“The macaw she will not suffer to remain in the house, nor is it reasonable that she should: it deprives her of sleep—it kept her awake three hours this morning.”
Marriott was beginning the history of Champfort and the doors again; but Miss Portman stopped her by saying, “All this is past now. How much is due to you, Mrs. Marriott? Lady Delacour has commissioned me to pay you every thing that is due to you.”
“Due to me! Lord bless me, ma’am, am I to go?”
“Certainly, it was your own desire—it is consequently your lady’s: she is perfectly sensible of your attachment to her, and of your services, but she cannot suffer herself to be treated with disrespect. Here are fifty guineas, which she gives you as a reward for your past fidelity, not as a bribe to secure your future secresy. You are at liberty, she desires me to say, to tell her secret to the whole world, if you choose to do so.”
“Oh, Miss Portman, take my macaw—do what you will with it—only make my peace with my lady,” cried Marriott, clasping her hands, in an agony of grief: “here are the fifty guineas, ma’am, don’t leave them with me—I will never be disrespectful again—take my macaw and all! No, I will carry it myself to my lady.”
Lady Delacour was surprised by the sudden entrance of Marriott, and her macaw. The chain which held the bird Marriott put into her ladyship’s hand without being able to say any thing more than, “Do what you please, my lady, with it—and with me.”
Pacified by this submission, Lady Delacour granted Marriott’s pardon, and she most sincerely rejoiced at this reconciliation.
The next day Belinda asked the dowager Lady Boucher, who was going to a bird-fancier’s, to take her with her, in hopes that she might be able to meet with some bird more musical than a macaw, to console Marriott for the loss of her screaming favourite. Lady Delacour commissioned Miss Portman to go to any price she pleased. “If I were able, I would accompany you myself, my dear, for poor Marriott’s sake, though I would almost as soon go to the Augean stable.”
There was a bird-fancier in High Holborn, who had bought several of the hundred and eighty beautiful birds, which, as the newspapers of the day advertised, had been “collected, after great labour and expense, by Mons. Marten and Co. for the Republican Museum at Paris, and lately landed out of the French brig Urselle, taken on her voyage from Cayenne to Brest, by His Majesty’s Ship Unicorn.”
When Lady Boucher and Belinda arrived at this bird-fancier’s, they were long in doubt to which of the feathered beauties they should give the preference. Whilst the dowager was descanting upon their various perfections, a lady and three children came in; she immediately attracted Belinda’s attention, by her likeness to Clarence Hervey’s description of Lady Anne Percival—it was Lady Anne, as Lady Boucher, who was slightly acquainted with her, informed Belinda in a whisper.