Upon the faith of this intelligence, Mrs. Freke, who had accompanied Mrs. Luttridge to town, immediately repaired to Twickenham, to pay a visit to a third cousin, that she might have an opportunity of detecting the intrigues, and afterwards of publishing the disgrace, of her former friend. The desire of revenging herself upon Miss Portman, for having declined her civilities at Harrowgate, had also a powerful influence in stimulating her malicious activity. She knew that if it were proved that Belinda was the confidante of Lady Delacour’s intrigues, her reputation must be materially injured, and that the Percivals would then be as desirous to break off as they now were anxious to promote the match with Mr. Vincent. Charmed with this hope of a double triumph, the vindictive lady commenced her operations, nor was she ashamed to descend to the character of a spy. The general and convenient name of frolic, she thought, would cover every species of meanness. She swore that “it was charming fun to equip herself at night in men’s clothes, and to sally forth to reconnoitre the motions of the enemy.”
By an unfrequented path she used to gain the window that looked into Lady Delacour’s bedchamber. This was the figure which appeared at night at a certain hour, and which, to her ladyship’s disturbed imagination, seemed to be the form of Colonel Lawless. There was, indeed, a resemblance in their size and persons, which favoured the delusion. For several nights Mrs. Freke paid these visits without obtaining any satisfaction; but this night she thought herself overpaid for her exertions, by the charming discovery which she fancied she had made. She mistook the surgeon for a lover of Lady Delacour’s; and she was hurrying home with the joyful intelligence, when she was caught in the gardener’s trap. The agony that she suffered was at first intense, but in a few hours the pain somewhat subsided; and in this interval of rest she turned to Belinda, and with a malicious smile said,—“Miss Portman, ‘tis fair I should pay for my peeping; but I shall not pay quite so dear for it as some of my friends.”
Miss Portman did not in the least comprehend her, till she added, “I’m sure you’ll allow that ‘tis better for a lady to lose her leg than her reputation—and for my part I’d rather be caught in a man trap, than have a man caught in my bedchamber. My service to your friend, Lady Delacour, and tell her so.”
“And do you know who that gentleman was, that you saw in her ladyship’s room?”
“Not I, not yet; but I’ll make it my business to find out. I give you fair notice; I’m a very devil when provoked. Why didn’t you make me your friend when you could?—You’ll not baffle me. I have seen all I wanted, and I am capable of painting all I saw. As to who the man might be, that’s no matter; one Lothario is as good as another for my purpose.”
Longer had Mrs. Freke spoken with malignant triumph, had she not been interrupted by a burst of laughter from the surgeon. Her vexation was indescribable when he informed her, that he was the man whom she had seen in Lady Delacour’s bedchamber, and whom she had mistaken for a favoured lover.
Mrs. Freke’s leg was much cut and bruised; and now that she was no longer supported by the hopes of revenge, she began to lament loudly and incessantly the injury that she had sustained. She impatiently inquired how long it was probable that she should be confined by this accident; and she grew quite outrageous when it was hinted, that the beauty of her legs would be spoiled, and that she would never more be able to appear to advantage in man’s apparel. The dread of being seen by Lady Delacour in the deplorable yet ludicrous situation to which she had reduced herself operated next upon her mind, and every time the door of the apartment opened, she looked with terror towards it, expecting to see her ladyship appear. But though Lady Delacour heard from Marriott immediately the news of Mrs. Freke’s disaster, she never disturbed her by her presence. She was too generous to insult a fallen foe.
Early in the morning Mrs. Freke was by her own desire conveyed to her cousin’s house, where without regret we shall leave her to suffer the consequences of her frolic.
“A false prophetess! Nowithstanding all my visions, I have outlived the night, you see,” said Lady Delacour, to Miss Portman when they met in the morning. “I have heard, my dear Belinda, and I believe, that the passion of love, which can endure caprice, vice, wrinkles, deformity, poverty, nay, disease itself, is notwithstanding so squeamish as to be instantaneously disgusted by the perception of folly in the object beloved. I hope friendship, though akin to love, is of a more robust constitution, else what would become of me? My folly, and my visions, and my spectre—oh, that I had not exposed myself to you in this manner! Harriot Freke herself is scarcely more contemptible. Spies and cowards are upon an equal footing. Her malice and her frolic are consistent with her character, but my fears and my superstition are totally inconsistent with mine. Forget the nonsense I talked to you last night, my dear, or fancy that I was then under the dominion of laudanum. This morning you shall see Lady Delacour herself again. Is Dr. X——, is the surgeon ready? Where are they? I am prepared. My fortitude shall redeem me in your opinion, Belinda, and in my own.”
Doctor X—— and the surgeon immediately obeyed her summons.