October 31
Once more returned to London in very good spirits, after a stay of little more than two months in Essex, in which time so material and unexpected a change has been made in my condition.
Lady Grimston took a most affectionate leave of my mother and asked her, with more tenderness than I thought her capable of, How many ages would it be before they should meet again? As for Mr Arnold and me, she considers us her neighbours. The Dean pleases himself with that expectation too; and the dear Mrs Vere, who shed tears at bidding me adieu, promises herself the happiness (as she kindly expressed herself) of spending many delightful days with me next summer. She set out on her return to her own house, at the same time that we left ours to go to town.
My brother is still in Wiltshire; but I find he did not leave town at the time he mentioned in his letter to my mother, nor for some days after. This Patty learnt from the servants; but I hope it will not come to my mother’s ears, for she would take it extremely ill of him.
Mr Arnold, for the first time, mentioned, that he was very much disappointed in not having had the honour of seeing Sir George at his house in the country; but he hoped, when he came to town, his brother and he should make up for this, by being the more together. I wish Sir George may behave as he ought to this deserving brother. Mr Arnold little imagines how much he was an enemy to this match, and much less his reason for it. I should be very sorry Mr Arnold were to know how near I was being married to another man; it might give a delicate mind pain, lest there should remain any traces of this former attachment in the breast of the woman he loves; but I hope there is no danger of his hearing of it, certainly no one would be so indiscreet as to mention it to him. Mr Arnold has lived chiefly in the country, and may never have heard of Mr Faulkland, as he was so short a time returned from his travels, on which he had been absent more than five years; and as he is now out of the kingdom, probably he will not be spoken of. I have begged of my mother, who is naturally communicative, never to name Mr Faulkland to Mr Arnold, and have given my reasons for desiring this. She says, she thinks it would be better to tell him the whole affair at once; but I cannot agree with her in that opinion; and have at last prevailed on her to promise me she will not speak of it.
November 2
My mother drove out in my new chariot to-day (a very gay fine one it is), and went to Putney, to enquire after Miss B. by the name of Mrs Jefferis. She soon found the house, a very neat box, with a pretty garden behind it. The door was opened by a servant maid; and my mother being told the lady was at home, sent in her name; and was immediately conducted up stairs into a very elegant little dressing-room, where the lady was sitting at her toilet; and Mr Faulkland’s housekeeper (whom my mother had seen before) assisting to dress her head. On my mother’s entering the room, Miss B. rose off her chair, and soon discovered by her shape (for she was without her stays), that it was high time for her to seek a place of concealment. The housekeeper immediately withdrew; and the young lady seemed in the utmost confusion; my mother says, she herself was at a loss how to begin the conversation, but Miss B. relieved her, and spoke first. She thanked her for the honour she did her by so charitable a visit, which, she said, Mr Faulkland had long ago made her hope for; and which she must consider as the greatest consolation in her present unhappy circumstances.
My mother placed herself by her. Madam, said she, Mr Faulkland made it a point with me before he left England, that I should see you, and afford you all the assistance in my power, or that you should stand in need of. You seem to be commodiously situated here, and I understand have a very careful good woman to attend you.
I have so, madam, she answered; but the most material circumstance is wanting to my relief: Mr Faulkland!—He is not here. Tears started into her eyes as she spoke. You were apprised of his absence, said my mother, before you came to town. I was, madam, and with the cause of it; she hung down her head and was silent.
My mother reassumed the conversation. She told her, she thought it a most providential discovery, that had given her the knowlege of Mr Faulkland’s ill behaviour, time enough to prevent his marriage with her daughter; assuring her, she would not, for the universe, have had me the wife of a man under such ties, as she must consider Mr Faulkland to be. Miss B. brightned up a little upon my mother’s saying this. Did Mr Faulkland ever tell you, madam, how the unhappy affair happened? My mother told her, she knew not particulars; that she had been referred to her for a full explanation; that Mr Faulkland had always endeavoured to excuse himself; and went so far as to say, He was sure the lady herself would acquit him in a great measure. Ah! madam! Miss B. cried, and shook her head. ’Tis as I suspected, said my mother, Mr Faulkland is an ungenerous man. A young lady of your modest appearance, I am sure he must have taken more pains to seduce, than he will acknowlege. Miss B blushed exceedingly—Oh! madam, you have a charitable, generous heart, I was indeed seduced. I knew it, replied my mother. Did he promise to marry you? She coloured deeper than before. I will not accuse him of that, madam. My mother proceeded; You have a relation, madam; I understand she was accessary to your misfortune. Yes, the barbarous woman, answered the lady, she was the contriver of my destruction; and if I could have avoided it, I would never have seen her face again. Tears of grief and indignation again burst from her eyes. Have comfort, madam, said my mother, all may end well yet. I can have no hopes, answered Miss B. Mr Faulkland flies me, you see, nor can I ever expect to recover his heart, since so charming a young lady, as I hear Miss Bidulph is, has possession of it; and though your goodness disappointed him in his late views, he may not yet despair. I found by this, continued my mother, that Miss B knew nothing of your being married, and made haste to tell her. I never saw joy so visible in a countenance. She clasped her hands together; Dear madam! what do you tell me? How you revive my drooping heart! then I am not quite hopeless, there is a possibility in my favour.