In which our heroine again appears very foolish.
Mean time our lovely heroine, who had been received by the countess’s woman with prodigious ceremony, and had, during a whole hour, listened with smiling attention to all the impertinences she uttered, was at length relieved from the fatigue of such conversation, and, with a profusion of compliments, conducted to a chamber contiguous to that of her mistress. As soon as she was left alone, she began to consider how she should extricate herself from the difficulties her unexpected meeting with lord B—— had involved her in.
Her delicacy was shocked at the thoughts of remaining in the house with a man who had made an attempt upon her honour, especially in the situation she now was; a situation that would seem to invite his future attacks: and, though he might well impute their meeting to the fantastick effects of chance, yet he would not fail to construe her stay into a tacit encouragement of that passion he had professed for her at parting, the dishonourable purport of which was evident from the engagements he had entered into with miss Cordwain.
She reflected also on the censures under which her character laboured at present, and was justly apprehensive, that when this part of her story was known, the malicious world would not fail to insinuate that she threw herself into lord B——’s way, and the inferences that would be drawn from such a supposed conduct, must needs be highly disadvantageous to her.
But, on the other hand, how could she quit miss Cordwain’s service so abruptly, without giving occasion for strange conjectures, and setting the tongue of malice loose to assign reasons for her behaviour, very different from the truth?
However, the inconveniencies, which might attend this step were light, compared with those she foresaw from exposing herself voluntarily to the pursuits of a young libertine, whose eyes in this last interview had spoken too plainly to leave her in doubt of his sentiments.
She therefore resolved to go away the next day; and, as soon as she was summoned to the toilet, acquainted miss Cordwain with her intention.
Henrietta was a scrupulous observer of truth, and would not on this occasion violate it, by forming any plausible excuse for her sudden determination; so that miss Cordwain, in whose breast the stings of jealousy had been rouzed by the passionate glances lord B—— had darted at her maid, began to entertain strange suspicions from so unexpected an overture; and, in a peremptory tone, demanded to know her reasons for quitting her service in such a manner.
Henrietta, with great sweetness, assured her that she did not desire to be dismissed in consequence of any discontent, but that the necessity of her affairs obliged her to return immediately to town.
“Your affairs!” said miss Cordwain, with a haughty sneer; “I vow it is mighty pretty to hear servants talk of their affairs, as if they really had any concerns of more consequence than the duty they owe their principals. I wonder you don’t tell me you have half a dozen engagements in town,” pursued she, laughing aloud; “such a speech would become you mightily: but prithee, go, creature; pack up your rags in a sheet of brown paper, and take yourself away. I suppose you have found out a new method of living, less mortifying to your pride of beggarly gentility than waiting upon a woman of fortune; and I doubt not but you will be shortly seen flaunting it in publick places with a flimsy sack, a painted face, and all the trappings of your trade.”
To this coarse abuse Henrietta listened in silence, beholding her imperious mistress all the time with such a calm, but steady eye, as called up a blush in those cheeks which had been before overspread with a livid paleness.
Not that she felt any remorse for the reproaches she had uttered, or was ashamed of her indecent transports, but Henrietta’s soft composure, the dignity of her silence, and the energetick expression in her eyes, struck a kind of awe into her mean-soul’d adversary; and, inly raging at the inferiority she was conscious of, she commanded her to be gone from her presence.
Henrietta instantly obeyed, and, meeting the countess’s woman as she went out of the room, she begged her to send a servant to the nearest inn to hire a post-chaise for her, being resolved to return to London that very day.
This well-bred Abigail9 expressed great concern that she was so soon to lose the honour of her company; and asked, with an appearance of anxiety, if she was not to return again?
Henrietta replied in the negative, at which the other seemed wonderfully surprised, though she was not ignorant of all that had passed between Henrietta and her lady; for, hearing miss Cordwain’s voice very loud, she had applied her ear to the key-hole, and needed no further information.
Our fair heroine having evaded the artful questions of this prying woman, and discouraged her reflections on her own lady, whom, in her general invective against the pride and caprice of mistresses, she did not spare, told her, she would have the pleasure of viewing the fine gardens that belonged to the house, before she went away; and Mrs. Smith promised to join her, as soon as she had executed the commission she was charged with.
Henrietta accordingly repaired to the gardens, full of reflections upon the scene that had lately passed. She entered a little covered ally that led to a grotto, which she had an inclination to take a view of; when, hearing the sounds of steps behind her, she looked back, supposing it was Mrs. Smith; but was not a little surprised to find it was lord B——, who, seeing her cross the terrace from his chamber-window, had followed her thither.
Henrietta, rightly judging that this encounter was not meerly accidental, turned her steps from the grotto, and struck into a less private walk. Lord B——, perceiving her intention, crossed immediately and met her, bowing profoundly low, and, with an air as respectful as if he was accosting a duchess, enquired after her health.
Henrietta, not at all flattered by this instance of respect, which he, by whom it was paid, considered as an act of supererogation, and that it would affect her accordingly, returned his compliment with the most graceful ease; and, smiling, told him, he must not now consider her as miss Courteney, but the servant of miss Cordwain.
“O that horrid appellation!” cried he; “What violence did I not do myself to behave to you as I did this morning! But tell me, for Heaven’s sake, madam, what has occasioned this transformation?”
“My aunt’s continued displeasure,” replied Henrietta; “your lordship has perhaps heard what circumstances my father died in: the station therefore in which you see me, ought not to be called a transformation; it is what I was born to, since I was born in indigence.”
“I cannot bear to hear you talk thus,” interrupted lord B——; “how could you think of subjecting yourself to a condition so unworthy of you, when you knew there was a man in the world that would have died to serve you!”
“I am not of a temper,” said Henrietta, “to be easy under great obligations; and servitude is, in my opinion, less shocking than dependence.”
“Why, do you talk of obligations,” said lord B——: “love knows no property; could you doubt that my fortune would be at your command. Suffer me, I conjure you,” pursued he, “to snatch you from this unworthy situation; can riches be better employed, than in supporting her I love?”
“My lord,” interrupted Henrietta, her face glowing with indignation, “this is an insult I could not have expected from one of your rank and politeness: I am fallen very low, indeed, when a man, who is upon the point of marriage with another, dares talk to me of love.”
“There are certain engagements,” replied lord B——, a little confused at the air with which she uttered these words, “in which the heart has no part.”
“Very likely,” interrupted Henrietta; “but it is sufficient for me to know, that the engagements your lordship has entered into, leaves you not the liberty of addressing me in this manner: and I look upon the professions you make me as the highest insult upon my distress.”
Lord B——, notwithstanding he found in this justifiable haughtiness the ruin of his hopes, could not help admiring a mind so rightly turned; humble with such propriety, and proud only when condescension would be meanness.
“This is not a time,” said he, “to tell you how far I am bound by those engagements you speak of; but, whatever they are, they ought not to deprive me of the happiness of doing you service.”
“I am obliged to you, my lord,” said Henrietta; “but, at present, the greatest service you can do me is to take no notice of me.”
In speaking these words, she courtesied, and would have left him; but he, not able to part with her thus, snatched her hand.
“You must not leave me,” said he, “till you promise to give me an opportunity of speaking to you more fully—Oh, how I love you!” cried he, gazing on her passionately.
“Again, this insulting declaration!” interrupted Henrietta, pulling her hand from him, and giving him a look full of scorn and anger, as she turned away.
“Hear me, madam,” cried he, pursuing her: “suffer me in the character of your friend, to offer you my services. My mother was formerly acquainted with lady Meadows: if it will be of any use to you, I will engage her to renew it, and offer her mediation betwixt your aunt and you. You must not, by heaven you must not, continue longer in so shocking a situation.”
This proposal, and the earnest manner in which it was made, drew Henrietta’s attention: angry as she was, she thought it merited a civil return.
“Doubt not, my lord,” said she, her charming eyes recovering their usual sweetness, “that I should be glad to consider you in the character of a friend: and the offer you now make me is so obliging, that I cannot dispense with myself from telling you my reasons for declining it.”
She then, in a few words, acquainted him with the purport of her aunt’s letter to her: “Such are the terms,” added she, “upon which a reconciliation with my aunt can be only effected; therefore the countess’s interposition in my favour, were she disposed to grant it, would be of no use.”
Lord B——, having before fully informed himself of every thing relating to miss Courteney, no sooner heard that for so trifling a compliance as the change of her religion it was in her power to secure lady Meadows’ estate to herself, which he knew to be very considerable, than he thought fit to alter his style, and declared that the affair between miss Cordwain and him was not carried so far to take from him the liberty of following his inclinations, and of offering her his hand; he begged her therefore to favour him with another interview in the morning, when he would explain himself further.
Henrietta perceiving the countess’s woman approaching, and unwilling to leave him in doubt with regard to her sentiments upon this new proposal, thus answered hastily:
“My lord, this can never be: there are many obstacles against it; you will find it very difficult to surmount those your own family will throw in your way; but, suppose that could be done, my scruples will raise others less easy perhaps to be overcome.”
She left him when she had said these few words, and went to meet Mrs. Smith, who told her she had procured a vehicle for her, and that it would be at the back gate in less than an hour; but, continued she, there is a strange confusion within, have you seen your lady?
Henrietta told her she had not.
“God knows what is the matter” said Mrs. Smith; “she went into the garden to look for you as I imagined, and returned a few minutes ago with a most wrathful countenance: her father and she confabulated together, and then went into my lord’s dressing-room; and Mr. Jauvert, my lord’s gentleman, told me that the old man seemed to be very uneasy.”
Henrietta had no time to make any reflections upon what she heard; for a servant that moment came to tell Mrs. Smith, that her lady had sent him to look for her, and desired that she would bring miss Cordwain’s woman to her apartment.
Henrietta, though a little surprised, followed Mrs. Smith with great chearfulness, who desired her to wait in the anti-chamber, while she went to acquaint her lady with her being there; where we will leave her for a few moments, till the reader is informed of the accident that occasioned this summons.