Self-control: A Novel

by Mary Brunton

The warrant was stamped, and imposingly written upon parchment. With the tautology which Laura had been taught to expect in a law-paper, it rung changes upon the permission to seize and confine the person of Laura Montreville, as heiress of William Montreville, debtor to John Dykes of Pimlico. It was signed as by a magistrate, and marked with the large seals of office. Laura now no longer doubted; and, turning pale and faint, asked the men whether they would not stay for an hour while she sent to Finsbury Square to beg the advice of Mr Derwent, Lady Pelham's man of business. 'You may send for him to the lock-up house,' said the savage. 'We have no time to spare.' 'And whither will you take me?' cried Laura, almost sinking with horror. 'Most likely,' answered the most gentle of the two ruffians, 'you would not like to be put into the common prison; and you may have as good accommodations in my house as might serve a dutchess.'

Spite of her dismay Laura's presence of mind did not entirely forsake her. She hesitated whether she should not send to beg the assistance of some of Lady Pelham's acquaintance, or at least their advice in a situation so new to her. Among them all there was none with whom she had formed any intimacy; none whom, in her present circumstances of embarrassment and humiliation, she felt herself inclined to meet. She shrunk at the thought of the form in which her story might be represented by the malignant or the misjudging, and she conceived it her best course to submit quietly to an inconvenience of a few hours continuance, from which she did not doubt that her aunt's return would that evening relieve her. Still the idea of being a prisoner; of committing herself to such attendants; of being an inmate of the abodes of misery, of degradation, perhaps of vice, filled her with dread and horror, while, sinking on a couch, she covered her pale face with her hands, and inwardly commended herself to the care of heaven.

The men, meanwhile, stood whispering apart, and seemed to have forgotten the haste which they formerly expressed. At last one of them, after looking from the window into the street, suddenly approached her, and, rudely seizing her arm, cried, 'Come, Miss, the coach can't wait all day. It's of no use crying; we're too well used to that, so walk away if you don't choose to be carried.' Laura dashed the tears from her eyes, and, faintly trying to disengage her arm, was silently following her conductor to the door, when it opened and Hargrave entered.

Prepared as he was for a scene of distress, determined as he was to let no movement of compassion divert his purpose, he could not resist the quiet anguish which was written in the lovely face of his victim; and turning with real indignation to her tormentor, he exclaimed, 'Ruffian! what have you done to her?' But quickly recollecting himself, he threw his arm familiarly round her, and said, 'My dearest Laura, what is the meaning of all this? What can these people want with you?' 'Nothing which can at all concern you Sir,' said Laura, her spirit returning at the boldness of his address. 'Nay, my dear creature,' said Hargrave, 'I am sure something terrible has happened. Speak, fellows,' said he, turning to his emissaries, 'what is your business with Miss Montreville?' 'No great matter, Sir,' answered the man; 'only we have a writ against her for two hundred pounds, and she does not choose to pay it; so we must take her to a little snug place, that's all.' 'To a prison! You, Laura, to a prison! Heavens! it is not to be thought of. Leave the room fellows, and let me talk with Miss Montreville.' 'There is no occasion, Sir,' said Laura. 'I am willing to submit to a short confinement. My aunt returns this evening, and she will undoubtedly advance the money. It ought to be much the same to me what room I inhabit for the few intervening hours.' 'Good heaven! Laura do you consider what you say? Do you consider the horrors—the disgrace? Dearest girl, suffer me to settle this affair, and let me for once do something that may give you pleasure.' Laura's spirit revolted from the freedom with which this was spoken. Suffering undeserved humiliation, never had she been more jealous of her claim to respect. 'I am obliged to you, Sir,' said she, 'but your good offices are unnecessary. Some little hardship, I find, I must submit to; and I believe the smallest within my choice is to let these people dispose of me till Lady Pelham's return.' Hargrave reddened. 'She prefers a prison,' thought he, 'to owing even the smallest obligation to me. But her pride is near a fall;' and he smiled with triumphant pity on the stately mien of his victim.

He was, in effect, almost indifferent whether she accepted or rejected his proffered assistance. If she accepted it, he was determined that it should be clogged with a condition expressly stated, that he was for the future to be received with greater favour. If she refused, and he scarcely doubted that she would, he had only to make the signal, and she would be hurried, unresisting, to destruction. Yet, recollecting the despair, the distraction, with which she would too late discover her misfortune; the bitter upbraidings with which she would meet her betrayer; the frantic anguish with which she would mourn her disgrace, if, indeed, she survived it, he was inclined to wish that she would choose the more quiet way of forwarding his designs, and he again earnestly entreated her to permit his interference. Laura's strong dislike to being indebted for any favour to Hargrave, was somewhat balanced in her mind by the horror of a prison, and by the consideration that she could immediately repay him by the sale of part of her annuity. Though she still resisted his offer, therefore, it was less firmly than before. Hargrave continued to urge her. 'If,' said he, 'you dislike to allow me the pleasure of obliging you, this trifling sum may be restored whenever you please; and if you afterwards think that any little debt remains, it is in your power to repay it a thousand fold. One kind smile, one consenting look, were cheaply purchased with a world.' The hint which concluded this speech seemed to Laura manifestly intended to prevent her acceptance of the offer which he urged so warmly. 'Are you not ashamed, Sir,' said she, with a disdainful smile, 'thus to make a parade of generosity which you do not mean to practise? I know you do not—cannot expect, that I should poorly stoop to purchase your assistance.' 'Upon my soul, Laura,' cried Hargrave, seizing her hands, 'I am most earnest, most anxious, that you should yield to me in this affair; nor will I quit this spot till you have consented—nor till you have allowed me to look upon your consent as a pledge of your future favour.' Laura indignantly snatched her hands from his grasp. 'All that I comprehend of this,' said she, 'is insult, only insult. Leave me, Sir! It is unworthy even of you to insult the misfortunes of a defenceless woman.' Hargrave would not be repulsed. He again took her hand and persevered in his entreaties, not forgetting, however, to insinuate the conditions. Laura, in silent scorn, turned from him, wondering what could be the motive of his strange conduct, till it suddenly occurred to her that the arrest might be a mere plot contrived by Hargrave himself for the purpose of terrifying her into the acceptance of the conditions necessary to her escape. This suspicion once formed gained strength by every circumstance. The improbability of the debt; the time chosen when Lady Pelham was absent; the opportune arrival of Hargrave; the submission of the pretended bailiffs to his order; his frequent repetition of the conditions of his offer, at the same time that he appeared to wish for its acceptance; all conspired to convince Laura that she was intended to be made the dupe of a despicable artifice. Glowing with indignation, she again forced herself from Hargrave. 'Away with this contemptible mockery,' she cried, 'I will hear no more of it. While these people choose to guard me in this house, it shall be in an apartment secure from your intrusion.' Then, before Hargrave could prevent her, she left him, and shut herself into her own chamber.

Here, at greater liberty to think, a new question occurred to her. In case of her refusal to accept of Hargrave's terms—in case she actually preferred intrusting herself to the pretended bailiffs, whither could they intend to convey her? Laura's blood ran cold at the thought. If they were indeed the agents of Hargrave, what was there of dreadful that she had not to fear! Yet she could scarcely believe that persons could be found to attempt so daring a villany. Would they venture upon an outrage for which they must answer to the laws! an outrage which Lady Pelham would certainly feel herself concerned to bring to immediate detection and punishment. 'Unfortunate chance!' cried Laura, 'that my aunt should be absent just when she might have saved me. And I know not even where to seek her.—Why did she not tell me whither she was going? She who was wont to be so open!—Can this be a part of this cruel snare? Could she—Oh it is impossible! My fears make me suspicious and unjust.'

Though Laura thus endeavoured to acquit Lady Pelham, her suspicion of Hargrave's treachery augmented every moment. While she remembered that her father, though he had spoken to her of his affairs with the most confidential frankness, had never hinted at such a debt, never named such a person as his pretended creditor—while she thought of the manner of Hargrave's interference, the improbability that her own and her father's name and address, as well as the casualty of Lady Pelham's absence should be known to mere strangers—the little likelihood that common swindlers would endeavour to extort money by means so hazardous and with such small chance of success—her conviction rose to certainty; and she determined that nothing short of force should place her in the power of these impostors. Yet how soon might that force be employed! How feeble was the resistance which she could offer! And who would venture to aid her in resisting the pretended servants of law! 'Miserable creature that I am!' cried she, wringing her hands in an agony of grief and terror, 'must I submit to this cruel wrong?—Is there no one to save me—no friend near?—Yes! yes, I have a friend from whom no treachery of man can tear me—who can deliver me from their violence—who can do more—can make their cruelty my passport to life eternal. Let me not despair then—Let me not be wanting to myself.—With His blessing the feeblest means are mighty.'

After a moment's consideration Laura rung her bell, and the maid who usually attended her appeared. 'Catherine,' said Laura, endeavouring to speak composedly, 'will you oblige me by going to Finsbury Square, to Mr Derwent, and begging of him to come hither instantly?' 'Bless me, Madam,' cried the girl, 'you look as if you were just going to faint! can I get you any thing?' 'No, no, I shall not faint,' said Laura. 'Go my dear—go quickly—if you would save a wretch from destruction. Stop not a moment I implore you!—Oh Catherine, more than life depends on you!' The girl's curiosity was strongly excited by these words, as well as by the strange visit of the men who were waiting in the lobby. She would fain have staid to make inquiries, but the imploring anguish of Laura's look and manner was irresistible, and she hastened out of the room. Laura then double-locking the door determined that by force only it should be entered, and throwing herself on a seat, strove to rally the spirits she was so soon to need. In a few minutes, however, Catherine returned, and through the key hole informed Laura that she had been intercepted by the men below stairs, who would not suffer any one to leave the house. 'All is then as I feared,' cried Laura in a voice of desperation. 'And thus has he made his cruel plot so sure! Is there no escape! Oh Catherine! cannot you steal away from them? Is there no means to save me?' Moved by the voice of anguish, the girl promised to do her utmost, but confessed that she had little hope of succeeding.

For a moment Laura believed her fate sealed, and almost gave herself up to despair; but, now convinced of the treachery of Hargrave, and unwillingly obliged to suspect Lady Pelham's connivance, indignation at such unexampled baseness and cruelty again roused her fainting spirit. Again she determined to resist to the uttermost, and if dragged by force from her place of refuge, to appeal to the humanity of the passengers in the street. 'Surely,' thought she, 'even common strangers will not permit such oppression.' The windows of her chamber looked towards the gardens behind the house; and she now regretted that she had not rather shut herself up in one of the front apartments, from whence she could have explained her situation to the passers by. Seeing no other chance of escape, she resolved on attempting to change her place of refuge, and was approaching the door to listen whether any one was near, when she was startled by the rough voice of one of the pretended bailiffs. 'Come along Miss,' he cried, 'we are quite tired of waiting. Come along.' The shuddering Laura made no reply. 'Come, come Miss,' cried the man again; 'you have had time enough to make ready.' Laura continued silent, while the ruffian called to her again and again, shaking the door violently. He threatened, with shocking oaths, that he would burst it open, and that she would be punished for resisting the officers of justice. All was in vain. Laura would not answer a single word. Trembling in every limb, she listened to his blasphemies and vows of vengeance, till she had wearied out her persecutor, and her ear was gladdened with the sound of his departing. He was almost immediately succeeded by his less ferocious companion, who more civilly begged her to hasten, as their business would not permit any longer delay. Finding that she would not answer, he reminded her of the consequences of obstructing the execution of the law; and threatened, if she continued obstinate, to use force. Laura sat silent and motionless, using every momentary interval of quiet, in breathing a hasty prayer for deliverance. The least violent of the fellows proved the most persevering; yet at last she had the satisfaction to hear him also retire. Presently a lighter step approached, and Hargrave called to her. 'Miss Montreville! Laura! Miss Montreville!' Laura was still silent. He called again, without success. 'Miss Montreville is ill,' cried he aloud, as if to some one at a distance. 'She is insensible. The door must be forced.' 'No! No!' cried Laura, determined not to leave him this pretence, 'I am not insensible, nor ill, if you would leave me in peace.' 'For heaven's sake, then,' returned he, 'let me speak a few words to you.' 'No,' answered Laura, 'you can say nothing that I wish to hear.' 'I beseech you, I implore you,' said Hargrave, 'only by one word put it in my power to save you from these miscreants—say but that one little word, and you are free.' 'Man, man!' cried Laura, vehemently, 'why will you make me abhor you? I want no freedom but from your persecutions! Begone!' 'Only promise me,' said Hargrave, lowering his voice, 'only promise me that you will give up that accursed De Courcy, and I will dismiss these men.' 'Do you curse him who saved your life! Monster! Leave me! I detest you.' Hargrave gnawed his lip with passion. 'You shall dearly pay for this obstinacy,' said he, and fiercely strode away.

In the heat of his wrath, he commanded his coadjutors to force the door; but the law which makes the home of an Englishman a sacred sanctuary, extends its precious influence, in some faint degree, to the breasts even of the dregs of mankind; and these wretches, who would have given up Laura to any other outrage, hesitated to perpetrate this. They objected the danger. 'Does your Honour think,' said one of them, 'that the servants will stand by and allow us to break open the door.' 'I tell you,' said Hargrave, 'all the men-servants are from home. What do you fear from a parcel of women?' 'Women can bear witness as well as men, your Honour; and it might be as much as our necks are worth to be convicted. But if your Honour could entice her out, we'd soon catch her.' Hargrave took two or three turns along the lobby, and then returned to Laura. 'Miss Montreville,' said he, 'my dearest Miss Montreville, I conjure you to admit me only for a moment. These savages will wait no longer. They are determined to force your door. Once more I implore you, before it is too late, let me speak with you. I expect them every moment.' Laura's breast swelled with indignation at this vile pretence of kindness. 'Acting under your commands, Sir,' said she, 'I doubt not that they may even dare this outrage. And let them at their peril. If the laws of my country cannot protect, they shall avenge me.' For a moment Hargrave stood confounded at this detection, till anger replacing shame,—'Very well, Madam,' he cried; 'insult me as you please, and take the consequences.' He then rejoined his emissaries; and by bribery and threats endeavoured to prevail upon them to consummate their violence. The men, unwilling to forfeit the reward of the hazard and trouble they had already undergone, allured by Hargrave's promises, and fearing his vengeance, at last agreed to drag their hapless victim to her doom.