Mystery and Confidence: A Tale. Vol. 2

1814.

B. CLARKE, Printer, Well-Street, London.

MYSTERY AND CONFIDENCE.

CHAP. I.

----To mourn because a sparrow dies, To rave in artificial ecstasies, Laments how oft her wounded heart has bled, And boasts of many a tear she never shed.

MISS MORE'S POEM ON SENSIBILITY.

The next day being Sunday, Lady St. Aubyn, attired in the most elegant undress, and attended by the Earl, made her appearance at the church: the expensive lace veil which shaded her fair face, and hung loosely below her waist, prevented the gazing of those around her from being too oppressive. The neighbouring families certainly had heard that Lord St. Aubyn had married a young person of a rank in life much inferior to his own, for secretly as every thing had been conducted, as no one could tell the name or family of his bride, such, at least, were the conjectures of those who knew him; yet, in spite of the prejudices which had been excited against her, the elegance of her form, and the modest composure of her demeanour, in a great measure overcame it, and all who were entitled, by their situation in life, to visit at the Castle, determined to do so; some prompted by mere curiosity, and some by less unworthy motives. The three or four following days, therefore, brought Ellen many visitors, and her own intuitive sense of propriety, added to the few general directions St. Aubyn had given her, and with the advantageous support his respectful attention gave her, prevented her appearing at all awkward; and these visits, which she had so greatly dreaded, passed over with less pain than she had expected.

Amongst their first visitors were Sir William and Miss Cecil; the former of whom was a mere common-place character, whom, if you did not happen to see for sometime, you would be apt to forget you had ever seen at all; but the fine countenance of Laura, her expressive features, and the bright black eyes which animated them, charmed Ellen, who had never seen any woman before so pleasing: yet Laura was not strictly beautiful, and at this time the lustre of her fine eyes was dimmed by the melancholy which pervaded her mind, for she said her little invalid was so much indisposed, and so weak, she would not have left her to go any where else; but she wished so very much to be introduced to Lady St. Aubyn she could not resist the temptation.

The very elegant manner in which she spoke, the clearness of her articulation, and sweetness of her voice, were strikingly agreeable; and St. Aubyn afterwards said that a few years before she had a gaiety of manner, enlivened by wit of a superior nature, with so much playfulness of expression, that by many people she was considered as merely a lively girl, and a little satirical; but time and misfortune had softened what at times might have been too severe in her opinions, had improved and mellowed her fine judgment, and given a pensive sweetness to her manners, which was occasionally relieved by flashes of her former gaiety and ready repartee. St. Aubyn shewed her a particular and most respectful attention, and told Ellen she would be charmed with Miss Cecil's drawings, which were the very finest he ever saw, except from the hands of a professed artist. He then, with a smile, addressed a few words to Laura in an undertone, to which she replied: "Oh, pray, my Lord, do not expose my juvenile follies: I might have done such things when we were mere children together, but I hope you think me wiser now!"

"The world," said he, "has perhaps made us both graver since the days you speak of; and that, in the eyes of many, will doubtless give us credit for an increase of wisdom; but believe me, my fair friend, I have lost so little of the romance of youth (if such you choose to term it), that I must hope you do not neglect the pleasing talent to which I alluded, and of which you must allow Lady St. Aubyn to judge: I assure you she has a great taste for poetry, and perhaps one day or other may follow your example, and court the Muses in her turn."

"Ah, my Lord!" said Laura, smiling and colouring: "I see you are determined not to keep my secret." "Tell me, Ellen," said St. Aubyn, "can you see any reason why Miss Cecil should wish to make a secret of her having succeeded very happily in some elegant little poetical compositions?" "No, indeed," replied Ellen: "it surely is a gift to be rather proud than ashamed of." "Ah, my dear Lady St. Aubyn, if you could conceive the illiberal prejudice of some minds, you would not wonder at my dislike to having these trifling attempts spoken of. A lady I knew, who was eminently gifted in that way, and indeed an excellent prose-writer also, was, from circumstances, obliged to be less scrupulous than I have been; and if you could have heard the things I have witnessed, when she entered or left a room, you would be amazed: while she, gentle, unassuming, and even timid, judging candidly of every one, unwilling to see faults, and detesting personal satire, had not the most remote idea of the severe and uncandid remarks she excited."

Ellen was really astonished at this account, as much as she was pleased with the spirit and grace with which it was delivered; and St. Aubyn said to her with an expressive smile, "You see, Ellen, our friend Ross had more reason than we were willing to allow him for certain prohibitions. However," added he, "I will not relinquish the hope that Miss Cecil will soon see how little she has to fear from any observations of such a nature from you." "I see it already," said Miss Cecil with quickness: "one glance at Lady St. Aubyn would convince the most incredulous that nothing but sweetness and candour can lodge in such a temple."

She then looked at her watch, and saying she had much exceeded her time, and Juliet would expect her, departed with her father, who had been deeply engaged in giving Doctor Montague a long account of a county-meeting, which had been held for some public purpose a few days before. They had scarcely driven from the door, when Miss Alton was announced; and as she entered, St. Aubyn whispered to Ellen--"Now you will see a character quite new to you." Then rising hastily, he crossed the room to meet the lady, exclaiming, "Heavens! my dear Miss Alton, how enchanted I am to see you look so well! You really improve every day, at least every year: for I believe it is at least that time since I saw you last." "Oh, my Lord," answered the lady in an affected tone, but in a voice the natural sharpness of which all her efforts failed to soften; "you flatter--don't try to make me vain. Lord bless me, you men have no mercy on us poor young women: but will you not introduce me to your Lady?"

Ellen, who at the distance from whence she had first seen this visitor imagined that she really was young and handsome, was astonished as she approached, to find in the white frock, sash, ringlets, and little straw hat of a girl, a woman apparently between fifty and sixty; and who vainly attempted to conceal, by a quantity of rouge and a slight veil thrown over her face, the ravages which time had made in her countenance. Her spare figure gave her some resemblance to youthful slightness; but when near, the sharp bones, and angular projections of her face and person, sufficiently proved, that slender appearance was the result of lean old age, instead of girlish delicacy. In spite of the advanced season, she was clad so lightly, that she still shivered from the impression of the keen breeze which had assailed her as she crossed the Park, and gladly accepted a seat by the comfortable fire, though affecting to conceal her sufferings under an air of gaiety and ease.

St. Aubyn (who had known her many years, and had been from a boy accustomed to divert himself with her foibles, though he really felt a degree of regard for her, as, in spite of her oddities, she was not without a mixture of good qualities), after having introduced her to his bride, seated himself by her, and began to talk to her in a strain of such marked flattery, as really alarmed Ellen, who thought Miss Alton would certainly be offended; but her enormous vanity prevented her from perceiving that he was merely laughing at her, and she grew every moment more ridiculous. At last, turning to Ellen, she said in a pathetic tone, "Oh, my dear Madam, you cannot conceive how I have felt for you these two days! I declare I have not been able to sleep for thinking of you, and really have shed tears to imagine what a tax you have been paying: how you must have been fatigued by receiving such a succession of visitors! but every one must have some trouble. There is my dear friend, Mrs. Dawkins, the best of women--sweet woman, indeed--there she is lamenting at home such a vexation!" "What is the matter?" said St. Aubyn, laughing, for he knew what sort of misfortunes Mrs. Dawkins and her friend Miss Alton generally lamented with so much pathos: "has she lost her little French dog, or has the careless coachman scratched the pannels of her new carriage?" "Oh, you sad man! how can you make a jest of the dear soul's uncommon sensibility? To be sure she has the tenderest feelings. She often says to me, 'my dear Alton, what should I do without you: you are the only person who can really feel for the misfortunes of a friend.' Sweet woman!"

"Well, but," said St. Aubyn, "you were going to tell us what has happened to this amiable friend of your's."

"Nay, I will tell Lady St. Aubyn, she looks all softness and sensibility: but you are so wicked, you make a jest of every thing. Do you know, my dearest Lady St. Aubyn, just as poor Mrs. Dawkins was coming to make you a visit, this morning, nay, she was actually dressed, and had one foot on the step of the carriage, I was in it, for she was so kind as to say she would bring me; so I thought, as I was to come with her, I need not put on a pelisse, or shawl, for you know they spoil one's dress. But I can't say but that it was rather cold walking, as I was at last obliged to do, for just as she put her foot upon the step----" "What happened?" interrupted St. Aubyn, laughing still more at the emphatic manner in which poor Alton told her distressing story.--"Did she fall down and break her leg, or did the horses run away and carry off her kid slipper?"----"Now only hear him; did you ever see such a teasing creature: well, I am glad I have not the task of keeping you in order; I don't know what even the sweet Countess will do with you."

This piece of self-congratulation threw St. Aubyn into a violent fit of laughing, in which even the grave Doctor Montague joined, and Ellen could hardly resist, though the fear of quite affronting her guest put a check upon her risibility.

"Well," said St. Aubyn, at last recovering himself a little, "but what really did happen to poor Mrs. Dawkins?"

"Nay, I protest I won't tell you, you wicked creature; I will tell Lady St. Aubyn some other time, for you do not deserve to hear any thing about it."

"Oh, yes, do, my dear Alton, tell, for really I am in great pain for poor Mrs. Dawkins, who has been standing so long with one foot upon the step: don't leave her in so dangerous a situation any longer."----"Well, then, if I must tell--at that moment up came a servant on horseback, to say her sister, Mrs. Courtenay, was on the road to her own house, in her way from Buxton, and would, with a whole train of children and servants, dine at her house to-day; and as they were coming directly, she was actually obliged to defer her visit to your Ladyship till to-morrow; and she was so sorry, and I am sure so was I, for I was obliged to walk here after all."