Lady Anne Granard/Chapter 34
CHAPTER XXXIV.
Both the sisters prepared various letters, and took especial care to supply the wants of Helen, trusting that Georgiana's would be cared for by the earl her uncle; but she was not left without money by Isabella, who well remembered what it was to hope and be disappointed—cast an eye and breathe a sigh over the lank sides of a worthless "silken purse," as devoid of merit as a "sow's ear"—when a pair of gloves could be no longer mended—a warm shawl was called for by every wind that blew, and there was no walking round the square for want of winter boots. "In a nobleman's house how many gloves, and ribbons, and dresses, too, are wanted!—poor Georgiana must have ten pounds, at all events."
And never did Isabella relieve a suffering fellow-creature, or assist a beloved sister, without blessing the dear, distant one that had made her rich, and kissing her sweet boy with new zest, as the son of his father. The warm apostrophe of Riccardini to this little representative of his parents, whom he called "the son of his love, the child of his old age, the gift of his beloved niece, on the behalf of his angel-daughter," affected them all; and if prayers and blessings could ensure him safety, his voyage must be attended by halcyon skies, and his long monotonous journey through France to Paris be unaccompanied by weariness.
Such was not the case; the Count found himself an older man than when he passed through the same route twenty years before, though his appearance was little changed; he also found how much he had lost in leaving those amiable young women, whose sweet society had been to him the renewal of his sensibility, not less than the soothers of his sorrow.
Had we not better partake or at least follow the steps of the Anglicised Italian? We have left Lady Anne for a long time; nevertheless, we must stay with Isabella another week, in order to read a second letter received from Glentworth, which was expected with the more impatience in consequence of the Count's departure. Our ladies were situated as well as it was possible; they had good servants, splendid rooms, obsequious attendants, and had become habituated to the country, so that the loss of the Count was not any thing of moment beyond the pleasure of his society; but, it might be truly said, their wishes went with him, and "home, sweet home!" was the cry of their hearts; therefore, they earnestly desired any message which, by informing them of the health of Glentworth, awoke their hopes of a return to their own country.
"I write, my beloved, from Messina, by the returning vessel, to say that, on the whole, I am better for the voyage; but, I must own, I impute my improvement more to the kind attentions of Lord Allerton, who is my companion still, and will not, I think, leave me, than to the sea air. Parizzi was quite right, I really think, in saying excitement was good for me, therefore I must seek novelty (by which he meant, I must forget the past, and learn to live in the present), for I really find more advantage than I expected in the time; but it has been in consequence rather of water than air, which has kindly provided me with two excellent nurses!
"Yes, two! What do you say, dear Isabella, to my having actually picked up another ci-devant lover of one of your sisters, poor little Georgiana, who is at present wearing the willow, as well as this fine young man, who is really the beau ideal of a sailor-gentleman, because Lady Anne must have lords at least for the rest of her daughters? You know her last letters said how unwell this poor girl was, and that she was hastening to Brighton on that account. She may well be unwell, for Arthur Hales (who, by the way, had a viscount for his father, and has one now for his brother, to say nothing of a glorious old baronet for his grandfather) is in age, person, rank—nay, even fortune, all one could wish for dear Georgiana, whom I used to love as well as yourself, and whose welfare I would, if possible, ensure. I wish you to write and tell her this, in order to support her spirits until our return, when it shall go hard but we will make her as happy as Louisa. She is several years younger, and will be no worse for waiting two or three years—not that she can see much more of her husband than she has done, as he is continually at sea, which is all the better, as there is little doubt of his having a ship ere long. We all love that the best which has cost us the most; and they will prize each other the more for their present sorrow, provided it is not continued too long. It is on this principle, Isabella, that I hope for the continuance of your affection. God knows I have cost you enough! every day of my life increases my sense of your kindness, and the way in which you 'stooped to conquer.' Depend upon it, my love, the object was insured. Some people say there are such things as good husbands, but never grateful ones—that the innate pride of the strong sex never owns obligation to the weaker. I rather think there is some truth in the observation, especially when, as in our case, the lady is so considerably younger; for it does seem strange, almost impossible, to hold oneself under serious obligation to the child you have dandled—the little girl who has kissed you for giving her a new doll. Well, never mind, darling, I shall love you the most when I have forgotten to thank you at all—you understand this?"
"Perfectly," exclaimed Isabella; "the sooner he forgets the past the better for me," and she eagerly resumed the letter.
"Messina interests me much; but I shall talk to you of Sicily, not write of it. To-morrow we set out to explore Etna—we will hope his fires will sleep, for I shall have quite enough with either hand—a lover 'sighing like furnace,' as the craft are wont. 'Prepare our dear Mary for what is prepared for her' (as our old divines say)—a penitent lover who knows her worth, and will give her the rank she truly merits, and the fortune she will spend well and wisely. You, dear Isabella, will, I trust, obviate all difficulties of the brown merino character. I wish you both to be out of mourning when we return, unless it will give pain to dear Riccardini, for Mary, though very fair, is too thin for black, and you too dark. See what a coxcomb you have made of the old fellow; like Benedict, I shall be thinking a whole morning of the cut of my own doublet next—n'importe, I am willing to grow young by contagion.
"I cannot close this without giving you some pain, dear Isabella. I understand, from Lieutenant Hales, that Lady Anne gave a splendid party on the occasion of Louisa's marriage (indeed, we heard of it, I remember); but, I mean to say, she has so placed herself in difficulties, by increased expenditure, as to offend Lord Rotheles exceedingly, who threatens to withdraw his allowance, which Allerton says is the more likely to take place, because, to his own knowledge, the countess is her enemy. If, from the letters you receive (or have received), you find she is embarrassed, write immediately to Mr. Penrhyn, telling him to advance her, on my behalf, from two hundred and fifty to three hundred; but on no account part with any money, save for your personal expenses, it would subject us to difficulties with the bankers. I shall, of course, save your mother from serious evils; but, like Lord Rotheles, I must condemn the misconduct which has embarrassed her at a time when, so many of her family being removed, she ought to have been comfortably situated. If she has robbed the girls, as I greatly fear, I shall leave her to feel more than she will find palatable; but Penrhyn will do the right thing, so just write what I have told you."
"Oh! what a happy thing it was that I did not send away two or three hundred pounds to help poor mamma! What a dear, good creature was the Count to go off at the moment he did!"
"Indeed he was," said Mary, who had only heard that part of Glentworth’s letter which related to her mother; "as otherwise she would not be helped, for I am quite certain she has long ago taken the last shilling from Helen and Georgiana; that stands to reason, she must look to her own daughters, if they had any thing."
"Of course, of course,—she must look to us all," said Isabella, shaking her head.
"But surely, dear sister, Mr. Glentworth's whole letter is not written on this painful topic, and in the stern style those lines are dictated which you read. I do not wonder he finds fault, but it is hard on you to receive a lecture instead of a letter," Mary added.
"You are quite mistaken, dear sister; it is a good, kind, dear letter, as ever was written; the words are poured out freely as the thoughts rose to his mind—his conclusion is all apology, and he mentions you and his noble companion in such a kind manner. You need not to blush so, Mary, but I must say it becomes you amazingly."
"Don't jest on that subject, Isabella, I beseech you; I can better bear the severity of Mr. Glentworth, than a joke, even from you."
"Dear, dear sister, I would not trifle with your feelings for the world; and I am sure you believe neither Lord Allerton nor any man living would dare to trifle with Glentworth, either respecting his sister or any other subject?"
"I don't suppose they would; he is the last man any one would play with in a serious matter."
"Admitting that, I may tell you, for I am authorized to do so, both in the body of the letter and again in the postscript, that Lord Allerton is a penitent in all that concerns the past, and a true lover at the present, and that he is returning with Glentworth, to offer you the heart which has suffered anguish enough since you lost sight of each other, to render him an object of pity if not of. But here, take the letter, and shut yourself up with it. I must have the babe, and prattle to it of the father: when once I can teach it to say 'Papa! Papa!' I think it will be the happiest day of my existence. Fie on me! to make dear Mary happy ought to be sweetest of all, for, oh! how long have I known her heart broken and spiritless, faded and disconsolate, yet never cross or unkind, even for a moment. How often must our childish mirth have been as distressing to her jaded spirits, as the cruel taunts of mamma; and when she used to express such a desire that Glentworth would marry her, might not the same desire enter her own mind, hopeless as she then was, that Lord Allerton could be at liberty—and therefore, my marriage, if not affecting her tenderness, might be wounding to her pride, yet in her affection, her interest in me, she has to a certain point regained health and spirits. Oh! how sweetly I will dress her; how delicate, but how lovely she will look! thanks to you, dear Glentworth, who thinks for all, support all! Oh! how shall I worthily adore the merciful God who gave you to me (the youngest and least deserving of my family) to be the blessing and the protector of all!"
Several hours passed by unnoticed by Isabella, in meditating on her husband, or in playing with her child (which increased in health and beauty every day), before Mary emerged from her chamber—her eyelids were swollen, and the traces of tears were on her cheeks; it was evident that she had sustained a struggle, whether it were with the pride of female delicacy, dreading to show too plainly that she could forgive; that she was willing to be won; that although that priceless gem, "a virgin's first love," had been blighted, it had never expired; that the germ survived when the flower drooped, and required only a kind hand to offer new nourishment, a patient care and cultivation, to restore its vigour and relume its brilliance; or whether—but conjecture is vain in a case so full of all that is most interesting to feminine apprehension and feminine tenderness. Her countenance was full of gentle joy and that perfectly reposing confidence which belongs to the guileless and the artless, who, utterly incapable of deception in themselves, suspect it not in others. That she had been the victim of such conduct, she had too good an understanding to doubt; hut when she learnt that Lord Allerton had been in the same predicament, as told by Glentworth, whose integrity and ability were equal, not the shadow of a doubt remained, and she felt that she could love as she had first loved, when "love and life itself were new."
To a woman so situated, especially one who has been reproached for looking pale or yellow, thin and lank, unlovely and unloveable, the next question that arrives will inevitably be, "How do I look?" this will branch out into many "Can I expect him to love me, when I am no more the same?" "Is he so foolish as to suppose I am still a girl?" "Does he remember that it is full seven years since I was nineteen?"
Miss Austin, in her admirable novel of "Persuasion," has declared that a woman's twenty-eighth year is the most interesting period of female life, and bowing to such authority, we yet venture to say, one year less will not make her the worse, and we may add, that Miss Granard's increase of general happiness, and the aids offered by the sea and the climate, had unquestionably so restored her, that although not what she was in the bloom of nineteen, she was to a man in his thirtieth year, who had known the sorrows and mortifications poor Lord Allerton had experienced, and in some measure merited, a far more interesting person than he had ever seen her, for she had unquestionably gained in the expression of intellect and sensibility more than she had lost in youth and its evanescent beauty.