Almeria was taken by surprise: she hesitated—all her former professions, all her obligations to the Elmour family, recurred to her mind—her friendship for Ellen—her love, or what she had thought love, for Frederick:—she could not decide upon a measure that might offend them, or appear ungrateful; yet her desire of going to town with Lady Stock was ardent, and she knew not how to refuse Sir Thomas’s offer without displeasing him. She saw that all future connexion with the Stocks depended on her present determination—she took a middle course, and suggested that she might have two guardians, and then she should be able to avail herself of Sir Thomas’s obliging offer without offending her old friends. In consequence of this convenient arrangement, she wrote to Mr. Elmour, enclosing her letter in one to Ellen, in which the embarrassment and weakness of her mind were evident, notwithstanding all her endeavours to conceal them. After a whole page of incomprehensible apologies, for having so long delayed to write to her dearest Ellen; and after professions of the warmest affection, esteem, and gratitude, for her friends at Elmour Grove; she in the fourth page of her epistle opened her real business, by declaring that she should ever, from the conviction she felt of the superiority of Ellen’s understanding, follow her judgment, however repugnant it might sometimes be to her inclinations; that she therefore had resolved, in pursuance of Ellen’s advice, to take an opportunity of seeing the gay world, and had accepted of an invitation from Lady Stock to spend the winter with her in town—that she had also accepted of Sir Thomas Stock’s offer to become one of her guardians, as she thought it best to trouble her good friend Mr. Elmour as little as possible at his advanced age.
In answer to this letter, she received a few lines from Mr. Elmour, requesting to see her before she should go to town: accordingly upon her return to York, she went to Elmour Grove to take leave of her friends. She was under some anxiety, but resolved to carry it off with that ease, or affectation of ease, which she had learnt during her six weeks’ apprenticeship to a fine lady at Harrowgate. She was surprised that no Frederick appeared to greet her arrival; the servant showed her into Mr. Elmour’s study. The good old gentleman received her with that proud sort of politeness, which was always the sign, and the only sign, of his being displeased.
“You will excuse me, Miss Turnbull,” said he, “for giving you the trouble of coming here; it was my business to have waited on you, but I have been so far unwell lately, that it was not in my power to leave home; and these are papers,” continued he, “which I thought it my duty to deliver into your own hands.”
Whilst Mr. Elmour was tying up these papers, and writing upon them, Almeria began two sentences with “I hope,” and “I am afraid,” without in the least knowing what she hoped or feared. She was not yet sufficiently perfect in the part of a fine lady to play it well. Mr. Elmour looked up from his writing with an air of grave attention when she began to speak, but after waiting in vain for an intelligible sentence, he proceeded.
“You have judged very wisely for me, Miss Turnbull, in relieving my declining years from the fatigue of business: no man understands the management or the value of money better than Sir Thomas Stock, and you could not, madam, in this point of view, have chosen a more proper guardian.”
Almeria said, “that she hoped Mr. Elmour would always permit her to consider him as her best friend, to whose advice she should have recourse in preference to that of any person upon earth;” recovering her assurance as she went on speaking, and recollecting some of the hints Lady Stock had given her, about the envy and jealousy of the Elmours, and of their scheme of monopolizing her fortune; she added a few commonplace phrases about respectability—gratitude—and great obligations—then gave a glance at Lady Stock’s handsome carriage, which was waiting at the door—then asked for Miss Elmour—and hoped she should not be so unfortunate as to miss seeing her before she left the country, as she came on purpose to take leave of her—then looked at her watch:—but all this was said and done with the awkwardness of a novice in the art of giving herself airs. Mr. Elmour, without being in the least irritated by her manner, was all the time considering how he could communicate, with the least possible pain, what he had further to say—“You speak of me, Miss Turnbull, as of one of your guardians, in the letter I had the favour of receiving from you a few days ago,” said he; “but you must excuse me for declining that honour. Circumstances have altered materially since I first undertook the management of your affairs, and my future interference, or perhaps even my advice, might not appear as disinterested as formerly.”
Miss Turnbull here interrupted him with an exclamation of astonishment, and made many protestations of entire dependence upon his disinterested friendship. He waited with proud patience till she had finished her eulogium.
“How far the generous extent of your confidence, madam, reaches, or may hereafter reach,” said he, “must be tried by others, not by me—nor yet by my son.”
Almeria changed colour.
“He has left it to me, madam, to do that for him, which perhaps he feared he might not have sufficient resolution to do for himself—to return to you these letters and this picture; and to assure you that he considers you as entirely at liberty to form any connexion that may be suited to your present views and circumstances.”