Emmeline, the Orphan of the Castle

by Charlotte Smith

FOOTNOTES:

[38]

——Volatile—impetuous—
Full of himself—jealous—presumptuous—
Fiery in his passions; yielding to every caprice;
And who believes some courage an apology for all his vices.

---

[CHAPTER VII]

It was now impossible for Emmeline to avoid a conversation with Lord Delamere, which his sister urged her so earnestly to allow him. Bellozane was, by the French officers, with whom he principally lived, engaged out for two days; and Lord and Lady Westhaven easily found an opportunity to leave Emmeline with Delamere.

He was no sooner alone in her presence, than he threw himself on his knees before her—'Will you,' cried he, 'ah! will you still refuse to hear and to forgive me? Have I offended beyond all hopes of pardon?'

'No, my Lord.—I do most readily and truly forgive every offence, whether real or imaginary, that you believe you have committed against me.'

'You forgive me—But to what purpose?—Only to plunge me yet deeper into wretchedness. You forgive me—but you despise, you throw me from you for ever. Ah! rather continue to be angry, than distract me by a pardon so cold and careless!'

'If your Lordship will be calm—if you will rise, and hear me with temper, I will be very explicit with you; but while you yield to these extravagant transports, I cannot explain all I wish you to understand; and must indeed beg to be released from a conversation so painful to me, and to you so prejudicial.'

Delamere rose and took a chair.

'I need not, Sir,' said Emmeline, collecting all her courage, 'recall to your memory the time so lately passed, when I engaged to become your's, if at the expiration of a certain period Lord and Lady Montreville consented, and you still remained disposed to bestow on me the honour of your name.'

'What am I to expect,' cried Delamere, eagerly interrupting her—'Ah! what am I to expect from a preface so cold and cruel? You have indeed no occasion to recall to my memory those days when I was allowed to look forward to that happiness, which now, thro' the villainy of others, and my own madness and ideotism, I have lost. But, Madam, it must not, it cannot be so easily relinquished! By heaven I will not give you up!—and if but for a moment I thought——.'

'You seemed just now, Sir, disposed to hear me with patience. Since, however, you cannot even for a few minutes forbear these starts of passion, I really am unequal to the task of staying with you.'

She would then have hastened away; but Delamere forcibly detaining her, again protested he would be calm, and again she went on.

'At that time, I will own to you, that without any prepossession, almost without a wish either to accept or decline the very high honour you offered me, I was content to engage myself to be your wife; because you said such an engagement would make you happy, and because I then knew not that it would render me otherwise.'

'Was you even then thus indifferent? Had I no place in your heart, Madam, when you would have given me your hand?'

'Yes, Sir—you had then the place I now willingly restore to you. I esteemed you; I looked upon you with a sisterly affection; and had I married you, it would have been rather to have made you happy, than because I had any wish to form other ties than those by which our relationship and early acquaintance had connected us.'

'Ah! my angelic Emmeline! it will still make me happy! Let the reasons which then influenced you, again plead for me; and forget, O! forget all that has passed since my headlong folly urged me to insult and forsake you!'

'Alas! my Lord, that is not in my power! You have cancelled the engagements that subsisted between us; and, as I understand, have actually formed others more indissoluble, with a lady of high rank and of immense fortune—one whose alliance is as anxiously courted by your family, as mine is despised. Can your Lordship again fly from your promises? Can you quit at pleasure the affluent and high-born heiress as you quitted the deserted and solitary orphan?'

'Cursed, cursed cruelty!' exclaimed Delamere, speaking thro' his shut teeth—But go on, Madam! I deserve your severity, and must bear your reproaches! Yet surely you know that but for the machinations of those execrable Crofts', I should never have acted as I did—you know, that however destitute of fortune chance had made you, I preferred you to all those who might have brought me wealth!'

'I acknowledge your generosity, Sir, and on that head meant not to reproach. I merely intended to represent to you what you seem to have forgotten—that were I disposed to restore you the hand you so lately renounced, you could not take it; since Miss Otley will certainly not relinquish the claim you have given her to your regard.'

'You are misinformed.—I am under no engagement to Miss Otley.—I am not by heaven! by all that is sacred!'

'Were not all preparations for your marriage in great forwardness, Sir, when you left England? and must not your consent have been previously obtained before Lord Montreville would have made them? However, to put an end to all uncertainty, I must tell you, my Lord, with a sincerity which will probably be displeasing to you, that my affections—'

'Are no longer in your own power!' cried he, hastily interrupting her—'Speak, Madam—is it not so?'

'I did not say that, Sir. I was going to assure you that I now find it impossible to command them—impossible to feel for you that preference, without which I should think myself extremely culpable were I to give you my hand.'

'I understand you, Madam! You give that preference to another. The Chevalier de Bellozane has succeeded to your affections. He has doubtless made good use of the opportunities he has had to conciliate your favour; but before he carries his good fortune farther, he must discuss with me the right by which he pretends to it.'

'Whether he has or has not a right to pretend to my regard, Sir,' said Emmeline, with great spirit, 'this causeless jealousy, so immediately after you have been convinced of the fallacy of your supposition in regard to another person, convinces me, that had I unfortunately given you an exclusive claim to my friendship and affection, my whole life would have been embittered by suspicion, jealousy, and caprice. Recollect, my Lord, that I have said nothing of the Chevalier de Bellozane, nor have you the least reason to believe I have for him those sentiments you are pleased to impute to me.'

'But can I doubt it!' exclaimed Delamere, rising, and walking about in an agony—'Can I doubt it, when I have heard you disclaim me for ever!—when you have told me your affections are no longer in your power!'

'No, Sir; my meaning was, what I now repeat—that as my near relation, as my friend, as the brother of Lady Westhaven, I shall ever esteem and regard you; but that I cannot command now in your favour those sentiments which should induce me to accept of you as my husband. What is past cannot be recalled; and tho' I am most truly concerned to see you unhappy, my determination is fixed and I must abide by it.'

'Death and hell!' cried the agonized Delamere—'It is all over then! You utterly disclaim me, and hardly think it worth while to conceal from me for whose sake I am disclaimed!'

Emmeline was terrified to find that he still persisted in imputing her estrangement from him to her partiality for Bellozane; foreseeing that he would immediately fly to him, and that all she apprehended must follow.

'I beg, I entreat, Lord Delamere, that you will understand that I give no preference to Mr. de Bellozane. I will not only assure you of that, but I disclaim all intention of marriage whatever! Suffer me, my Lord, to entreat that you will endeavour to calm your mind and regain your health. Reflect on the cruel uncertainty in which you have left the Marquis and the Marchioness; reflect on the uneasy situation in which you keep Lord and Lady Westhaven, and on the great injury you do yourself; and resolutely attempt, in the certainty of succeeding, to divest yourself of a fatal partiality, which has hitherto produced only misery to you and to your family.'

'Oh! most certainly, most certainly!' cried Delamere, almost choaked with passion—'I shall undoubtedly make all these wise reflections; and after having gone thro' a proper course of them, shall, possibly, with great composure, see you in the arms of that presumptuous coxcomb—that vain, supercilious Frenchman!—that detested Bellozane! No, Madam! no! you may certainly give yourself to him, but assure yourself I live not to see it!'

He flew out of the room at these words, tho' she attempted to stop and to appease him. Her heart bled at the wounds she had yet thought it necessary to inflict; and she was at once grieved and terrified at his menacing and abrupt departure. She immediately went herself after Lord Westhaven, to intreat him to keep Bellozane and Delamere apart. His Lordship was much disturbed at what had passed, which Emmeline faithfully related to him: Bellozane was still out of town; and Lord Westhaven, who now apprehended that on Delamere's meeting him he would immediately insult him, said he would consider what could be done to prevent their seeing each other 'till Delamere became more reasonable. On enquiry, he found that the Chevalier was certainly engaged with his companions 'till the next day. He therefore came back to Emmeline about an hour after he had left her, and told her that he thought it best for her to set out that afternoon on her way to St. Germains.

'You will by this means make it difficult for Bellozane to overtake you, if he should attempt it; and when he sees you have actually fled from Delamere, he will be little disposed to quarrel with him, and will perhaps go home. As to Delamere, his sister and I must manage him as well as we can; which will be the easier, as he is, within this half hour, gone to bed in a violent access of fever. Indeed, in the perturbation of mind he now suffers, there is no probability of his speedy amendment; for as fast as he regains strength, his violent passions throw his frame again into disorder.—But perhaps when he knows you are actually in England, he may try to acquire, by keeping himself quiet, that share of health which alone can enable him to follow you.'

Emmeline, eagerly embracing this advice, which she found had the concurrence of Lady Westhaven, prepared instantly for her departure; and embracing tenderly her two excellent friends, who hoped soon to follow her, and who had desired her to come to them to reside as soon as they were settled in London, where they had no house at present, she got into a chaise, with Madelon, and attended by Le Limosin, who was proudly elated at being thus 'l'homme de confience'[39] to Mademoiselle Mowbray, she left Besançon; her heart deeply impressed with a sense of Delamere's sufferings, and with an earnest wish for the restoration of his peace.

Tho' Godolphin had been gone four days, and went post, so that she knew he must be at Paris long before her, she could not, as she proceeded on her journey, help fancying that some accident might have stopped him, and that she might overtake him. She knew not whether she hoped or feared such an encounter. But the disappointed air with which she left every post house where she had occasion to stop for horses, plainly evinced that she rather desired than dreaded it. She felt all the absurdity and ridicule of expecting to see him; yet still she looked out after him; and he was the object she sought when she cast her eyes round her at the several stages.

Without overtaking him, or being herself overtaken by Bellozane, she arrived in safety and in the usual time at Paris, and immediately went on to St. Germains; Le Limosin being so well acquainted with travelling, that she had no trouble nor alarm during her journey.

When she got to St. Germains, she was received with transport by Mrs. Stafford and her family. She found her about to depart, in two days, for England, where there was a prospect of settling her husband's affairs; and she had undertaken to go alone over, in hopes of adjusting them for his speedy return; while he had agreed to remain with the children 'till he heard the success of her endeavours. Great was the satisfaction of Mrs. Stafford to find that Emmeline would accompany her to England; with yet more pleasure did she peruse those documents which convinced her that her fair friend went to claim, with an absolute certainty of success, her large paternal fortune.

Lord Westhaven had given her a long letter to the Marquis of Montreville, to whom he desired she would immediately address herself; and he had also written to an eminent lawyer, his friend, into whose hands he directed her immediately to put the papers that related to her birth, and by no means to trust them with any other person.

With money, also, Lord Westhaven had amply furnished her; and she proposed taking lodgings in London, 'till she could settle her affairs with Lord Montreville; and then to go to Mowbray Castle.

On the second day after her reaching St. Germains, she began her journey to Calais with Mrs. Stafford, attended by Le Limosin and Madelon. When they arrived there, they heard that a passage boat would sail about nine o'clock in the evening; but on sending Le Limosin to speak to the master, they learned that there were already more cabin passengers than there was room to accommodate, and that therefore two ladies might find it inconvenient.

As the evening, however, was calm, and the wind favourable, and as the two fair travellers were impatient to be in England, they determined to go on board. It was near ten o'clock before the vessel got under way; and before two they were assured they should be at Dover. They therefore hesitated not to pass that time in chairs on the deck, wrapped in their cloaks; and would have preferred doing so, to the heat and closeness of the cabin, had there been room for them in it.

By eleven o'clock, every thing insensibly grew quiet on board. The passengers were gone to their beds, the vessel moved calmly, and with very little wind, over a gently swelling sea; and the silence was only broken by the waves rising against it's side, or by the steersman, who now and then spoke to another sailor, that slowly traversed the deck with measured pace.

The night was dark; a declining moon only broke thro' the heavy clouds of the horizon with a feeble and distant light. There was a solemnity in the scene at once melancholy and pleasing. Mrs. Stafford and Emmeline both felt it. They were silent; and each lost in her own reflections; nor did they attend to a slight interruption of the stillness that reigned on board, made by a passenger who came from below, muffled in a great coat. He spoke in a low voice to the man at the helm, and then sat down on the gunwale, with his back towards the ladies; after which all was again quiet.

In a few minutes a deep sigh was uttered by this passenger; and then, after a short pause, the two friends were astonished to hear, in a voice, low, but extremely expressive, these lines, addressed to Night.

SONNET

In deep depression sunk, the enfeebled mind
Will to the deaf, cold elements complain,
And tell the embosom'd grief, however vain,
To sullen surges and the viewless wind.

Tho' no repose on thy dark breast I find,
I still enjoy thee—chearless as thou art;
For in thy quiet gloom, the exhausted heart,
Is calm, tho' wretched; hopeless, yet resign'd.
While, to the winds and waves, it's sorrows given,
May reach—tho' lost on earth—the ear of heaven!

'Surely,' said Mrs. Stafford in a whisper, 'it is a voice I know.'

'Surely,' repeated the heart of Emmeline, for she could not speak, 'it is the voice of Godolphin!'

'Do you,' reassumed Mrs. Stafford—'do you not recollect the voice?'

'Yes,' replied Emmeline. 'I think—I believe—I rather fancy it is—Mr. Godolphin.'

'Shall I speak to him?' asked Mrs. Stafford, 'or are you disposed to hear more poetry? He has no notion who are his auditors.'

'As you please,' said Emmeline.

Again the person sighed, and repeated with more warmth—

'And reach, tho' lost on earth—the ear of heaven!'

'Yes—if she is happy, they will indeed be heard! Ah! that cruel if—if she is happy! and can I bear to doubt it, yet leave her to the experiment!'

There now remained no doubt but that the stranger was Godolphin; and Emmeline as little hesitated to believe herself the subject of his thoughts and of his Muse.

'Why do you not speak to him, Emmeline?' said Mrs. Stafford archly.

'I cannot, indeed.'

'I must speak then, myself;' and raising her voice, she said—'Mr. Godolphin, is it not?'

'Who is so good as to recollect me?' cried he, rising and looking round him. It was very dark; but he could just distinguish that two ladies were there.

Mrs. Stafford gave him her hand, saying—'Have you then forgotten your friends?'

He snatched her hand, and carried it to his lips.

'There is another hand for you,' said she, pointing to Emmeline—'but you must be at the trouble of taking it.'

'That I shall be most delighted to do. But who is it? Surely it cannot be Miss Mowbray, that allows me such happiness?'

'Have you, in one little week,' said the faultering Emmeline, 'occasion to ask that question?'

'Not now I hear that voice,' answered Godolphin in the most animated tone—'Not when I hold this lovely hand. But whence comes it that I find you, Madam, here? or how does it happen that you have left my brother and sister, and the happy Delamere?' He seemed to have recollected, after his first transport at meeting her, that he was thus warmly addressing her who was probably only going to England to prepare for her union with his rival.

'Do not be so unreasonable,' said Mrs. Stafford, 'as to expect Miss Mowbray should answer all these questions. But find a seat; and let us hear some account of yourself. You have also to make your peace with me for not seeing me in your way.'

Godolphin threw himself on the deck at their feet.

'I find a seat here,' said he, 'which I should prefer to a throne. As to an account of myself, it is soon given. I met a friend, whose company induced me to come to Calais rather than travel thro' Normandy; and the haste he was in made it impossible for me to stop him. Miss Mowbray had refused to give me any commission for you; and I had nothing to say to you that would have given you any pleasure. I was, therefore, unwilling to trouble you merely with a passing enquiry.'

'But whence comes it that you sail only to-night, if your friend was so much hurried?'

'He went four days ago; but I—I was kept—I was detained at Calais.'

Emmeline felt a strange curiosity to know what could have detained him; but dared not ask such a question.

They then talked of Lord and Lady Westhaven.

'Lord Delamere is, I conclude, much better?' said Godolphin.

'When I took leave of Lord and Lady Westhaven,' coldly answered Emmeline, 'I did not think him much better than when we first saw him. His servant said he was almost as ill as when you, Sir, with friendship so uncommon, attended him.'

'Call it not uncommon, Madam!—It was an office I would have performed, not only for any Englishman in another country, but I hope for any human being in any country, who had needed it. Should I then allow you to suppose there was any great merit in my rendering a slight service to the brother of Lady Westhaven; and who is besides dear to one to whom I owe obligations so infinite.'

The stress he laid on these words left Emmeline no doubt of his meaning. She was, however, vexed and half angry that he persisted in believing her so entirely attached to Delamere; and, for the first time she had ventured to think steadily on the subject, meditated how to undeceive him. Yet when she reflected on the character of Delamere; and remembered that his father would now claim an authority to controul her actions—that one would think himself at liberty to call any man to an account who addressed her, and the other to refuse his consent to any other marriage than that which would be now so advantageous to the family—she saw only inquietude to herself, and hazard to the life so dear to her, should she suffer the passion of Godolphin openly to be avowed.

'Is it not remarkable,' said Mrs. Stafford, 'that you should voluntarily have conducted us to France, and by chance escort us home?'

'Yes,' answered Godolphin.—'And a chance so fortunate for me I should think portended some good, was I sanguine, and had I any faith in omens.'

'Are you going immediately to London?'

'Immediately.'

'And from thence to East Cliff?'

'I believe I shall be obliged to stay in town a week or ten days.—But my continuance there shall be longer, if you or Miss Mowbray will employ me.'

The night now grew cold; and the dew fell so heavily, that Mrs. Stafford expressed her apprehensions that Emmeline would find some ill effects from it, and advised her to go down.

'Oh! no,' said Godolphin, with uncommon anxiety in his manner—'do not go down. There are so many passengers in the cabin, and it is so close, that you will find it extremely disagreeable. It will not now be half an hour before we see the lights of Dover; and we shall presently be on shore.'

Emmeline, who really apprehended little from cold, acquiesced; and they continued to converse on general topics 'till they landed.

Godolphin saw them on shore immediately, and attended them to the inn. He then told them he must go back to see after the baggage, and left them hastily. They ordered a slight refreshment; and when it was brought in, Emmeline said—'Shall we not wait for Mr. Godolphin?'

'The Gentleman is come in, Madam,' said the waiter, 'with another lady, and is assisting her up stairs. Would you please I should call him?'

Emmeline felt, without knowing the nature of the sensation, involuntary curiosity and involuntary uneasiness.

'No, do not call him,' said Mrs. Stafford—'I suppose he will be here immediately. But send the French servant to us.'

Le Limosin attending, she gave him some requisite orders, and then again enquired for Captain Godolphin.

Le Limosin answered, that he was gone to assist a lady to her room, who had been very ill during the passage.

'Of which nation is she, Le Limosin?'

'I am ignorant of that, Madam, as I have not heard her speak. Monsieur Le Capitaine is very sorry for her, and has attended her the whole way, only the little time he was upon deck.'

'Is she a young lady?' enquired Mrs. Stafford.

'Yes, very young and pretty.'

The curiosity of Mrs. Stafford was now, in spite of herself, awakened. And the long stay Godolphin made, gave to Emmeline such acute uneasiness, as she had never felt before. It is extraordinary surely, said she to herself, that he should be thus anxious about an acquaintance made in a pacquet boat.

She grew more and more disturbed at his absence; and was hardly able to conceal her vexation from Mrs. Stafford, while she was ashamed of discovering it even to herself. In about ten minutes, which had appeared to her above an hour, Godolphin came in; apologised, without accounting, for his stay, and while they made all together a slight repast, enquired how they intended to proceed to London and at what time.

On hearing that they thought of setting out about noon, in a chaise, he proposed their taking a post coach; 'and then,' added he, 'you may suffer me to occupy the fourth place.' To this Mrs. Stafford willingly agreed; and Emmeline, glad to find that at least he did not intend waiting on his pacquet boat acquaintance to London, retired with somewhat less uneasiness than she had felt on her first hearing that he had brought such an acquaintance on shore.

After a few hours sleep, the fair travellers arose to continue their journey. They heard that Mr. Godolphin had long left his room, and was at breakfast with the lady whom he had been so careful of the preceding morning. At this intelligence Emmeline felt all her anxiety revive; and when he came into the room where they were to speak to them, hardly could she command herself to answer him without betraying her emotion.

'Miss Mowbray is fatigued with her voyage,' said he, tenderly approaching her—'The night air I am afraid has affected her health?'

'No, Sir;' coldly and faintly answered Emmeline.

'How is the young lady you was so good as to assist on shore, Sir?' said Mrs. Stafford. 'I understand she was ill.'

Godolphin blushed; and replied, with some little embarrassment, 'she is better, Madam, I thank you.'

'So,' thought Emmeline, 'he makes then no mystery of having an interest in this lady.'

'Are you acquainted with her?' enquired Mrs. Stafford.

'Yes.'

Politeness would not admit of another question: yet it was impossible to help wishing to ask it. Godolphin, however, turned the discourse, and soon afterwards went out. Emmeline felt ready to cry, yet knew not for what, and dreaded to ask herself whether she had not admitted into her heart the tormenting passion of jealousy.

'Why should I be displeased,' said she. 'Why should I be unhappy? Mr. Godolphin believes me attached to Delamere, and has ceased to think of me; wherefore should I lament that he thinks of another; or what right have I to enquire into his actions—what right have I to blame them?'

The post coach was now ready. Emmeline, attended by Madelon, Mrs. Stafford, and Godolphin, got into it, and a lively and animated conversation was carried on between the two latter. Emmeline, in the approaching interview with her uncle, and in the wretchedness of Delamere, which she never ceased to lament, had employment enough for her thoughts; but in spite of herself they flew perpetually from those subjects to the acquaintance which Captain Godolphin had brought with him from Calais.