Barford Abbey Part 18

Your errors, dear Sir James, said he, are not remember'd.--Look back on the reception you gave your son and daughter.

He made no reply; but shedding a flood of tears, went to his afflicted family.

Mr. Watson, it seems, whilst I had been out, acquainted him with the contents of your letter;--judging it the most seasonable time, as their grief could not then admit of increase.

Sir James was scarce withdrawn, when Lady Powis sent her woman to request the sight of it.--As I rose to give it into her hand, I saw Mr.

Morgan pa.s.s by the door, conducting an elderly woman, whom I knew afterward to be Mrs. Jenkings.--She had a handkerchief to her eyes, one hand lifted up;--and I heard her say, Good G.o.d! Sir, what shall I do?--how can I see the dear Ladies?--Oh Miss Powis!--the amiable Miss Powis!

Mr. Morgan join'd us immediately, with whom and Mr. Watson I spent the remainder of this melancholy evening: at twelve we retir'd.

So here I sit, like one just return'd from the funeral of his best friend;--alone, brooding over every misery I can call together.--The light of the moon, which shines with uncommon splendor, casts not one ray on my dark reflections:--nor do the objects which present themselves from the windows offer one pleasing idea;--rather an aggravation to my heart-felt anguish.--Miserable family!--miserable those who are interested in its sad disaster!--

I go to my bed, but not to my repose.

Nine o'clock in the morning.

How sad, how gloomy, has been the approach of morning!--About six, for I had not clos'd my eyes,--somebody enter'd my chamber. I suppos'd it Mr.

Morgan, and drew aside my curtain.--It was not Mr. Morgan;--it _was_ the poor disconsolate father of Miss Powis, more agitated, if possible, than the preceding night.--He flung himself on my bed with agony not to be express'd:--

Dear Risby, said he, _do_ rise:--_do_ come to my apartment.--Alas! my f.a.n.n.y--

What new misfortune, my friend? ask'd I, starting up.--My wife!

return'd! he!--she is in fits;--she has been in fits the whole night.--Oh Risby! if I should lose _her_, if I should lose my _wife!_--My parents _too_, I shall lose them!--

Words could not lessen his affliction. I was silent, making what haste I could to huddle on my clothes;--and at his repeated intreaties follow'd him to his wife,--She was sitting near the fire drowned; in tears, supported by her woman. I was pleas'd to see them drop so plentifully.--She lifted up her head a little, as I enter'd.--How alter'd!--how torn to pieces with grief!--Her complexion once so lovely,--how changed in a few hours.

My husband! said she, in a faint voice, as he drew near her.--Then looking at me,--Comfort him, Mr. Risby;--don't let him sob so.--Indeed he will be ill;--indeed he will.--Then addressing him, Consider, she who us'd to be your nurse is now incapable of the task.--His agitation was so much increas'd by her words and manner, that I attempted to draw him into another apartment.--Your intentions are kind, said she, Mr.

Risby;--but I _must_ not lose my husband:--you see how it is, Sir, shaking her head;--try to sooth him;--talk to him _here_ but do not take him from _me_.--

Then turning to Mr. Powis,--I am better, my love,--don't frighten yourself:--we must learn to be resign'd.--Set the example, and I will be resign'd, said he,--wiping away the tears as they trickled down her cheek;--if my f.a.n.n.y supports herself, I shall not be quite miserable.

In this situation I left them, to close my letter.

What is become of poor Lord Darcey? For ever is he in my thoughts.--_His_ death will be an aggravation to the general sorrow.--Write instantly:--I wait your account with impatience; yet dread to receive it.

LETTER x.x.xI.

The Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH to RICHARD RISBY, Esq;

_Dover_.

Say not a word of it;--no, not for the world;--the body of Miss Powis is drove on sh.o.r.e.--If the family choose to have her brought down, it may be done some time hence.--I have order'd an undertaker to get a lead coffin, and will take care to have her remains properly deposited.--It would be an act of cruelty at present to acquaint her friends with this circ.u.mstance.--I have neither leisure or spirits to tell you in what manner the body was found, and how I knew it to be miss Powis's.

The sh.o.r.e is fill'd with a mult.i.tude of people.--What sights will they gaze on to satisfy their curiosity!--a curiosity that makes human nature shrink.

I have got three matronly women to go with the undertaker, that the body may be taken up with decency.

Darcey lives;--but _how_ does he live?--Without sense; almost without motion.

G.o.d protect the good old steward!--the worthy Jenkings!--He is with you before this;--he has told you everything. I could not write by him:--I thought I should never be able to touch a pen again.--He had left Dover before the body was found.--What conflicts did he escape! But as it is, I fear his grey hairs will go down with sorrow to the grave.--G.o.d support us all!

MOLESWORTH.

LETTER x.x.xII

Captain RISBY to the Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH.

_Barford Abbey_.

My heart bleeds afresh--Her body found! Good heaven!--it _must_ not,--_shall_ not come to the knowledge of the family.--At present they submit with a degree of resignation.--Who knows but a latent hope might remain?--Instances have been known of many saved from wrecks;--but her body is drove on sh.o.r.e.--Not a glimmering;--possibility is _now_ out of the question.--The family are determin'd to shut themselves out from the world;--no company ever more to be admitted;--never to go any where but to the church.--Your letter was deliver'd me before them.--I was ask'd tenderly for poor Lord Darcey.--What could I answer?--Near the same; not worse, on the whole.--They flatter themselves he will recover;--I encourage all their flattering hopes.

Mrs. Jenkings has never been home since Mr. Morgan fetch'd her;--Mr.

Jenkings too is constantly here;--sometimes Edmund:--except the unhappy parents, never was grief like theirs.

Mr. Jenkings has convinc'd me it was Miss Powis which I saw at ----.

Strange reverse of fortune since that hour!

When the family are retir'd I spend many melancholy hours with poor Edmund;--and from him have learnt the reason why Mr. Powis conceal'd his marriage,--which is _now_ no secret.--Even Edmund never knew it till Mr.

and Mrs. Powis return'd to England,--Take a short recital:--it will help to pa.s.s away a gloomy moment.

When Mr. Powis left the University, he went for a few months to Ireland with the Lord-Lieutenant; and at his return intended to make the Grand Tour.--In the mean time, Sir James and Lady Powis contract an intimacy with a young Lady of quality, in the bloom of life, but not of beauty.--By what I can gather, Lady Mary Sutton is plain to a degree,--with a mind--But why speak of her mind?--let that speak for itself.

She was independent; her fortune n.o.ble;--her affections disengag'd.--Mr.

Powis returns from Ireland: Lady Mary is then at the Abbey.--Sir James in a few days, without consulting his son, sues for her alliance.--Lady Mary supposes it is with the concurrence of Mr. Powis:--_his_ person,--_his_ character,--_his_ family, were unexceptionable; and generously she declar'd her sentiments in his favour.--Sir James, elated with success, flies to his son;--and in presence of Lady Powis, tells him he has secur'd his happiness.--Mr. Powis's inclinations not coinciding,--Sir James throws himself into a violent rage.--Covetousness and obstinacy always go hand in hand:--both had taken such fast hold of the Baronet, that he swore--and his oath was without reservation--he would never consent to his son's marrying any other woman.--Mr. Powis, finding his father determin'd,--and nothing, after his imprecation, to expect from the entreaties of his mother,--strove to forget the person of Lady Mary, and think only of her mind.--Her Ladyship, a little chagrin'd Sir James's proposals were not seconded by Mr. Powis, pretended immediate business into Oxfordshire.--The Baronet wants not discernment: he saw through her motive; and taking his opportunity, insinuated the violence of his son's pa.s.sion, and likewise the great timidity it occasion'd--he even prevail'd on Lady Powis to propose returning with her to Brandon Lodge.

The consequence of this was, the two Ladies set out on their journey, attended by Sir James and Mr. Powis, who, in obedience to his father, was still endeavouring to conquer his indifference.--

Perhaps, _in time_, the amiable Lady Mary might have found a way to his heart,--had she not introduc'd the very evening of their arrival at the Lodge, her counter-part in every thing but person:--there Miss Whitmore outshone her whole s.e.x.--This fair neighbour was the belov'd friend of Lady Mary Sutton, and soon became the idol of Mr. Powis's affections, which render'd his situation still more distressing.--His mother's disinterested tenderness for Lady Mary;--her own charming qualifications;--his father's irrevocable menace, commanded him one way:--Miss Whitmore's charms led him another.

Attached as he was to this young Lady, he never appear'd to take the least notice, of her more than civility demanded;--tho' she was of the highest consequence to his repose, yet the obstacles which surrounded him seem'd insurmountable.

Sir James and Lady Powis retiring one evening earlier than usual,--Lady Mary and Mr. Powis were left alone. The latter appear'd greatly embarra.s.s'd. Her Ladyship eyed him attentively; but instead of sharing his embarra.s.sment,--began a conversation of which Miss Whitmore was the subject.--She talk'd _so_ long of her many excellencies, profess'd _such_ sincerity, _such_ tenderness, _for her_, that his emotion became visible:--his fine, eyes were full of fire;--his expressive features spoke what she, had long wish'd to discover.--You are silent, Sir, said she, with a smile of ineffable sweetness; is my lovely friend a subject that displeases you?--

How am I situated! replied he--Generous Lady Mary, dare I repose a confidence in your n.o.ble breast?--_Will_ you permit me that honour?--_Will_ you not think ill of me, if I disclose--No, I cannot--presumption--I _dare_ not. She interrupted him:

Ah Sir!--you hold me unworthy,--you hold me incapable of friendship.--Suppose me your sister:--if you had a sister, would you conceal any thing from _her?_--Give me then a _brother_;--I can never behold _you_ in any other light.

No, my Lady;--no, return'd he, I deserve not _this_ honour.--If you knew, madam,--if you knew all,--you _would_, you _must_ despise me.

Despise you, Mr. Powis!--she replied;--despise you for loving Miss Whitmore!