LETTER XVII.
Miss WARLEY to the same.
From Mr. Jenkings's.
Sent for before breakfast!—Nobody in the coach!—Well, I am glad of that, however.—Something very extraordinary must have happen'd.—I hope Lady Powis is not ill.—No other message but to desire I would come immediately.—I go, my dear Lady; soon as I return will acquaint you what has occasion'd me this early summons.
Eight o'clock at Night.
No ill news! quite the reverse:—I am escaped from the house of festivity to make your Ladyship a partaker.
My spirits are in a flutter.—I know not where to begin.—I have run every step of the way, till I am quite out of breath.—Mr. Powis is coming home,—absolutely coming home to settle;—married too, but I cannot tell all at once.—Letters with an account of it have been this morning receiv'd. He does not say who his wife is, only one of the best women in the world.
She will be received with affection;—I know she will.—Lady Powis declares, they shall be folded together in her arms.
It was too much for Sir James, he quite roared again when he held out to me the letter,—I don't believe he has eat a morsel this day.—I never before saw a man so affected with joy.—Thank God! I left him pure and calm.
The servants were like mad creatures, particularly those who lived in the family before Mr. Powis left England.—He seems, in short, to be considered as one risen from the dead.—
I was in such haste on receiving Lady Powis's message, that I ran down to the coach, my hat and cloak in my hand.—Mr. and Mrs. Jenkings were talking to the coachman.—I soon perceived by them something pleasing had happen'd.—They caught me in their arms, and I thought would have smother'd me in their embraces; crying out, Mr. Powis is coming home, my dear;—Mr. Powis is coming home:—for God's sake, Madam, make haste up to the Hall.
In getting into the coach, I stepp'd on my apron, and fell against the opposite door.—My right arm was greatly bruis'd, which I did not perceive till I drew on my glove.
The moment I alighted, I ran to the breakfast-parlour; but finding no one there, went directly to her Ladyship's dressing-room.—She open'd the door, when she heard me coming. I flew to her.—I threw my arms about her neck, and all I could say in my hurry was, Joy, Joy, Joy!
I am all joy, my love, she return'd—I am made up of nothing else. I quitted her to run to Sir James, who was sitting in a great chair with a letter held out. I believe I kiss'd him twenty times before I took it;—there could be no harm in that surely.—Such endearments I should have shewn my father, on the like tender occasion. He wept, as I have said, till he quite roared again.—I laid his head on my shoulder, and it was some time before I would mention his son's name.
Lord Darcey held one of Sir James's hands: he was in the room when I enter'd; but I declare I never saw him till he spoke. He is safe now,—after what happened yesterday,—safe from any imputation on my account—
Very kind and very civil, upon my word! O! your Ladyship never heard such a fuss as he made about the scratch on my arm.—I affect to look pleased when he speaks to me, that he might not take it into his head I am mortified.
He must be the happiest creature in the world; I honour him for the grateful affection he shews Sir James and Lady Powis.
Breakfast stood on the table: not a soul had broke their fast.—Her Ladyship was here, there, and every where.—I was sadly afraid they would be all sick; at length I prevailed on them to drink a cup of chocolate.—
Mr. Watson, good man notwithstanding his indisposition, got up at eleven.—I met him coming from his apartment, and had the pleasure of leading him to the happy family.—
His congratulations were delivered with such serene joy,—such warmth of affection,—as if he had cull'd the heart-felt satisfaction of both parents.
The word happy echoed from every mouth; each sentence began and ended with it.—What the heart feels is seldom to be disguised.—Grief will speak,—if not by the tongue, it will out;—it hangs on the features, sallows the skin, withers the sinews, and is a galling weight that pulls towards the ground.—Why should a thought of grief intrude at this time?—Is not my dear Lady Mary's health returning?—Is not felicity restor'd to this family?—Now will my regret at parting be lessened;—now shall I leave every individual with minds perfectly at ease.
Mr. Powis is expected in less than a month, intending to embark in the next ship after the Packet.—How I long to see him!—But it is very unlikely I should; I shall certainly have taken my leave of this place before he arrives.—By your Ladyship's permission, I hope to look in upon them, at our return to England.
What genteel freedoms men give themselves after declaring off, as Miss Winter calls it?—I had never so many fine things said to me before;—I can't tell how many;—quite a superabundance;—and before Sir James too!—But no notice is taken; he has cleared himself of all suspicion.—He may go to town as soon as he will.—His business is done;—yes, he did it yesterday.
I wish I may not laugh out in the midst of his fine speeches.—
I wish your Ladyship could see this cool attention I give him.—But I have nettled him to the truth this afternoon:—his pride was alarm'd;—it could certainly proceed from no other cause, after he has declared off.
I was sitting at the tea-table, a trouble I always take from Lady Powis, who with Sir James was walking just without the windows, when Lord Darcey open'd the door, and said, advancing towards me with affected airs of admiration,—How proud should I be to see my house and table so graced!—Then leaning over the back of my chair, Well, my angel! how is the bad arm? Come, let me see, attempting to draw off my glove.
Oh! quite well, my Lord; withdrawing my hand carelessly.
For heaven's sake, take more care of yourself, Miss Warley; this might have been a sad affair.
Depend on that, my Lord, for my own sake.
For your own sake! Not in consideration of any other person?
Yes; of Lady Mary Sutton, Sir James and Lady Powis, good Mr. Jenkings and his wife, who I know would be concerned was I to suffer much from any accident.
Then there is no other person you would wish to preserve your life for?
Not that I know at present, my Lord,
Not that you know at present! so you think you may one day or other?
I pretend not, my Lord, to answer for what may happen; I have never seen the person yet. I was going to say something further, I have really forgot what, when he turn'd from me, and walked up and down the room with a seeming discomposure.
If you are sincere in what you have said, Miss Warley; if you are really sincere, I do pronounce—Here he burst open the door, and flew out the instant Sir James and Lady Powis entered.
When the tea was made, a footman was sent to Lord Darcey; but he was no where to be found.
This is very strange, said her Ladyship; Lord Darcey never used to be out of the way at tea-time. I declare I am quite uneasy; perhaps he may be ill.
Oh! cry'd Sir James, don't hurry yourself; I warrant he is got into one of his old reveries, and forgets the time.
I was quite easy. I knew his abrupt departure was nothing but an air:—an air of consequence, I suppose.—However, I was willing to be convinced, so did not move till I saw the Gentleman sauntering up the lawn. As no one perceived him but myself, I slid out to the housekeeper, and told her, if her Lady enquir'd for me, I was gone home to write Letters by to-morrow's post.
You have enough of it now, I believe, my dear Lady; two long letters by the same packet:—but you are the repository of my joy, my grief, the very inmost secrets of my soul.—You, my dear Lady, have the whole heart of
F. WARLEY.