Sir Edward Moseley had some difficulty in restraining the impetuosity of
his son, who was disposed to resent this impertinent interference of young
Jarvis with the conduct of his favorite sister; indeed, the young man only
yielded to his profound respect to his father's commands, aided by a
strong representation on the part of his sister of the disagreeable
consequences of connecting her name with such a quarrel. It was seldom the
good baronet felt himself called on to act as decidedly as on the present
occasion. He spoke to the merchant in warm, but gentleman-like terms, of
the consequences which might have resulted to his own child from the
intemperate act of his son; exculpated Emily entirely from censure, by
explaining her engagement to dance with Denbigh, previously to Captain
Jarvis's application; and hinted the necessity, if the affair was not
amicably terminated, of protecting the peace of mind of his daughters
against any similar exposures, by declining the acquaintance of a neighbor
he respected as much as Mr. Jarvis.
The merchant was a man of few words, but of great promptitude. He had made
his fortune, and more than once saved it, by his decision; and assuring
the baronet he should hear no more of it, he took his hat and hurried home
from the village, where the conversation passed. On arriving at his own
house, he found the family collected in the parlor for a morning ride, and
throwing himself into a chair, he broke out on the whole party with great
violence.
"So, Mrs. Jarvis," he cried, "you _would_ spoil a very tolerable
book-keeper, by wishing to have a soldier in your family; and there stands
the puppy who would have blown out the brains of a deserving young man, if
the good sense of Mr. Denbigh had not denied him the opportunity."
"Mercy!" cried the alarmed matron, on whom Newgate (for her early life had
been passed near its walls), with all its horrors, floated, and a
contemplation of its punishments had been her juvenile lessons of
morality--"Harry! Harry! would you commit murder?"
"Murder!" echoed her son, looking askance, as if dodging the bailiffs.
"No, mother; I wanted nothing but what was fair. Mr. Denbigh would have
had an equal chance to blow out my brains; I am sure everything would have
been fair."
"Equal chance!" muttered his father, who had cooled himself, in some
measure, by an extra pinch of snuff. "No, sir, you have no brains to lose.
But I have promised Sir Edward that you shall make proper apologies to
himself, to his daughter, and to Mr. Denbigh." This was rather exceeding
the truth, but the alderman prided himself on performing rather more than
he promised.
"Apology!" exclaimed the captain. "Why, sir, the apology is due to me. Ask
Colonel Egerton if he ever heard of apologies being made by the
challenger."
"No, sure," said the mother, who, having made out the truth of the matter,
thought it was likely enough to be creditable to her child; "Colonel
Egerton never heard of such a thing. Did you, colonel?"
"Why, madam," said the colonel, hesitatingly, and politely handing the
merchant his snuff-box, which, in his agitation, had fallen on the floor,
"circumstances sometimes justify a departure from ordinary measures. You
are certainly right as a rule; but not knowing the particulars in the
present case, it is difficult for me to decide. Miss Jarvis, the tilbury
is ready."
The colonel bowed respectfully to the merchant, kissed his hand to his
wife, and led their daughter to his carriage.
"Do you make the apologies?" asked Mr. Jarvis, as the door closed.
"No, sir," replied the captain, sullenly
"Then you must make your pay answer for the next sit months," cried the
father, taking a signed draft on his banker from his pocket, coolly
tearing it in two pieces, carefully putting the name in his mouth, and
chewing it into a ball.
"Why, alderman," said his wife (a name she never used unless she had
something to gain from her spouse, who loved to hear the appellation after
he had relinquished the office), "it appears to me that Harry has shown
nothing but a proper spirit. You are unkind--indeed you are."
"A proper spirit? In what way? Do you know anything of the matter?"
"It is a proper spirit for a soldier to fight, I suppose," said the wife,
a little at a loss to explain.
"Spirit, or no spirit, apology, or ten and sixpence."
"Harry," said his mother, holding up her finger in a menacing attitude, as
soon as her husband had left the room (for he had last spoken with the
door in his hand), "if you _do_ beg his pardon, you are no son of mine."
"No," cried Miss Sarah, "nor any brother of mine. I would be insufferably
mean."
"Who will pay my debts?" asked the son, looking up at the ceiling.
"Why, I would, my child, if--if--I had not spent my own allowance."
"I would," echoed the sister; "but if we go to Bath, you know, I shall
want all my money."
"Who will pay my debts?" repeated the son.
"Apology, indeed! Who is he, that you, a son of Alderman--of--Mr. Jarvis,
of the deanery, B----, North 'amptonshire, should beg his pardon--a
vagrant that nobody knows!"
"Who will pay my debts?" again inquired the captain drumming with his
foot."
"Harry," exclaimed the mother, "do you love money better than honor--a
soldier's honor?"
"No, mother; but I like good eating and drinking. Think mother; it's a
cool five hundred, and that's a famous deal of money."
"Harry," cried the mother, in a rage, "you are not fit for a soldier. I
wish I were in your place."
"I wish, with all my heart, you had been for an hour this morning,"
thought the son. After arguing for some time longer, they compromised, by
agreeing to leave it to the decision of Colonel Egerton, who, the mother
did not doubt, would applaud her maintaining; the Jarvis dignity, a family
in which he took quite as much interest as he felt for his own--so he had
told her fifty times. The captain, however, determined within himself to
touch the five hundred, let the colonel decide as he might; but the
colonel's decision obviated all difficulties. The question was put to him
by Mrs. Jarvis, on his return from the airing, with no doubt the decision
would be favorable to her opinion. The colonel and herself, she said,
never disagreed; and the lady was right--for wherever his interest made it
desirable to convert Mrs. Jarvis to his side of the question, Egerton had
a manner of doing it that never failed to succeed.
"Why, madam," said he, with one of his most agreeable smiles, "apologies
are different things, at different times. You are certainly right in your
sentiments, as relates to a proper spirit in a soldier; but no one can
doubt the spirit of the captain, after the stand he took in this affair;
if Mr. Denbigh would not meet him (a very extraordinary measure, in deed,
I confess), what can your son do more? He cannot _make_ a man fight
against his will, you know."
"True, true," cried the matron, impatiently, "I do not want him to fight;
heaven forbid! but why should he, the challenger, beg pardon? I am sure,
to have the thing regular, Mr. Denbigh is the one to ask forgiveness."
The colonel felt at a little loss how to reply, when Jarvis, in whom the
thoughts of the five hundred pounds had worked a revolution, exclaimed--
"You know, mother, I accused him--that is, I suspected him of dancing with
Miss Moseley against my right to her; now you find that it was all a
mistake, and so I had better act with dignity, and confess my error."
"Oh, by all means," cried the colonel, who saw the danger of an
embarrassing rupture between the families, otherwise: "delicacy to _your_
sex particularly requires that, ma'am, from your son;" and he accidentally
dropped a letter as he spoke.
"From Sir Edgar, colonel?" asked Mrs. Jarvis, as he stooped to pick it up.
"From Sir Edgar, ma'am, and he begs to be remembered to yourself and all
of your amiable family."
Mrs. Jarvis inclined her body, in what she intended for a graceful bend,
and sighed--a casual observer might have thought, with maternal anxiety
for the reputation of her child--but it was conjugal regret, that the
political obstinacy of the alderman had prevented his carrying up an
address, and thus becoming Sir Timothy. Sir Edgar's heir prevailed, and
the captain received permission to do what he had done several hours
before.
On leaving the room, after the first discussion, and before the appeal,
the captain had hastened to his father with his concessions. The old
gentleman knew too well the influence of five hundred pounds to doubt the
effect in the present in stance, and he had ordered his carriage for the
excursion It came, and to the hall they proceeded. The captain found his
intended antagonist, and in a rather uncouth manner, he made the required
concession. He was restored to his former favor--no great distinction--and
his visits to the hall were suffered, but with a dislike Emily could never
conquer, nor at all times conceal.
Denbigh was occupied with a book, when Jarvis commenced his speech to the
baronet and his daughter, and was apparently too much engaged with its
contents, to understand what was going on, as the captain blundered
through. It was necessary, the captain saw by a glance of his father's
eyes, to say something to that gentleman, who had delicately withdrawn to
a distant window. His speech was consequently made here too, and Mrs.
Wilson could not avoid stealing a look at them. Denbigh smiled, and bowed
in silence. It is enough, thought the widow; the offence was not against
him, it was against his Maker; he should not arrogate to himself, in any
manner, the right to forgive, or to require apologies--the whole is
consistent. The subject was never afterwards alluded to: Denbigh appeared
to have forgotten it; and Jane sighed gently, as she devoutly hoped the
colonel was not a duellist.
Several days passed before the deanery ladies could sufficiently forgive
the indignity their family had sustained, to resume the customary
intercourse. Like all other grievances, where the passions are chiefly
interested, it was forgotten in time, however, and things were put in some
measure on their former footing. The death of Digby served to increase the
horror of the Moseleys, and Jarvis himself felt rather uncomfortable, on
more accounts than one, at the fatal termination of the unpleasant
business.
Chatterton, who to his friends had not hesitated to avow his attachment to
his cousin, but who had never proposed for her, as his present views and
fortune were not, in his estimation, sufficient for her proper support,
had pushed every interest he possessed, and left no steps unattempted an
honorable man could resort to, to effect his object. The desire to provide
for his sisters had been backed by the ardor of a passion that had reached
its crisis; and the young peer who could not, in the present state of
things, abandon the field to a rival so formidable as Denbigh, even to
further his views to preferment, was waiting in anxious suspense the
decision on his application. A letter from his friend informed him, his
opponent was likely to succeed; that, in short, all hopes of success had
left him. Chatterton was in despair. On the following day, however, he
received a second letter from the same friend, unexpectedly announcing his
appointment. After mentioning the fact, he went on to say--"The cause of
this sudden revolution in your favor is unknown to me, and unless your
lordship has obtained interest I am ignorant of, it is one of the most
singular instances of ministerial caprice I have ever known." Chatterton
was as much at a loss as his friend, to understand the affair; but it
mattered not; he could now offer to Emily--it was a patent office of great
value, and a few years would amply portion his sisters. That very day,
therefore, he proposed, and was refused.
Emily had a difficult task to avoid self-reproach, in regulating her
deportment on this occasion. She was fond of Chatterton as a relation--as
her brother's friend--as the brother of Grace, and even on his own
account; but it was the fondness of a sister. His manner--his words,
which, although never addressed to herself, were sometimes overheard
unintentionally, and sometimes reached her through her sisters, had left
her in no doubt of his attachment; she was excessively grieved at the
discovery, and had innocently appealed to her aunt for directions how to
proceed. Of his intentions she had no doubt, but at the same time he had
not put her in a situation to dispel his hopes; as to encouragement, in
the usual meaning of the term, she gave none to him, nor to any one else.
There are no little attentions that lovers are fond of showing to their
mistresses, and which mistresses are fond of receiving, that Emily ever
permitted to any gentleman--no rides--no walks--no tête-à-têtes. Always
natural and unaffected, there was a simple dignity about her that forbade
the request, almost the thought, in the gentlemen of her acquaintance: she
had no amusements, no pleasures of any kind in which her sisters were not
her companions; and if anything was on the carpet that required an
attendant, John was ever ready. He was devoted to her; the decided
preference she gave him over every other man, upon such occasions,
flattered his affection; and he would, at any time, leave even Grace
Chatterton to attend his sister. All this too was without affectation, and
generally without notice. Emily so looked the delicacy and reserve she
acted with so little ostentation that not even her own sex had affixed to
her conduct the epithet of squeamish; it was difficult, therefore, for her
to do anything which would show Lord Chatterton her disinclination to his
suit, without assuming a dislike she did not feel, or giving him slights
that neither good breeding nor good nature could justify. At one time,
indeed, she had expressed a wish to return to Clara; but this Mrs. Wilson
thought would only protract the evil, and she was compelled to wait his
own time. The peer himself did not rejoice more in his ability to make the
offer, therefore, than Emily did to have it in her power to decline it.
Her rejection was firm and unqualified, but uttered with a grace and a
tenderness to his feelings, that bound her lover tighter than ever in her
chains, and he resolved on immediate flight as his only recourse.
"I hope nothing unpleasant has occurred to Lord Chatterton," said Denbigh,
with great interest, as he reached the spot where the young peer stood
leaning his head against a tree, on his way from the rectory to the hall.
Chatterton raised his face as he spoke: there were evident traces of tears
on it, and Denbigh, greatly shocked, was about to proceed as the other
caught his arm.
"Mr. Denbigh," said the young man, in a voice almost choked with emotion,
"may you never know the pain I have felt this morning. Emily--Emily
Moseley--is lost to me--for ever."
For a moment the blood rushed to the face of Denbigh, and his eyes flashed
with a look that Chatterton could not stand. He turned, as the voice of
Denbigh, in those remarkable tones which distinguished it from every other
voice he had ever heard, uttered--
"Chatterton, my lord, we are friends, I hope--I wish it; from my heart."
"Go, Mr. Denbigh--go. You were going to Miss Moseley--do not let me detain
you."
"I am going with _you_, Lord Chatterton, unless you forbid it," said
Denbigh, with emphasis, slipping his arm through that of the peer.
For two hours they walked together in the park; and when they appeared at
dinner, Emily wondered why Mr. Denbigh had taken a seat next to her
mother, instead of his usual place between herself and her aunt. In the
evening, he announced his intention of leaving B---- for a short time
with Lord Chatterton. They were going to London together; but he hoped to
return within ten days. This sudden determination caused some surprise;
but, as the dowager supposed it was to secure the new situation, and the
remainder of their friends thought it might be business, it was soon
forgotten, though much regretted for the time. The gentlemen left the hall
that night to proceed to an inn, from which they could obtain a chaise and
horses; and the following morning, when the baronet's family assembled
around their social breakfast, they were many miles on the road to the
metropolis.