Tales and Novels, Vol. VII by Maria Edgeworth

M >> Maria Edgeworth >> Tales and Novels, Vol. VII

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The poor woman stopped again for some minutes, and then recollecting that
she had not told what she had intended to tell, she said, "I suppose,
ladies, you guess now how it be, and I ought to beg pardon for speaking of
such a thing, or such a one, as--as poor Kate is now, to you, young ladies;
but though she is fallen so low, and an outcast, she is not hardened; and
if it had been so that it had pleased Heaven that she had been a wife to
one in her own condition--Oh! what a wife, and what a mother there was
lost in her! The man that wronged her has a deal to answer for. But he has
no thought of that, nor care for her, or his child; but he is a fine man
about London, they say, driving about with colonels, and lords, and dancing
with ladies. Oh! if they saw Kate, one would guess they would not think so
much of him: but yet, may be, they'd think more--there's no saying how the
quality ladies judge on these matters. But this I know, that though he was
very free of his money, and generous to Kate at the first, and even for
some months after he quit the country, till I suppose he forgot her, yet he
has not sent her a guinea for self or child these four months, nor a line
of a letter of any kind, which she pined for more, and we kept thinking
the letters she did write did not get to him by the post, so we sent one
by a grandson of my own, that we knowed would put the letter safe into his
hands, and did, just as the young gentleman was, as my grandson told me,
coming out of a fine house in London, and going, with a long whip in his
hand, to get upon the coach-box of a coach, with four horses too--and he
looks at the letter, and puts it in his pocket, and calls to my boy, 'No
answer now, my good friend--but I'll write by post to her.' Those were the
very words; and then that colonel that was with him laughing and making
game like, went to snatch the letter out of the pocket, saying, 'Show us
that love-letter, Buckhurst'--Lord forgive me! what have I done now?"
said the old woman, stopping short, struck by the sudden change in the
countenance of both her auditors.

"Mr. Buckhurst Falconer is a relation of ours," said Rosamond.

"Dear ladies, how could I think you knew him even?" interrupted the old
woman. "I beg your pardon. Kate says he's not so cruel as he seems, and
that if he were here this minute, he'd be as kind and generous to her as
ever.--It's all forgetfulness just, and giddiness, she says--or, may be, as
to the money, that he has it not to spare."

"To spare!" repeated Caroline, indignantly.

"Lord love her! what a colour she has now--and what a spirit spoke there!
But, ladies, I'd be sorry to hurt the young gentleman; for Kate would
be angry at me for that worse than at any thing. And as to all that has
happened, you know it's nothing extraordinary, but what happens every day,
by all accounts; and young gentlemen, such as he be, thinks nothing of it;
and the great ladies, I know, by what I noticed when I was in sarvice once
in Lon'on myself, the great ladies thinks the better of them for such
things."

"I am not a great lady," said Caroline.

"Nor I, thank God!" said Rosamond.

"Well, for certain, if you are not great, you're good ladies," said the old
woman.

As they were now within sight of their own house, they thanked and
dismissed their loquacious but kind-hearted guide, putting into her
hand some money for poor Kate, Caroline promising to make further
inquiries--Rosamond, without restriction, promising all manner of
assistance, pecuniary, medical, and spiritual.

The result of the inquiries that were made confirmed the truth of all that
old Dorothy had related, and brought to light other circumstances relative
to the seduction and desertion of this poor girl, which so shocked
Rosamond, that in proportion to her former prepossession in Buckhurst's
favour was now her abhorrence; and as if to repair the imprudence with
which she had formerly used her influence over her sister's mind in his
favour, she now went as far on the opposite side, abjuring him with the
strongest expressions of indignation, and wishing that Caroline's last
letter had not gone to Buckhurst, that she might have given her refusal on
this special account, in the most severe and indignant terms the English
language could supply.

Mrs. Percy, however, on the contrary, rejoiced that Caroline's letter had
been sent before they knew any thing of this affair.

"But, ma'am," cried Rosamond, "surely it would have been right for Caroline
to have given this reason for her refusal, and to have declared that this
had proved to her beyond a possibility of doubt that her former objections
to Mr. Buckhurst Falconer's principles were too well founded; and it
would have become Caroline to have written with strong indignation. I am
persuaded," continued Rosamond, "that if women would reprobate young men
for such instances of profligacy and cruelty, instead of suffering such
conduct to go under the fine plausible general names of gallantry and
_wildness_, it would make a greater impression than all the sermons that
could be preached. And Caroline, who has beauty and eloquence, _can_
do this with effect. I remember Godfrey once said, that the peculiar
characteristic of Caroline, that in which she differed most from the common
herd of young ladies, is in her power of feeling and expressing virtuous
indignation. I am sure that Godfrey, partial as he is to Mr. Buckhurst
Falconer, would think that Caroline ought, on such an occasion, to set an
example of that proper spirit, which, superior to the fear of ridicule and
fashion, dares to speak the indignation it feels."

"Very well spoken, and better felt, my dear daughter," said Mrs. Percy.
"And Heaven forbid I should lower the tone of your mind, or your honest
indignation against vice; but, Rosamond, my dear, let us be just.--I must
do even those, whom Godfrey calls the common herd of young ladies, the
justice to believe that there are many among them who have good feeling
enough to be angry, very angry, with a lover upon _such an occasion_--angry
enough to write him a most indignant, and, perhaps, very eloquent
letter.--You may recollect more than one heroine of a novel, who discards
her lover upon such a discovery as was made by you last night. It is a
common novel incident, and, of course, from novels every young lady, even,
who might not have _felt_ without a precedent, knows how she ought to
express herself in such circumstances. But you will observe, my dear, that
both in novels and in real life, young ladies generally like and encourage
men of feeling in contradistinction to men of principle, and too often men
of gallantry in preference to men of correct morals: in short, that such a
character as that of Mr. Buckhurst Falconer is just the kind of person with
whom many women would fall in love. By suffering this to be thought the
taste of our sex, ladies encourage libertinism in general, more than they
can possibly discourage it by the loudest display of indignation against
particular instances.--If, like your sister Caroline, young ladies would
show that they really do not prefer such men, it would do essential
service. And observe, my dear Rosamond, this can be done by every young
woman with perfect delicacy: but I do not see how she can, with propriety
or good effect, do more. It is a subject ladies cannot well discuss; a
subject upon which the manners and customs of the world are so much at
variance with religion and morality, that entering upon the discussion
would lead to greater difficulties than you are aware of. It is, therefore,
best for our sex to show their disapprobation of vice, and to prove their
sense of virtue and religion by their conduct, rather than to proclaim it
to the world in words. Had Caroline in her letter expressed her indignation
in the most severe terms that the English language could supply, she would
only have exposed herself to the ridicule of Mr. Buckhurst Falconer's
fashionable companions, as a prating, preaching prude, without doing the
least good to him, or to any one living."

Rosamond reluctantly acknowledged that perhaps her mother was right.

"But, Caroline, how quietly you sit by, while we are talking of you and
your lover!" cried Rosamond; "I do not know whether to be provoked with
you, or to admire you."

"Admire me, pray," said Caroline, "if you can."

"I do not believe you will ever be in love," said Rosamond. "I confess I
should admire, or, at least, love you better, if you had more feeling,"
added Rosamond, hastily.

"By what do you judge that I want feeling?" said Caroline, colouring
deeply, and with a look and tone that expressed her keen sense of
injustice. "What proof have I ever given you of my want of feeling?"

"No proof, that I can recollect," said Rosamond, laughing; "no proof, but
that you have never been in love."

"Is it a proof I am incapable of feeling, that I have not been in love with
one who has proved himself utterly unworthy of my esteem--against whose
conduct my sister cannot find words sufficiently severe to express her
indignation? Rosamond, my mind inclined towards him at the first reading of
his last letter; but if I had ever given him any encouragement, if I had
loved him, what would have been my misery at this moment!"

"All! my dear, but then if you had been very miserable, I should have
pitied you so much, and loved you so heartily for being in love," said
Rosamond, still laughing--

"Oh! Rosamond," continued Caroline, whose mind was now too highly wrought
for raillery, "is love to be trifled with? No, only by trifling minds or
by rash characters, by those who do not conceive its power--its danger.
Recollect what we have just seen: a young, beautiful woman sinking into the
grave with shame--deserted by her parents--wishing her child unborn. Do you
remember her look of agony when we praised that child? the strongest charm
of nature reversed--the strongest ties dissolved; and love brought her to
this! She is only a poor servant girl. But the highest and the fairest,
those of the most cultivated understandings, of the tenderest hearts,
cannot love bring them down to the same level--to the same fate?--And not
only our weak sex, but over the stronger sex, and the strongest of the
strong, and the wisest of the wise, what is, what has ever been the power,
the delusions of that passion, which can cast a spell over the greatest
hero, throw a blot on the brightest glory, blast in a moment a life of
fame!--What must be the power of that passion, which can inspire genius in
the dullest and the coldest, waken heroism in the most timid of creatures,
exalt to the highest point, or to the lowest degrade our nature--the
bitterest curse, or the sweetest blessing Heaven bestows on us in this
life!--Oh! sister, is love to be trifled with?"

Caroline paused, and Rosamond, for some instants, looked at her and at her
mother in silence; then exclaimed, "All this from Caroline! Are not you
astonished, mother?"

"No," said Mrs. Percy; "I was aware that this was in Caroline's mind."

"I was not," said Rosamond. "She who never spoke of love!--I little
imagined that she thought of it so highly, so seriously."

"Yes, I do think of it seriously, highly may Heaven grant!" cried Caroline,
looking fervently upwards as she spoke with an illuminated countenance.
"May Heaven grant that love be a blessing and not a curse to me! Heaven
grant that I may never, in any moment of selfish vanity, try to excite
a passion which I cannot return! Heaven grant that I never may feel the
passion of love but for one whom I shall entirely esteem, who shall be
worthy to fill my whole soul!"

"Mother," continued Caroline, turning eagerly, and seizing her mother's
hand, "my guide, my guardian, whenever you see me in any, the slightest
inclination to coquetry, warn me--as you wish to save me from that which I
should most dread, the reproaches of my own conscience--in the first, the
very first instance, reprove me, mother, if you can--with severity. And
you, my sister, my bosom friend, do not use your influence to soften, to
open my mind to love; but if ever you perceive me yielding my heart to the
first tenderness of the passion, watch over me, if the object be not every
way worthy of me, my equal, my superior.--Oh! as you would wish to snatch
me from the grave, rouse me from the delusion--save me from disappointment,
regret, remorse, which I know that I could not bear, and live."

Her mother, into whose arms she threw herself, pressed Caroline close to
her heart, while Rosamond, to whom she had given her hand, held it fast,
and stood motionless between surprise and sympathy. Caroline, to whose
usual manners and disposition every thing theatrical or romantic was so
foreign, seemed, as soon as she recollected herself, to be ashamed of the
excessive emotion and enthusiasm she had shown; withdrawing her hand from
her sister, she turned away, and left the room.

Her mother and sister both remained silent for a considerable time, fully
occupied with their own thoughts and feelings. The mother's reverie
looked to the future prospects of her daughter;--confident in Caroline's
character, yet uncertain of her fate, she felt a pleasing yet painful
solicitude.

Rosamond's thoughts turned rather to the past than to the future: she
recollected and compared words and looks, yet found insuperable difficulty
in connecting all she had ever before known or fancied of Caroline with
what she had just seen and heard. Rosamond did not fairly recover from her
surprise, and from her look of perplexity, during a full hour that she
remained absolutely silent, poring upon a screen, upon which she saw
nothing.

She then went in search of Caroline, in hopes of renewing the conversation;
but she found her busied in some of the common affairs of life, and
apparently a different person.

Rosamond, though she made divers attempts, could not lead Caroline back
again to the same train of thought, or tone of expression. Indeed, Rosamond
did not attempt it very skilfully, but rather with the awkward impatience
of one not accustomed to use address. Caroline, intent upon the means of
assisting the poor young woman whom they had seen at the cottage, went
there again as soon as she could, to warn old Dorothy, in the first place,
to be less communicative, and not on any account to mention to any one else
the names and circumstances which she had told them with so little reserve.
Caroline next applied to Dr. Leicester, the vicar of their former parish,
a most amiable and respectable clergyman, who had come from his vicarage,
near Percy-hall, to spend what time he could spare from his duties with
his favourite parishioners; at Caroline's request he willingly went to see
this unhappy young woman, and succeeded in his endeavours to soothe and
tranquillize her mind by speaking to her words of peace. His mild piety
raised and comforted the trembling penitent; and while all prospect of
forgiveness from her parents, or of happiness in this world, was at an end,
he fixed her thoughts on those better hopes and promises which religion
only can afford. Her health appeared suddenly to mend when her mind was
more at ease: but this was only transient, and Dr. Percy, to whom Caroline
applied for his medical opinion, gave little hopes of her recovery.
All that could be done by medicine and proper kindness to assuage her
sufferings during her decline was done in the best manner by Mrs. Percy
and her daughters, especially by Caroline: the young woman, nevertheless,
died in six weeks, and was buried without Buckhurst Falconer's making
any inquiry concerning her, probably without his knowing of her death. A
few days after she was no more, a letter came to her from him, which was
returned unopened by Dorothy, who could just write well enough to make
these words intelligible in the cover:

"SIR,

"Kate Robinson is dead--this four days--your child is with me still, and
well.--She bid me tell you, if ever you asked more concerning her--she left
you her forgiveness on her death-bed, and hopes you will be happy, sir.--

"Your humble servant,

"DOROTHY WHITE."

A bank note of ten pounds was received by Dorothy soon afterwards for the
use of the child, and deep regret was expressed by the father for the death
of its mother. But, as Dorothy said, "that came too late to be of any good
to her."

CHAPTER XIV.

Soon after the death of poor Kate, the attention of the Percy family
was taken up by a succession of different visits; some from their old
neighbours and really affectionate friends, some from among the band of
reproaching condolers. The first we shall mention, who partook of the
nature of both these classes, was Lady Jane Granville: she was a sincere
and warm friend, but a tormenting family adviser and director.

Her ladyship was nearly related to Mr. Percy, which gave her, on this
occasion, rights of which she knew how to avail herself.

To do her justice, she was better qualified to be an adviser and protector
than many who assume a familiar tone and character.

Lady Jane Granville was of high birth and fortune, had always lived in
good company, had seen a great deal of the world, both abroad and at
home; she had a complete knowledge of all that makes people well received
in society, had generalized her observations, and had formed them into
maxims of prudence and politeness, which redounded the more to her credit
in conversation, as they were never committed to writing, and could,
therefore, never be brought to the dangerous test of being printed and
published. Her ladyship valued her own traditional wisdom, and oral
instruction, beyond any thing that can be learned from books. She had
acquired a _tact_, which, disclaiming and disdaining every regular process
of reasoning, led her with admirable certainty to right conclusions in her
own concerns, and thus, in some degree, justified the peremptory tone she
assumed in advising others.

Though by no means pleased with Mr. and Mrs. Percy's answer to several
of her letters of counsel, yet she thought it her duty, as a friend and
relation, to persevere. She invited herself to the Hills, where, with great
difficulty, through scarcely practicable cross roads, she arrived. She was
so much fatigued and exhausted, in body and mind, that during the first
evening she could talk of nothing but her hair-breadth escapes. The next
morning after breakfast, she began with, "My dear Mr. Percy, now I have
a moment's ease, I have a thousand things to say to you. I am very much
surprised that you have thought fit to settle here quite out of the world.
Will you give me leave to speak my mind freely to you on the subject?"

"As freely as you please, my dear Lady Jane, upon any subject, if you will
only promise not to be offended, if we should not coincide in opinion."

"Certainly, certainly; I am sure I never expect or wish any body to submit
to my opinion, though I have had opportunities of seeing something of
the world: but I assure you, that nothing but very particular regard
would induce me to offer my advice. It is a maxim of mine, that family
interference begins in ill-breeding and ends in impertinence, and
accordingly it is a thing I have ever particularly avoided. But with a
particular friend and near relation like you, my dear Mr. Percy, I think
there ought to be an exception. Now, my dear sir, the young people have
just left the room--I can take this opportunity of speaking freely: your
daughters--what will you do with them?"

"Do with them! I beg pardon for repeating your ladyship's words, but I
don't precisely understand your question."

"Well, precise sir, then, in other words, how do you mean to dispose of
them?"

"I don't mean to dispose of them at all," said Mr. Percy.

"Then let me tell you, my good friend," said Lady Jane, with a most
prophetic tone, "let me tell you, that you will live to repent that.--You
know I have seen something of the world--you ought to bring them forward,
and make the most of their birth, family, and connexions, put them in a way
of showing their accomplishments, make proper acquaintance, and obtain for
your girls what I call the patronage of fashion."

"Patronage!" repeated Mr. Percy: "it seems to be my doom to hear of nothing
but patronage, whichever way I turn. What! patronage for my daughters as
well as for my sons!"

"Yes," said Lady Jane, "and look to it; for your daughters will never go on
without it. Upon their first coming out, you should--" Here her ladyship
stopped short, for Caroline and Rosamond returned. "Oh! go on, go on, let
me beg of your ladyship," said Mr. Percy: "why should not my daughters have
the advantage of hearing what you are saying?"

"Well, then, I will tell them candidly that upon their first _coming out_,
it will be an inconceivable advantage, whatever you may think of it, to
have the patronage of fashion! Every day we see many an ugly face, many
a mere simpleton, many a girl who had nothing upon earth but her dress,
become quite charming, when the radiance of fashion is upon them. And there
are some people who can throw this radiance where and on whom they please,
just as easily," said Lady Jane, playing with a spoon she held in her hand,
"just as easily as I throw the sunshine now upon this object and now upon
that, now upon Caroline and now upon Rosamond. And, observe, no eye turns
upon the beauteous Caroline now, because she is left in the shade."

It was Mr. Percy's policy to allow Lady Jane full liberty to finish all she
wished to say without interruption; for when people are interrupted, they
imagine they have much more to add. Let them go on, and they come to the
end of their sense, and even of their words, sooner than they or you could
probably expect.

"Now," continued her ladyship, "to apply to living examples; you know Mrs.
Paul Cotterel?"

"No."

"Well!--Lady Peppercorn?"

"No."

"Nor the Miss Blissets?"

"No."

"That is the misfortune of living so much out of the world!--But there are
the Falconers, we all know them at least--now look at the Miss Falconers."

"Alas! we have not the honour of knowing even the Miss Falconers," said Mr.
Percy, "though they are our cousins."

"Is it possible that you don't know the Miss Falconers?"

"Very possible," replied Mr. Percy: "they live always in town, and we have
never seen them since they were children: except a visit or two which
passed between us just after Mrs. Falconer's marriage, we know nothing even
of her, though we are all acquainted with the commissioner, who comes from
time to time to this part of the country."

"A very clever man is the commissioner in his way," said Lady Jane, "but
nothing to his wife. I can assure you, Mrs. Falconer is particularly well
worth your knowing; for unless maternal rivalship should interfere, I know
few people in the world who could be more useful to your girls when you
_bring them out_. She has a vast deal of address. And for a proof, as I
was going to point out to you, there are the Miss Falconers in the first
circles--asked every where--yet without fortunes, and with no pretensions
beyond, or equal to, what your daughters have--not with half Rosamond's wit
and information--nothing comparable in point of beauty and accomplishments,
to Caroline; yet how they have _got on_! See what fashion can do! Come,
come, we must court her patronage--leave that to me: I assure you I
understand the ways and means."

"I have no doubt of that," said Mr. Percy. "All that your ladyship has said
is excellent sense, and incontrovertible as far as--"

"Oh! I knew you would think so: I knew we should understand one another as
soon as you had heard all I had to say."

"Excellent sense, and incontrovertible, as far as it relates to the means,
but perhaps we may not agree as to the ends; and if these are different,
you know your means, though the best adapted for gaining your objects, may
be quite useless or unfit for the attainment of mine."

"At once, then, we can't differ as to our objects, for it is my object to
see your daughters happily married; now tell me," said Lady Jane, appealing
alternately to Mr. and Mrs. Percy, "honestly tell me, is not this your
object--and yours?"

"Honestly, it is," said Mr. and Mrs. Percy.

"That's right--I knew we must agree there."

"But," said Mrs. Percy, "allow me to ask what you mean by happily married?"

"What do I mean? Just what you mean--what every body means at the bottom of
their hearts: in the first place married to men who have some fortune."

"What does your ladyship mean by _some_ fortune?"

"Why--you have such a strange way of not understanding! We who live in the
world must speak as the world speaks--we cannot recur continually to a
philosophical dictionary, and if we had recourse to it, we should only be
sent from _a_ to _z_, and from _z_ back again to _a_; see _affluence_, see
_competence_, see _luxury_, see _philosophy_, and see at last that you see
nothing, and that you knew as much before you opened the book as when you
shut it--which indeed is what I find to be the case with most books I
read."