child!” cried he, in a transport, “I have found your bracelet—come, you must be well now—I don’t wonder you was grieved: truly it would have been a great loss.”
Miss Cordwain flattered herself from the words I have found your bracelet, that her father had wit enough to save her from any reproach, by giving some favourable turn to the discovery; but in this she greatly over-rated his abilities.
“And where dost think I found it, child?” pursued the old man: “even in thy own pocket, as all the company can witness.”
“Very true;” said lord B——, maliciously.
“Was it found in my pocket?” said miss Cordwain. “Why then, to be sure, I pulled it off with my glove this morning, and forgot it: I protest I am sorry there has been so much noise made about it.”
“It is a pity indeed,” said the countess, “considering who the person is that was supposed to have stolen it.”
“O la! papa,” cried miss Cordwain, “you don’t know that my maid Henrietta is discovered to be a great lady. Upon my word it is true,” pursued she, seeing him look surprised.
“I am sorry to hear that,” said the citizen, rubbing his forehead; “for if she has friends, who will support her, she may commence a suit against me for Scandalum Magnatum,13 and what a power of money may I lose—See what comes of your heedlessness, girl. I protest I don’t know what to do.”
The countess, though she was vexed at the vulgar sarcasm of the daughter, was nevertheless desirous of freeing the old man from his uneasiness, as well as to have an excuse for visiting the injured young lady.
“I am persuaded (said she) that miss Courteney’s delicacy will prevent her from seeking any publick reparation for the affront she has suffered; but I will see her myself, and, if necessary, dissuade her from taking any resolution to your prejudice.”
Lord B——, who was talking to his father at a distant window, hearing this proposal, approached, and, by a look which he gave the countess his mother, seemed to bespeak her utmost tenderness and complaisance to the afflicted fair one.
Mr. Cordwain thanked her heartily for her kindness. “But, Odso!14 my lady,” cried he, stopping her as she was going out, “I beg your ladyship’s pardon, you must take the key up with you,” continued he, fumbling in his pockets, and at last pulling it out; “for when I came down, I locked the door for fear the bird should fly away.” With these words, he gave the countess the key, smiling and nodding his head in applause of his own sagacity.
The countess was extremely shocked to hear of this new indignity which the poor young lady had suffered, but she dissembled her concern, and silently withdrew.
Lord B—— again stole to a window to hide his emotions; and the earl, though greatly disgusted with the behaviour of both father and daughter, yet approached them with a complaisant air, and congratulated the latter on the recovery of her jewel.
Thus did these noble persons accommodate themselves to the manners of those whom they in secret despised; and, for the sake of a few paltry thousands, shewed the utmost solicitude to associate plebeian meanness in the honours of a noble ancestry, and to give title, rank, precedence, to one who would disgrace them all.