As a month had elapsed since he received his wound, Denbigh took an
opportunity, one morning at breakfast, where he was well enough now to
meet his friends, to announce his intention of trespassing no longer on
their kindness, but of returning that day to the rectory. The
communication distressed the whole family, and the baronet turned to him
in the most cordial manner, as he took one of his hands; and said with an
air of solemnity--
"Mr. Denbigh, I could wish you to make this house your home; Dr. Ives may
have known you longer, and may have the claim of relationship on you, but
I am certain he cannot love you better; and are not the ties of gratitude
as binding as those of blood?"
Denbigh was affected by the kindness of Sir Edward's manner.
"The regiment I belong to, Sir Edward, will be reviewed next week, and it
has become my duty to leave here; there is one it is proper I should
visit, a near connexion, who is acquainted with the escape I have met
with, and wishes naturally to see me; besides, my dear Sir Edward, she has
many causes of sorrow, and it is a debt I owe her affection to endeavor to
relieve them."
It was the first time he had ever spoken of his family, or hardly of
himself, and the silence which prevailed plainly showed the interest his
listeners took in the little he uttered.
That connexion, thought Emily--I wonder if her name be Marian? But nothing
further passed, excepting the affectionate regrets of her father, and the
promises of Denbigh to visit them again before he left B----, and of
joining them at L---- immediately after the review of which he had spoken.
As soon as he had breakfasted, John drove him in his phaeton to the
rectory.
Mrs. Wilson, like the rest of the baronet's family, had been too deeply
impressed with the debt they owed this young man to interfere with her
favorite system of caution against too great an intimacy between her niece
and her preserver. Close observation and the opinion of Dr. Ives had
prepared her to give him her esteem; but the gallantry, the self-devotion
he had displayed to Emily was an act calculated to remove heavier
objections than she could imagine as likely to exist to his becoming her
husband. That he meant it, was evident from his whole deportment of late.
Since the morning the portfolio was produced, Denbigh had given a more
decided preference to her niece. The nice discrimination of Mrs, Wilson
would not have said his feelings had become stronger, but that he labored
less to conceal them. That he loved her niece she suspected from the first
fortnight of their acquaintance, and it had given additional stimulus to
her investigation into his character; but to doubt it, after stepping
between her and death, would have been to have mistaken human nature.
There was one qualification she would have wished to have been certain he
possessed: before this accident, she would have made it an indispensable
one; but the gratitude, the affections of Emily, she believed now to be
tab deeply engaged to make the strict inquiry she otherwise would have
done; and she had the best of reasons for believing that if Denbigh were
not a true Christian, he was at least a strictly moral man, and assuredly
one who well understood the beauties of a religion she almost conceived it
impossible for any impartial and intelligent man long to resist. Perhaps
Mrs. Wilson, having in some measure interfered with her system, like
others, had, on finding it impossible to conduct so that reason would
justify all she did, began to find reasons for what she thought best to be
done under the circumstances. Denbigh, however, both by his acts and his
opinions, had created such an estimate of his worth in the breast of Mrs.
Wilson, that there would have been but little danger of a repulse had no
fortuitous accident helped him in his way to her favor.
"Who have we here?" said Lady Moseley. "A landaulet and four--the Earl of
Bolton, I declare!"
Lady Moseley turned from the window with that collected grace she so well
loved, and so well knew how to assume, to receive her noble visitor. Lord
Bolton was a bachelor of sixty-five, who had long been attached to the
court, and retained much of the manners of the old school. His principal
estate was in Ireland, and most of that time which his duty at Windsor did
not require he gave to the improvement of his Irish property. Thus,
although on perfectly good terms with the baronet's family, they seldom
met. With General Wilson he had been at college, and to his widow he
always showed much of that regard he had invariably professed for her
husband, The obligation he had conferred, unasked, on Francis Ives, was
one conferred on all his friends, and his reception was now warmer than
usual.
"My Lady Moseley," said the earl, bowing formally on her hand, "your looks
do ample justice to the air of Northamptonshire. I hope you enjoy your
usual health."
Then, waiting her equally courteous answer, he paid his compliments, in
succession, to all the members of the family; a mode undoubtedly well
adapted to discover their several conditions, but not a little tedious in
its operations, and somewhat tiresome to the legs.
"We are under a debt of gratitude to your lordship," said Sir Edward, in
his simple and warm-hearted way, "that I am sorry it is not in our power
to repay more amply than by our thanks."
The earl was, or affected to be, surprised, as he required an explanation.
"The living at Bolton," said Lady Moseley, with dignity.
"Yes," continued her husband; "in giving the living to Frank you did me a
favor, equal to what you would have done had he been my own child; and
unsolicited, too, my lord, it was an additional compliment."
The earl sat rather uneasy during this speech, but the love of truth
prevailed; for he had been too much round the person of our beloved
sovereign not to retain all the impressions of his youth; and after a
little struggle with his self-love, he answered--
"Not unsolicited, Sir Edward. I have no doubt, had nay better fortune
allowed me the acquaintance of my present rector, his own merit would have
obtained what a sense of justice requires I should say was granted to an
applicant to whom the ear of royalty itself would not have been deaf."
It was the turn of the Moseleys now to look surprised, and Sir Edward
ventured to ask an explanation.
"It was my cousin, the Earl of Pendennyss, who applied for it, as a favor
done to himself; and Pendennyss is a man not to be refused anything."
"Lord Pendennyss!" exclaimed Mrs. Wilson, with animation; "and in what way
came we to be under this obligation to Lord Pendennyss?"
"He did me the honor of a call during my visit to Ireland, madam," replied
the earl; "and on inquiring of my steward after his old friend, Doctor
Stevens, learnt his death, and the claims of Mr. Ives; but the reason he
gave _me_ was his interest in the widow of General Wilson," bowing with
much solemnity to the lady as he spoke.
"I am gratified to find the earl yet remembers us," said Mrs. Wilson,
struggling to restrain her tears. "Are we to have the pleasure of seeing
him soon?"
"I received a letter from him yesterday, saying he should be here in all
next week, madam." And turning pleasantly to Jane and her sister, he
continued, "Sir Edward, you have here rewards fit for heavier services,
and the earl is a great admirer of female charms."
"Is he not married, my lord?" asked the baronet, with great simplicity.
"No, baronet, nor engaged; but how long he will remain so after his
hardihood in venturing into this neighborhood, will, I trust, depend on
one of these young ladies."
Jane looked grave--for trifling on love was heresy, in her estimation; but
Emily laughed, with an expression in which a skilful physiognomist might
have read--if he means me, he is mistaken.
"Your cousin, Lord Chatterton, has found interest, Sir Edward," continued
the peer, "to obtain his father's situation; and if reports speak truth,
he wishes to become more nearly related to you, baronet."
"I do not well see how that can happen," said Sir Edward with a smile, and
who had not art enough to conceal his thoughts, "unless he takes my sister
here."
The cheeks of both the young ladies now vied with the rose; and the peer,
observing he had touched on forbidden ground, added, "Chatterton was
fortunate to find friends able to bear up against the powerful interest of
Lord Haverford."
"To whom was he indebted for the place, my lord?" asked Mis. Wilson.
"It was whispered at court, madam," said the earl, sensibly lowering his
voice, and speaking with an air of mystery "and a lord of the bed-chamber
is fonder of discoveries than a lord of the council--that His Grace of
Derwent threw the whole of his parliamentary interest into the scale on
the baron's side, but you are not to suppose," raising his hand
gracefully, with a wave of rejection, "that I speak from authority; only a
surmise, Sir Edward, only a surmise, my lady."
"Is not the name of the Duke of Derwent, Denbigh?" inquired Mrs. Wilson,
with a thoughtful manner.
"Certainly, madam, Denbigh," replied the earl, with a gravity with which
he always spoke of dignities; "one of our most ancient names, and
descended on the female side from the Plantagenets and Tudors."
He now rose to take his leave, and on bowing to the younger ladies,
laughingly repeated his intention of bringing his cousin (an epithet he
never omitted), Pendennyss, to their feet.
"Do you think, sister," said Lady Moseley, after the earl had retired,
"that Mr. Denbigh is of the house of Derwent?"
"I cannot say," replied Mrs. Wilson, musing, "yet it is odd, Chatterton
told me of his acquaintance with Lady Harriet Denbigh, but not with the
Duke."
As this was spoken in the manner of a soliloquy, it received no answer,
and was in fact but little attended to by any of the party, excepting
Emily, who glanced her eye once or twice at her aunt as she was speaking,
with an interest the name of Denbigh never failed to excite. Harriet was,
she thought, a pretty name, but Marian was a prettier; if, thought Emily,
I could know a Marian Denbigh, I am sure I could love her, and her name
too.
The Moseleys now began to make their preparations for their departure to
L----, and the end of the succeeding week was fixed for the period at
which they were to go. Mrs. Wilson urged a delay of two or three days, in
order to give her an opportunity of meeting with the Earl of Pendennyss, a
young man in whom, although she had relinquished her former romantic wish
of uniting him to Emily, in favor of Denbigh, she yet felt a deep
interest, growing out of his connexion with the last moments of her
husband, and, his uniformly high character.
Sir Edward accordingly acquainted his uncle, that on the following
Saturday he might expect to receive himself and family, intending to leave
the hall in the afternoon of the preceding day, and reach Benfield lodge
to dinner. This arrangement once made, and Mr. Benfield notified of it,
was unalterable, the old man holding a variation from an engagement a
deadly sin. The week succeeding the accident which had nearly proved so
fatal to Denbigh, the inhabitants of the hall were surprised with the
approach of a being, as singular in his manners and dress as the equipage
which conveyed him to the door of the house. The latter consisted of a
high-backed, old-fashioned sulky, loaded with leather and large-headed
brass nails; wheels at least a quarter larger in circumference than those
of the present day, and wings on each side large enough to have supported
a full grown roc in the highest regions of the upper air. It was drawn by
a horse, once white, but whose milky hue was tarnished through age with
large and numerous red spots, and whose mane and tail did not appear to
have suffered by the shears during the present reign. The being who
alighted from this antiquated vehicle was tall and excessively thin, wore
his own hair drawn over his almost naked head into a long thin queue,
which reached half way down his back, closely cased in numerous windings
of leather, or the skin of some fish. His drab coat was in shape between a
frock and a close-body--close-body, indeed, it was; for the buttons, which
were in size about equal to an old-fashioned China saucer, were buttoned
to the very throat, thereby setting off his shape to peculiar advantage;
his breeches were buckskin, and much soiled; his stockings blue yarn,
although it was midsummer; and his shoes were provided with buckles of
dimensions proportionate to the aforesaid buttons; his age might have been
seventy, but his walk was quick, and the movements of his whole system
showed great activity both of mind and body. He was ushered into the room
where the gentlemen were sitting, and having made a low and extremely
modest bow, he deliberately put on his spectacles, thrust his hand into an
outside pocket of his coat, and produced from under its huge flaps a black
leathern pocket-book about as large as a good-sized octavo volume; after
examining the multitude of papers it contained carefully, he selected a
letter, and having returned the pocket-book to its ample apartment, read
aloud,
"For Sir Edward Moseley, bart. of Moseley Hall, B----,
Northamptonshire--with care and speed, by the hands of Mr. Peter Johnson,
steward of Benfield Lodge, Norfolk;" and dropping his sharp voice, he
stalked up to the baronet, and presented the epistle, with another
reverence.
"Ah, my good friend, Johnson," said Sir Edward as soon as he delivered his
errand (for until he saw the contents of the letter, he had thought some
accident had occurred to his uncle), "this is the first visit you have
ever honored me with; come, take a glass of wine before you go to your
dinner; let us drink, that it may not be the last."
"Sir Edward Moseley, and you, honorable gentlemen, will pardon me,"
replied the steward, in his own solemn key, "this is the first time I was
ever out of his majesty's county of Norfolk, and I devoutly wish it may
prove the last--Gentlemen, I drink your honorable healths."
This was the only real speech the old man made during his visit, unless an
occasional monosyllabic reply to a question could be thought so. He
remained, by Sir Edward' positive order, until the following day; for
having delivered his message, and receiving its answer, he was about to
take his departure that evening, thinking he might get a good piece on his
road homewards, as it wanted half an hour to sunset. On the following
morning, with the sun, he was on his way to the house in which he had been
born, and which he had never left for twenty-four hours at a time in his
life. In the evening, as he was ushered in by John (who had known him from
his own childhood, and loved to show him attention) to the room in which
he was to sleep, he broke what the young man called his inveterate
silence, with, "Young Mr. Moseley--young gentleman--might I presume--to
ask--to see the gentleman?"
"What gentleman?" cried John, astonished at the request, and at his
speaking so much.
"That saved Miss Emmy's life, sir."
John now fully comprehended him, and led the way to Denbigh's room; he was
asleep, but they were admitted to his bed-side. The steward stood for ten
minutes gazing on the sleeper in silence; and John observed, as he blew
his nose on regaining his own apartment, that his little grey eyes
twinkled with a lustre which could not be taken for anything but a tear.
As the letter was as characteristic of the writer as its bearer was of his
vocation, we may be excused giving it at length.
_"Dear Sir Edward and Nephew_,
"Your letter reached the lodge too late to be answered that evening, as I
was about to step into my bed; but I hasten to write my congratulations,
remembering the often repeated maxim of my kinsman Lord Gosford, that
letters should be answered immediately; indeed, a neglect of it had very
nigh brought about an affair of honor between the earl and Sir Stephens
Hallett. Sir Stephens was always opposed to us in the House of Commons of
this realm; and I have often thought something might have passed in the
debate itself, which commenced the correspondence, as the earl certainly
told him as much as if he were a traitor to his King and country.
"But it seems that your daughter Emily has been rescued from death by the
grandson of General Denbigh, who sat with us in the house. Now I always
had a good opinion of this young Denbigh, who reminds me, every time I
look at him, of my late brother, your father-in-law that was; and I send
my steward, Peter Johnson, express to the hall in order that he may see
the sick man, and bring me back a true account how he fares: for should he
be wanting for anything within the gift of Roderic Benfield, he has only
to speak to have it; not that I suppose, nephew, you will willingly allow
him to suffer for anything, but Peter is a man of close observation,
although he is of few words, and may suggest something beneficial, that
might escape younger heads. I pray for--that is, I hope, the young man
will recover, as your letter gives great hopes; and if he should want any
little matter to help him along in the army, as I take it he is not over
wealthy, you have now a good opportunity to offer your assistance
handsomely; and that it may not interfere with your arrangements for this
winter, your draft on me for five thousand pounds will be paid at sight;
for fear he may be proud, and not choose to accept your assistance, I have
this morning detained Peter, while he has put a codicil to my will,
leaving him ten thousand pounds. You may tell Emily she is a naughty
child, or she would have written me the whole story; but, poor dear, I
suppose she has other things on her mind just now. God bless Mr. ---- that
is, God bless, you all, and try if you cannot get a lieutenant-colonelcy
at once--the brother of Lady Juliana's friend was made a
lieutenant-colonel at the first step.
"RODERIC BENFIELD."
The result of Peter's reconnoitering expedition has never reached our
knowledge, unless the arrival of a servant some days after he took his
leave, with a pair of enormous-goggles, and which the old gentleman
assured his nephew in a note, both Peter and himself had found useful to
weak eyes in their occasional sickness, might have been owing to the
prudent forecast of the sagacious steward.