My dear friends will, I know, wish to see it,—and so they shall; though not this moment, as I have it not about me, and do not remember it completely.[224]
My breakfast was short, the chaise was soon ready, and forth I sallied for dear—once how dear!—old Chesington! Every step of the road brought back to my mind the first and most loved and honoured friend of my earliest years, and I felt a melancholy almost like my first regret for him, when I considered what joy, what happiness I lost, in missing his congratulations on a situation so much what he would have chosen for me—congratulations which, flowing from a mind such as his, so wise, so zealous, so sincere, might almost have reconciled me to it myself—I mean even then—for now the struggle is over, and I am content enough.
John rode on, to open the gates; the gardener met him and I believe surprise was never greater than he carried into the house with my name. Out ran dear Kitty Cooke, whose honestly affectionate reception touched me very much,—“O,” cried she, “had our best friend lived to see this day when you came to poor old Chesington from Court!”
Her grief, ever fresh, then overflowed in a torrent and I could hardly either comfort her, or keep down the sad regretful recollections rising in my own memory. O my dear Susan, with what unmixed satisfaction, till that fatal period when I paid him my last visit, had I ever entered those gates-where passed the scenes of the greatest ease, gaiety, and native mirth that have fallen to my lot!
Mrs. James Burney next, all astonishment, and our dear James himself, all incredulity, at the report carried before me, came out.[225] Their hearty welcome and more pleasant surprise recovered me from the species of consternation with which I had approached their dwelling, and the visit, from that time, turned out perfectly gay and happy.
My dearest father was already gone to town; but I had had much reason to expect I should miss him, and therefore I could not be surprised....
I left them all with great reluctance: I had no time to walk in the garden,—no heart to ascend the little mount, and see how Norbury hills and woods looked from it!
I set out a little the sooner, to enable me to make another visit, which I had also much at heart,—it was to our aunts at Kingston. I can never tell you their astonishment at sight of me; they took me for my own ghost, I believe, at first, but they soon put my substance to the proof, and nothing could better answer my motives than my welcome, which I need not paint to my Susan, who never sees them without experiencing it. To my great satisfaction, also, my nieces Fanny and Sophy happened to be there at that time.
My return was just in time for my company, which I found increased by the arrival of two more gentlemen, Mr. Fisher and Mr. Turbulent. Mr. Fisher had been ordered to come, that he might read prayers the next day, Sunday. Mr. Turbulent[226] was summoned, I suppose, for his usual occupations; reading with the princesses, or to the queen. Shall I introduce to you this gentleman such as I now think him at once? or wait to let his character open itself to you by degrees, and in the same manner that it did to me? So capital a part as you will find him destined to play, hereafter, in my concerns, I mean, sooner or later, to the best of my power, to make you fully acquainted with him....
He took his seat next mine at the table, and assisted me, while Mr. Fisher sat as chaplain at the bottom. The dinner went off extremely well, though from no help of mine.... The three men and the three females were all intimately acquainted with one another, and the conversation, altogether, was equal, open, and agreeable.