The warm weather had now commenced; and Sir Edward, unwilling to be shut
up in London at a time the appearance of vegetation gave the country a new
interest, and accustomed for many years of his life to devote an hour in
his garden each morn, had taken a little ready furnished cottage a short
ride from his residence, with the intention of frequenting it until after
the birthday. Thither then Pendennyss took his bride from the altar, and a
few days were passed by the newly married pair in this little asylum.
Doctor Ives, with Francis, Clara, and their mother, had obeyed the summons
with an alacrity in proportion to the joy they felt on receiving it, and
the former had the happiness of officiating on the occasion. It would have
been easy for the wealth of the earl to procure a license to enable them
to marry in the drawing-room; the permission was obtained, but neither
Emily nor himself felt a wish to utter their vows in any other spot than
at the altar, and in the house of their Maker.
If there was a single heart that felt the least emotion of regret or
uneasiness, it was Lady Moseley, who little relished the retirement of the
cottage on so joyful an occasion; but Pendennyss silenced her objections
by good-humoredly replying--
"The fates have been so kind to me, in giving me castles and seats, you
ought to allow me, my dear Lady Moseley, the only opportunity I shall
probably ever have of enjoying love in a cottage."
A few days, however, removed the uneasiness of the good matron, who had
the felicity within the week of seeing her daughter initiated mistress of
Annerdale House.
The morning of their return to this noble mansion the earl presented
himself in St. James's Square, with the intelligence of their arrival, and
smiling as he bowed to Mrs. Wilson, he continued--
"And to escort you, dear madam, to your new abode."
Mrs. Wilson started with surprise, and with a heart beating quick with
emotion, she required an explanation of his words.
"Surely, dearest Mrs. Wilson--more than aunt--my mother--you cannot mean,
after having trained my Emily through infancy to maturity in the paths of
duty, to desert her in the moment of her greatest trial. I am the pupil of
your husband," he continued, taking her hands in his own with reverence
and affection; "we are the children of your joint care, and one home, as
there is but one heart, must in future contain us."
Mrs. Wilson had wished for, but hardly dared to expect this invitation. It
was now urged from the right quarter, and in a manner that was as sincere
as it was gratifying. Unable to conceal her tears, the good widow pressed
the hand of Pendennyss to her lips as she murmured out her thanks. Sir
Edward was prepared also to lose his sister; but unwilling to relinquish
the pleasure of her society, he urged her making a common residence
between the two families.
"Pendennyss has spoken truth, my dear brother," cried she, recovering her
voice; "Emily is the child of my care and my love--the two beings I love
best in this world are now united--but," she added, pressing Lady Moseley
to her bosom, "my heart is large enough for you all; you are of my blood,
and my gratitude for your affection is boundless. There shall be but one
large family of us; and although our duties may separate us for a time, we
will, I trust, ever meet in tenderness and love, though with George and
Emily I will take up my abode."
"I hope your house in Northamptonshire is not to be vacant always," said
Lady Moseley to the earl, anxiously.
"I have no house there, my dear madam," he replied; "when I thought myself
about to succeed in my suit before, I directed a lawyer at Bath, where Sir
William Harris resided most of his time, to endeavor to purchase the
deanery, whenever a good opportunity offered: in my discomfiture," he
added, smiling, "I forgot to countermand the order, and he purchased it
immediately on its being advertised. For a short time it was an
incumbrance to me, but it is now applied to its original purpose. It is
the sole property of the Countess of Pendennyss, and I doubt not you will
see it often and agreeably tenanted."
This intelligence gave great satisfaction to his friends, and the expected
summer restored to even Jane a gleam of her former pleasure.
If there be bliss in this life, approaching in any degree to the happiness
of the blessed, it is the fruition of long and ardent love, where youth,
innocence, piety, and family concord, smile upon the union. And all these
were united in the case of the new-married pair; but happiness in this
world cannot or does not, in any situation, exist without alloy.
The peace of mind and fortitude of Emily were fated to receive a blow, as
unlooked for to herself as it was unexpected to the world. Bonaparte
appeared in France, and Europe became in motion.
From the moment the earl heard the intelligence his own course was
decided. His regiment was the pride of the army, and that it would be
ordered to join the duke he did not entertain a doubt.
Emily was, therefore, in some little measure prepared for the blow. It is
at such moments as our own acts, or events affecting us, get to be without
our control, that faith in the justice and benevolence of God is the most
serviceable to the Christian. When others spend their time in useless
regrets he is piously resigned: it even so happens, that when others mourn
he can rejoice.
The sound of the bugle, wildly winding its notes, broke on the stillness
of the morning in the little village in which was situated the cottage
tenanted by Sir Edward Moseley. Almost concealed by the shrubbery which
surrounded its piazza, stood the forms of the Countess of Pendennyss and
her sister Lady Marian, watching eagerly the appearance of those whose
approach was thus announced.
The carriage of the ladies, with its idle attendants, was in waiting at a
short distance; and the pale face but composed resignation of its
mistress, indicated a struggle between conflicting duties.
File after file of heavy horse passed them in military pomp, and the
wistful gaze of the two females had scanned them in vain for the well
known, much-beloved countenance of the leader. At length a single horseman
approached them, riding deliberately and musing: their forms met his eye,
and in an instant Emily was pressed to the bosom of her husband.
"It is the doom of a soldier," said the earl, dashing a tear from his eye;
"I had hoped that the peace of the world would not again be assailed for
years, and that ambition and jealousy would yield a respite to our bloody
profession; but cheer up, my love--hope for the best--your trust is not in
the things of this life, and your happiness is without the power of man."
"Ah! Pendennyss--my husband," sobbed Emily, sinking on his bosom, "take
with you my prayers--my love--everything that can console you--everything
that may profit you. I will not tell you to be careful of your life; your
duty teaches you that. As a soldier, expose it; as a husband guard it; and
return to me as you leave me, a lover, the dearest of men, and a
Christian."
Unwilling to prolong the pain of parting, the earl gave his wife a last
embrace, held Marian affectionately to his bosom, and mounting his horse,
was out of sight in an instant.
Within a few days of the departure of Pendennyss, Chatterton was surprised
with the entrance of his mother and Catharine. His reception of them was
that of a respectful child, and his wife exerted herself to be kind to
connexions she could not love, in order to give pleasure to a husband she
adored. Their tale was soon told. Lord and Lady Herriefield were
separated; and the dowager, alive to the dangers of a young woman in
Catharine's situation, and without a single principle on which to rest the
assurance of her blameless conduct in future, had brought her to England,
in order to keep off disgrace, by residing with her child herself.
There was nothing in his wife to answer the expectations with which Lord
Herriefield married. She had beauty, but with that he was already sated;
her simplicity, which, by having her attention drawn elsewhere, had at
first charmed him, was succeeded by the knowing conduct of a determined
follower of the fashions, and a decided woman of the world.
It had never struck the viscount as impossible that an artless and
innocent girl would fall in love with his faded and bilious face, but the
moment Catharine betrayed the arts of a manager, he saw at once the
artifice that had been practised; of course he ceased to love her.
Men are flattered for a season with notice that has been unsought, but it
never fails to injure the woman who practises it in the opinion of the
other sex, in time. Without a single feeling in common, without a regard
to anything but self, in either husband or wife, it could not but happen
that a separation must follow, or their days be spent in wrangling and
misery. Catharine willingly left her husband; her husband more willingly
got rid of her.
During all these movements the dowager had a difficult game to play. It
was unbecoming her to encourage the strife, and it was against her wishes
to suppress it; she therefore moralized with the peer, and frowned upon
her daughter.
The viscount listened to her truisms with the attention of a boy who is
told by a drunken father how wicked it is to love liquor, and heeded them
about as much; while Kate, mistress at all events of two thousand a year,
minded her mother's frowns as little as she regarded her smiles; both were
indifferent to her.
A few days after the ladies left Lisbon, the viscount proceeded to Italy
in company with the repudiated wife of a British naval officer; and if
Kate was not guilty of an offence of equal magnitude, it was more owing to
her mother's present vigilance than to her previous care.
The presence of Mrs. Wilson was a great source of consolation to Emily in
the absence of her husband; and as their longer abode in town was useless,
the countess declining to be presented without the earl, the whole family
decided upon a return into Northamptonshire.
The deanery had been furnished by order of Pendennyss immediately on his
marriage; and its mistress hastened to take possession of her new
dwelling. The amusement and occupation of this movement, the planning of
little improvements, her various duties under her increased
responsibilities, kept Emily from dwelling unduly upon the danger of her
husband. She sought out amongst the first objects of her bounty the
venerable peasant whose loss had been formerly supplied by Pendennyss on
his first visit to B----, after the death of his father. There might not
have been the usual discrimination and temporal usefulness in this
instance which generally accompanied her benevolent acts; but it was
associated with the image of her husband, and it could excite no surprise
in Mrs. Wilson, although it did in Marian, to see her sister driving two
or three times a week to relieve the necessities of a man who appeared
actually to be in want of nothing.
Sir Edward was again amongst those he loved, and his hospitable board was
once more surrounded with the faces of his friends and neighbors. The
good-natured Mr. Haughton was always a welcome guest at the hall, and met,
soon after their return, the collected family of the baronet, at a dinner
given by the latter to his children and one or two of his most intimate
neighbors--
"My Lady Pendennyss," cried Mr. Haughton, in the course of the afternoon,
"I have news from the earl, which I know it will do your heart good to
hear."
Emily smiled at the prospect of hearing in any manner of her husband,
although she internally questioned the probability of Mr. Haughton's
knowing anything of his movements, of which her daily letters did not
apprise her.
"Will you favor me with the particulars of your intelligence, sir?" said
the countess.
"He has arrived safe with his regiment near Brussels; heard it from a
neighbor's son who saw him enter the house occupied by Wellington, while
he was standing in the crowd without, waiting to get a peep at the duke."
"Oh!" said Mrs. Wilson with a laugh, "Emily knew that ten days ago. Could
your friend tell us anything of Bonaparte? We are much interested in his
movements just now."
Mr. Haughton, a good deal mortified to find his news stale, mused a
moment, as if in doubt to proceed or not; but liking of all things to act
the part of a newspaper, he continued--
"Nothing more than you see in the prints; but I suppose your ladyship has
heard about Captain Jarvis too?"
"Why, no," said Emily, laughing; "the movements of Captain Jarvis are not
quite as interesting to me as those of Lord Pendennyss--has the duke made
him an aide-de-camp?"
"Oh! no," cried the other, exulting at his having something new: "as soon
as he heard of the return of Boney, he threw up his commission and got
married."
"Married!" cried John; "not to Miss Harris, surely."
"No; to a silly girl he met in Cornwall, who was fool enough to be caught
with his gold lace. He married one day, and the next told his disconsolate
wife and panic-stricken mother that the honor of the Jarvises must sleep
until the supporters of the name became sufficiently numerous to risk them
in the field of battle."
"And how did Mrs. Jarvis and Sir Timo's lady relish the news?" inquired
John, expecting something ridiculous.
"Not at all," rejoined Mr. Haughton; "the former sobbed, and said she had
only married him for his bravery and red coat, and the _lady_ exclaimed
against the destruction of his budding honors."
"How did it terminate?" asked Mrs. Wilson.
"Why, it seems while they were quarrelling about it, the War-Office cut
the matter short by accepting his resignation, I suppose the
commander-in-chief had learned his character; but the matter was warmly
contested: they even drove the captain to a declaration of his
principles."
"And what kind of ones might they have been, Haughton?" said Sir Edward,
drily.
"Republican."
"Republican!" exclaimed two or three in surprise.
"Yes, liberty and equality, he contended, were his idols, and he could not
find it in his heart to fight against Bonaparte."
"A somewhat singular conclusion," said Mr. Benfield, musing. "I remember
when I sat in the House, there was a party who were fond of the cry of
this said liberty; but when they got the power they did not seem to me to
suffer people to go more at large than they went before; but I suppose
they were diffident of telling the world their minds after they were put
in such responsible stations, for fear of the effect of example."
"Most people like liberty as servants but not as masters, uncle," cried
John, with a sneer.
"Captain Jarvis, it seems, liked it as a preservative against danger,"
continued Mr. Haughton; "to avoid ridicule in his new neighborhood, he has
consented to his father's wishes, and turned merchant in the city again."
"Where I sincerely hope he will remain," cried John, who since the
accident of the arbor, could not tolerate the unfortunate youth.
"Amen!" said Emily, in an under tone, heard only by her brother.
"But Sir Timo--what has become of Sir Timo--the good, honest merchant?"
asked John.
"He has dropt the title, insists on being called plain Mr. Jarvis, and
lives entirely in Cornwall. His hopeful son-in-law has gone with his
regiment to Flanders; and Lady Egerton, being unable to live without her
father's assistance, is obliged to hide her consequence in the west also."
The subject became now disagreeable to Lady Moseley, and it was changed.
Such conversations made Jane more reserved and dissatisfied than ever. She
had no one respectable excuse to offer for her partiality to her former
lover, and when her conscience told her the mortifying fact, was apt to
think that others remembered it too.
The letters from the continent now teemed with preparations for the
approaching contest; and the apprehensions of our heroine and her friends
increased, in proportion to the nearness of the struggle, on which hung
not only the fates of thousands of individuals, but of adverse princes and
mighty empires. In this confusion of interests, and of jarring of
passions, there were offered prayers almost hourly for the safety of
Pendennyss, which were as pure and ardent as the love which prompted them.