THE SAME—TO THE SAME
Henry Davenport is the young man of whom I am to speak. It was publicly mentioned here that he was related to several noble families; and at the same time was always hinted that he possessed no fortune. This I was ready to believe, from his addressing my mother.
Constantly surrounded with parties, and studious to avoid me, it was useless to attempt reasoning with my mother. I therefore wrote a card to Mr. Davenport, requesting an hour's conversation with him the succeeding morning.
He came. He was light and gay in his habit and address. His voice possessed an unusual softness; and his cheek was flushed with an hectic colour, equally proceeding, I thought, from want of rest and intemperance.
'Mr. Davenport,' said I, interrupting his compliments, 'you will convince me most that you are pleased with this interview by answering the questions I shall propose with seriousness and sincerity.'
He folded his hands and ludicrously lengthened his visage; but of this I took no notice. 'Tell me,' continued I, 'frankly and truly, what is your opinion of my mother?'
His levity instantly disappeared; and he replied in a hurrying manner—'I think Mrs. Ashburn a very charming—a very fine woman indeed.'
'What are your motives, sir, for marrying her?'
'Miss Ashburn,' said he, with great quickness and removing from the opposite side of the room to a chair next me, 'I do respect and admire you as much or perhaps more than any woman on the face of the earth. I would eat my flesh rather than injure you; and if Mrs. Ashburn give me her hand, I swear your interest in her fortune shall not be affected. I do not wish to be master of the principal. I only want to share some of that income which is lavished on superfluities.—O God! O God! how happy would the uncontrouled, independent, present possession of some of those hundreds make me!'
You cannot conceive the force with which he uttered this; and it seemed to recal a world of pressing ideas to his mind: for I found it necessary to wait till his attention returned of itself.
'And the enjoyment of this income in marriage will make you happy, year after year, all your life, Mr. Davenport?'
'Surely, Miss Ashburn,' and he looked at me stedfastly, 'you cannot think I would ever use your mother ill.'
'Do you love her, sir?'
'I have told you, Miss Ashburn, I admire her—I think her a fine spirited woman.'
'Do you love her, sir?' rejoined I with more emphasis.
'Love! why yes—no!—I have a great friendship for her, madam.—But as to love 'tis out of fashion—it is exploded.' He rose; and walked towards the window. 'Love is a romance; a cant; a whine; a delirium; a poison; a rankling wound that festers here, here!' he laid his hand on his heart, and leaned against the wainscot.
I sighed too: for the under tone of voice in which he pronounced the last few words was in scribably affecting. He quickly started from this posture, and threw himself on his knees before me.
'I confess it all,' said he, 'I am not more wretched than desperate. This marriage is my resource from worse evils. Oh, Miss Ashburn! by that benignity which irradiates your every action I conjure you suffer it to proceed!—I will be grateful.—I will honor and revere your mother.—More I cannot promise—I cannot. Allow me to depart, madam, I cannot endure to be questioned.'
And thus saying, he would have quitted the room, had I not held him by the arm, and with difficulty prevailed on him again to take his seat, and to listen to me patiently while I pourtrayed the evils of such a marriage, and the cruel injustice he was guilty of towards a woman so chosen.
'I know all that,' replied Davenport. 'I have foreseen it a thousand and a thousand times. I know I am a villain; but Mrs. Ashburn shall never suspect me. I will be the obedient slave of her will. She shall mould me to whatever shape her pleasure inclines. I will be more docile than infancy. I will forego my very nature, at her command.'
'But you have not foreseen, Mr. Davenport, that the time must arrive when her volatility and incessant eagerness after pleasure will cease to relieve you. It is in the hours of age and infirmity that she will call on you for aid, will seek in your soothing voice, in your cheering smile a relief from pain: and how will you perform your task in those multiplied moments? My mother does not want discernment: and what will be your torture to see her dying perhaps under the agonizing reflection that the man on whose honour she relied, on whose faith and sincerity her hopes had towered to felicity, that, her husband had deceived her, perhaps had loved another.'
He became pale as death. I continued. 'But you shall not hasten to this destruction. I will prevent this marriage.'
'Miss Ashburn, for heaven's sake!' cried he: 'I have no other means—I must—marry.'
I took hold of his hand, for he trembled. 'I wish to be your friend, Mr. Davenport; indeed I am your friend, at this moment; it is far from my intention to tear from you this fallacious hope, without placing some certain and honourable advantage in its stead. Let me know your history. Neither conceal from me your wants nor your feelings, nor the situations they have throw you into; and I will undertake to do you every service that reason and humanity suggest.'
He attempted in vain to answer. Throwing himself back in the chair, he covered his face with an handkerchief, and shed tears.
I believe it was near a quarter of an hour ere he recovered from his agitation, and was able to speak as follows.
'My father was himself so enamoured of pomp that, although he allowed me, an only son, to share the magnificence of his town residence, yet he confined my sisters with their governess and two servants to a small house he possessed in a cheap country. I saw them only once a year; and the solitude of their abode was so irksome to me, that I was always eager to quit and unwilling to return at the usual period. However, about the time I was to set out on my travels, it was judged decent and necessary that I should pay them a visit of unusual length, as they were now almost women; and to my great surprise I found their old governess removed, and a young person with them as companion whom alas I did love to distraction.
'Weeks only were allotted to my stay, but I staid months. My father's mandates for my return were no sooner read than forgotten. All was enchantment and happiness. My sisters loved Arabella affectionately; and had so little knowledge of the world as to imagine our union altogether proper and probable.
At length, either surprised or alarmed at my continuance in the country, or having certain intelligence of my engagements, my father arrived one evening secretly and altogether unexpectedly. And, while we imagined our joys secure from interruption, he listened behind the little summer-house in which Arabella and I were interchanging vows of eternal constancy, till rage would not permit him to hear us longer. Then he burst upon us; and, as I defended my love with vehemence, he deprived me of present sensation by a blow.
'When I recovered I was confined to one room, and could obtain no tidings of Arabella, no intercourse with my sisters nor any intermission of the rigours of my imprisonment: although I obstinately refused all sustenance beyond the small quantity which irresistible hunger compelled me to eat against my will. In three weeks, one of my sisters found an expedient to let me know Arabella had been turned out of the house, and had taken shelter at the farm-house of a relation about five and twenty miles distance; that my father gave her the character of an abandoned strumpet, and vowed I should die in prison if I did not swear to renounce her for ever.
'From this time, I laboured night and day in contriving my escape till I effected it; and travelled the five and twenty miles with such speed in my emaciated state that I had no sooner thrown myself into Arabella's arms than I fell into fits. A fever succeeded; and, during this period, the people of the house, though excessively poor, strove with all their might to add comforts and conveniences to my situation. Arabella was my nurse. To them I was bound by gratitude—to her my ties became strengthened till they excluded reason, reflection, and prudence. The moments of returning health were devoted to my affection. Our days were passed alone. Our former distresses and future prospects were alike forgotten; and we became as guilty as happy.
'Scarcely had we begun to repent our error, when my father discovered my retreat; and once more tore me from my love. Guarded, fettered, and enduring every species of brutal usage from those employed about me, I was conveyed first to London, and then sent abroad, where I remained above two years—refusing to give her up, and refused upon any other terms to be allowed to return. My father's death gave me liberty. I flew to England; and found my Arabella pining under the accumulated distresses of extreme poverty, destroyed reputation, and a consumptive habit: all which miseries were rendered doubly poignant by the possession of an infant.
'I will not attempt, madam, to describe to you what I endured when I saw her and my child wanting absolute necessaries. All I could call my own was employed to procure medical advice for Arabella; and that all was a trifle. My father, to the astonishment of every one, had died insolvent. My sisters were taken into dependence by different relations; and I was turned adrift on the world without knowledge or means to procure myself one penny. To assist those who have no power to assist themselves, who have no claims but on me, me the author of their calamity, I have plunged myself into debt. The man of whom I have borrowed money pointed out to me the plan of marrying your mother; and, when I revolted at the dishonourable action, he showed me the opposite picture—a jail.—What can I do, Miss Ashburn? Can I see them die—and consent to linger out my wretched existence in a prison? No! I am driven by extremity of distress; and must go on, or perish.'
'Does Arabella know you intend to marry?'
'O yes.'
'Where is she? May I see her?'
'She and her child reside at the distance of three miles from this place.'
I prevailed on Mr. Davenport to ride with me to the village in which Arabella resided; and, after introducing me to her, I also prevailed on him to leave us alone.
Arabella had beside her a tambour frame, at which she worked, when her cough and cold sweats would permit her. The little girl played on the floor. She received us with that sort of composure which seemed to denote the utter sacrifice of all her hopes and wishes, and that nothing was now left to excite agitation. I said, 'I am no stranger to your misfortunes, Arabella. In what manner did you support yourself, while Mr. Davenport was abroad?'
'By fancy works,' replied she, pointing to the frame. 'I endeavoured also to teach a school; but Mr. Davenport's father had spread such reports of me, which the birth of my child but too well confirmed, that scarce any one would give me the least encouragement.'
'What were your parents?'
'Poor shopkeepers, madam, who put themselves to numberless inconveniences to qualify me for earning my subsistence in a comfortable manner. Could I regain my health, and be removed to some place where no one knew my faults, Mr. Davenport should not be burthened with either of us; he should not——'
A tear rose, but quickly withdrew itself; and the serenity of a broken heart again took possession of her features.
'Why have you not urged Mr. Davenport to engage in some trade or profession?'
'Ah, madam, he has been brought up a gentleman. Trade would appear to him an indelible disgrace. He thinks he ought to respect the honour of his family, although they will not assist him. And as to a profession he has not the means.'
'And can you consent to live in possession of his affection and endearments, when he is married?'
'No, madam, no!' replied Arabella with firmness. 'The moment he becomes a husband, he is as dead to me as if the cold grave concealed him. He loves ease; he has been used to expence and pleasure—he will enjoy it all. I cannot live long, nor do I desire to live. I know he never will desert that poor babe—Don't you, madam, allow that innocent creature fully entitled to a father's protection?'
I had just taken the child on my lap. 'Yes,' said I: 'and you Arabella must live to see her possess it. My motives are not those of curiosity. I come to do you service; and I insist that you hope for better days. It shall be my part to devise better means than marriage for Mr. Davenport. I intend shortly to visit you again.'
I could not converse with Mr. Davenport any more that day, for it was necessary I should return and prepare myself to be partaker of a very splendid entertainment given by Sir Thomas Barlowe to all the fashionable people at Bath. I therefore engaged him to visit me again the next morning, and we separated.
Making mention of the entertainment brings Mr. Murden to my remembrance; and, as he played a part that very evening which attracted much notice and gave rise to speculation, I shall here relate it before I return to the subject of Mr. Davenport.
Ever since Mr. Murden joined us at Bath I have heard from his female acquaintance perpetual complaints of him. He was, they say, seducing, irresistible. No vivacity was ever so delicate as Murden's. No flattery ever so dangerous as from him. His look, his air, his voice, his gestures, all had their own peculiar character of persuasion. Thus captivating they say he was; and they lament, with all the energy of which they are capable, that he should now have become dull, lifeless and unbearable. I too, Sibella, have found him transformed. I see him negligent and inattentive to me and others; but he is neither dull nor lifeless. Some vision of imagination seems to possess him, to infuse into him as it were a new existence. I have seen his cheek glow, his eye beam. I have heard his breathings but half uttered; and, although at such moments I have suffered inconvenience from the want of his attention and assistance, I would rather have placed my safety in hazard than have disturbed his alluring dreams of fancy. So firmly has he become inaccessible to the temptations of dissipation and sensuality, that I revere his transformation and long for his confidence; but alas, I have to regret that he is secret and mysterious, and that while at Bath he has avoided me almost as constantly as he has neglected those damsels of fashion who have been calling forth all their enchantments to attract or subdue him.
To my great surprise, and some little satisfaction, no sooner was the Nabob's ball in preparation than Mr. Murden requested to be my partner. He had never danced here, though he had been frequently at the rooms; and I did expect to be honoured on this occasion by my fair friends with some very scornful looks and important whispers.—Hear the result.
The company assembled, a numerous and brilliant party. I had caught a previous glimpse of Mr. Murden elegantly dressed, and I expected every moment his appearance in the ball-room. That I was engaged I answered to several invitations; but to whom was yet in embryo, for the first, second, third and fourth minuet had been danced, and yet no partner for me appeared.
At length he came, but not with the smile of pleasure, not with the soft tread of politeness, the complacent mien of attention. No: he actually rushed upon us, his features almost distorted with some species of passion, his hair deranged, and the powder showered on his dress as if he had been dashing his head against some hard substance in a paroxysm of rage. And in this strange manner did he, with eager long strides, cross the saloon, and throw himself into the vacant seat beside me, uttering a deep groan.
The eyes of every one were upon him; and astonishment imposed silence on every tongue. 'Miss Ashburn! Miss Ashburn!' repeated he twice very loud; then closed his teeth and murmured through them some words I could not understand, and several horrid imprecations. He sat thus a few minutes, his countenance varying from the deepest red to a most livid paleness, when Sir Thomas approached. 'Why, nephew! why Arthur! what, what, are you ill?—are you——?' and, without finishing his speech, the baronet retired abruptly; for Murden gnashing his teeth at that instant his uncle conceived he was mad; and I believe the baronet was scarce assured he had escaped the infection.
A bolder man now walked up. No less than the Earl of Ulson, of whom you have heard me speak. ''Pon my soul, Murden, this is superlatively unusual! The ladies are actually terrified. Zounds! Murden, you must——'
We had not the good fortune to hear his lordship's advice to the end: for Mr. Murden, utterly inattentive to any thing but his own agitations, now snatched a crumpled letter from his pocket; and, tearing it into a thousand pieces, dashed the fragments on the floor. He there contemplated them a moment with a malignant smile; then carefully gathered up every fragment, and darted out of the room.
The band continued playing quite composedly; but the company assembled in separate groups, to communicate their various conjectures on the very extraordinary gambol this extraordinary young man had been playing. Sir Thomas's gentleman and a valet were sent in search of him and ordered to enquire into his malady; but we were presently informed that he was writing in his own chamber, and had bitterly sworn to blow out the brains of whatever person should dare to interrupt him. Brains not being a superfluity here, we e'en resolved to resume our dancing, and leave him alone to be as mad as he thought proper.
On the succeeding morning, I met him early and alone in the breakfast room. I was agitated with the expectation of hearing something painful and astonishing. I even intreated to be admitted to his confidence. He referred me to some future period. He spoke with calmness and resolution, but he seldom looked up. When the rest of the family joined us, my mother amused herself with affecting a ridiculous pity for him, Lady Barlowe painted her astonishment, while his uncle with much more sincerity laboured to impress us with an adequate idea of the terror he had suffered the preceding evening. Every syllable sunk into the soul of Murden. He preserved an inflexible and haughty silence: but I saw, in his agitated countenance, that he was frequently on the point of bursting into rage and madness. Sir Thomas Barlowe will on many occasions wind a shapeless circumstance round and round, till he has persuaded himself he has discovered something in it really insulting and injurious to him. He now conjectured, surmised, and talked of Murden's behaviour, till he had assured himself it could have no other design than to afflict him, the most affectionate of uncles; and, having for a short time indulged in the pathos of lamentation, he began to weep. Although I could scarcely forbear smiling at Sir Thomas Barlowe's folly, yet I was considerably affected by the sudden transition the baronet's tears produced in Murden. He forgot his anger and his dejection; he pressed his uncle's hand; soothed him with kind expressions: and, suddenly assuming an air of cheerfulness, began to hand the cups and arrange the tea-table.
'You are in love with some creature you are ashamed of, Murden,' said my mother; 'I will swear it.'
'Do, madam,' replied he.
'Now do tell, me nephew Arthur,' said the baronet, 'why you tore it to pieces so unmercifully—tell me, dear Arthur, all about that letter.'
Why should he, Sibella, have fixed his eyes on me, while the colour rushed from his cheek, at the mention of that letter? Why did he groan? Why did he appear no more during the whole of that day? Why has he since been so uniformly pensive? Why seek me as a companion, yet reject me as a friend? Such are the enquiries constantly obtruding themselves upon me.
Adieu, dear Sibella. The remainder of Davenport's story must again be deferred till another opportunity.
CAROLINE ASHBURN