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Faithful,

RACHEL COWLEY.

I have had so much business of late on my hands that I believe I have not mentioned the increasing good understanding which subsists between Malcolm and Mr. Parry, our new curate. He is become a frequent and welcome visitor here, and an acquisition we all enjoy. Malcolm has, I suspect, given him a hint that his present duty requires assistance; and most assuredly he finds in Parry an excellent coadjutor. The baronet enjoys his conversation, and Mr. Serge is no burden to him. I foresee we shall not need Parry for to-morrow's excursion. The rain is now pouring down in torrents, and it is midnight. May Heaven guard your pillow, my Lucy, with its accustomed goodness! Mary shall have my journal of the Durham expedition in due time.

Yours, &c.

RACHEL COWLEY.

RACHEL COWLEY.

Tuesday.

RACHEL COWLEY.

Ah! flattery!--I see I must go on with my 'pathetic tale.' Therefore I may as well proceed and leave to the flatterers to keep up the connexion. Doctor Douglass was present at the first interview between Mr. Serge and Caroline, and even regulated it. A tender embrace, and an assurance of her being free from pain was all that was permitted; and the poor father satisfied with this, retreated at the doctor's command. Malcolm persuaded him to ride, and they returned not till the placid features of Mr. Serge could bear our kindness. To-day I have seen Caroline; having heard from Mrs. Allen that she was easy and composed.

I could not remain in the room any longer: I was totally subdued by the language of nature and affection, and again my heart bitterly reproached the child who could abandon such a father: who had not, in his sharpest pangs of sorrow, uttered one menace, and who, hanging over the sick couch of a dutiful daughter, thought more of her consolation than of his own injuries. I recalled my wish, however; for had Miss Leonora been present, she must have died of compunction; and Caroline has made me charitable. I hope she will live to repent; and repay in some measure her father's goodness.

Farewell! I am going to take an airing with Mr. Serge. Your's, ever,

RACHEL COWLEY.

You are sorry, you say, that the Serges have left Tarefield so soon; and that also my sweet Mary regrets the loss of the best part of my romance, the recovery of Miss Serge's health, and the happiness of the whole family, by the forgiveness of the imprudent Leonora. But I cannot gratify Mary. Heaven in its own time will render to Caroline Serge the meed of suffering virtue. Miss Leonora must first forgive herself, before her father's pardon can be a blessing to her; and if she is ever entitled to his forgiveness, it must be attained by the road of self-reproach and repentance. I can only wish her well through the rugged path, and pray that she may not stumble nor faint in it.

You may think me relapsing into hardness of heart. I cannot help it. My affection for the worthy will have its ascendancy. But I send you the substance of a conversation between me and Miss Serge, which will at once account for my uncharitable sentiments in mentioning the fugitive bride.

Willing to be of some use in the general bustle preparatory to our friends' departure, and to which was added the more than common indisposition of Miss Flint, who has not yet recovered from the consequences of Miss Nora's unceremonious departure, I offered my services to Caroline, who, as being the least exacting, I thought in danger of being the most forgotten. She was quietly and meekly sitting in her easy chair, and alone. She received me with satisfaction. I began to net. The conversation soon turned on her sister, her hopes of meeting her, and effecting an entire reconciliation, and forgiveness of her marriage. "I have only one fear to harass my spirits," added she, "and my efforts to check my impatience augments this fear. I know that my life depends on my being placid; and I may render myself useless to Leonora from my anxiety to serve her." I praised her goodness. "It is my duty only that I can perform," answered she; "and even in my attempts and hopes, as these relate to my sister, I am governed by a still superior principle of action. I well know what my dear father's sorrow will be, when I am removed. He will need comfort, and Leonora has only to use her understanding, and to employ her cares assiduously to be the consoler he will want in the first access of his sorrow: his God and his own piety will then be his consolation, I trust." "And I most fervently hope," replied I, "that your youth and your patience will effect your restoration to health. You will live, I trust, to be a comfort and a blessing to your good father, and all your family. You may reasonably hope to enjoy many years of comfortable existence in this world, before you are recalled to the heaven for which you are so richly prepared." My warm and earnest manner surprised her, I believe; for her eyes swam in tears, and she blushed. "I am indebted to a good and pious aunt, who brought me up," replied she, "for the patience and the peace of mind I have enjoyed under a course of trial, which my youth little expected three years since. How often have I blessed this relation for her lessons, and for an example that has supported me, and which will I hope, still support me to the end."--She checked herself, and then proceeded.

"My aunt, in the mean time," continued Caroline, "trained me up to be, as she said, her 'right hand,' and she frequently adverted to her age and infirmities as another and powerful motive, which led her to keep me so much in the domestic way. I was reminded continually of my father's comforts: of the disorder and confusion of such a family as ours, if left without a manager; and hints were from time to time dropped, that my mother had no turn for family affairs, though a good parent, and a good woman. Lydia's indulgences grieved her; but she had too much on her hands, for hourly contests; and my mother was satisfied, that in her day-school she learned enough for her years, and that the kitchen was no worse for her play hours, than any other place. Nora was the idol we all worshipped: she was lively and attractive beyond even the attractive age of infancy: she was the pride of our hearts, and the delight of my father's eyes! Even Mrs. Massey was unable to resist her fascinating vivacity and sweetness of temper; and young as I was, I have remarked the pleasure which beamed from her own comely face, on being told, that the little Leonora was "her very image." I had just attained my fifteenth year, when we lost this good aunt. A will made in my father's favour whilst he was yet a bachelor, put him in possession of her whole property, which I have been told amounted to near thirty thousand pounds.

Mrs. Serge's entrance prevented my reply; and finding she had some directions to give to the servant who followed her, relative to Caroline's clothes, I withdrew. What a loss will this amiable girl be to her family! It is to be lamented, that heaven recalls her from a world, in which she would be an example that good sense is worth something, and more to be coveted than "gold, even than pure gold."

I did not take leave of her without tears. She has promised to write to me if her health permit her.

The baronet, thinking it a good opportunity of paying off something from the score of "favours received," persuaded me to take an airing with him after our guests were departed. We drove to Bishop's-Auckland; for since Miss Leonora has made us acquainted with Mr. Type's library, Sir Murdoch reads novels with the avidity and interest of a miss in her teens. Something in Miss Type's manner excited my curiosity. On inquiring whether all the volumes had been returned which had been placed to Miss Serge's account, she replied with a smile in the affirmative, adding, that she hoped the young lady would in her turn find the things she had sent with the books as exact. An explanation followed, and I found that Miss Nora had judged it expedient to use my name instead of her own, in her contrivance to secure for her journey a change of linen, and the girl with some confusion of face told me that, she thought the gentleman at the Mitre had been my lover from what he had said.

RACHEL COWLEY.

I never shall, my dear Lucy, attempt to conceal from you the state of my spirits. You judged right. I was dejected by the contents of Horace's last letter. His account of Lord William's recent danger, by the sudden bursting of an abscess on the lungs, and the depression of mind with which Horace wrote the account of this dreadful alarm, could not be balanced by the more flattering hopes with which he finishes his letter. He says, that the patient is relieved, and that the physicians are of opinion, that his life may be prolonged by this effort of nature.

Your's, affectionately,

RACHEL COWLEY.

Your confession, my dear Lucy, with my own, shall be placed aside; but within our reach, in order to be useful when we are again so absurd as to yield to the despondency of anticipated evils. Your brother is well; Lord William gaining ground; and we will be cheerful and contented. Mr. Hardcastle's letter agrees with mine; and whether the physician's hopes be or be not well grounded, we will be thankful, that the interesting patient is relieved from a portion of his suffering, and Horace from the immediate pangs of seeing him expire.

I am just returned from inspecting the contents of two large boxes sent from town, by order of Jeremiah Serge, Esq. "To Sir Murdoch Maclairn, at Tarefield-Hall." A short note from his lady specified, that having recollected that the tea equipage which she had seen at Tarefield was the property of Miss Flint, she had presumed to hope, that the one which gratitude had signed with the initials J. L. S. would find favour at the Hall, and be received by Sir Murdoch and Lady Maclairn, as a mark of their love, and as a tribute of their sense of the kindnesses they had met with under their hospitable roof. Caroline's style was obvious in this note.

RACHEL COWLEY.

The following letter you have entire. Not a syllable of Mr. Serge's shall be lost.

LETTER L.

Putney, October the 11th, 1790.

"My good Sir Murdoch and Cousin,"

"I send you with my kind love, a small tribute of my gratitude, the sentiments of which I shall carry with me to my grave, for all your hospitable cares of us, when with you; and above all, for your pity and compassion towards my dear sick child. I have only to say on this subject, that not you, nor any under your roof, will ever live to repent of your kindness to Caroline; for there never was a young creature who better deserved the consideration of good people.

"You must take the will for the deed, if we have blundered in regard to the things we have sent to your worthy lady; but Caroline thought her mother had judged very properly; and was certain you would be pleased with any marks of our affection, seeing we are not those, who do one thing and mean another; and if the fashion of these things should not happen to suit your fancy, the fault is not my wife's, for she took a great deal of pains to get what was tasty, that I must say; and Lydia would go to the world's end to serve a friend.

"I shall not finish this letter to-day, as I must first see Counsellor Steadman, who will write to you by this conveyance. You will have from him the business now before us, and I shall expect your answer to be speedy."

October the 12th.

"My friend the Counsellor assures me, that he has so explained my views and wishes, that you will not be offended, nor be able to misunderstand my intentions. I shall therefore altogether waive the subject, and finish my paper with my own cares and troubles; for it is the only relief I find to disburden my mind of the multitude of thoughts that oppress me, and I cannot help believing that my gracious and merciful God, knowing that I should want a friend to support me in my trials, has opened to me a road in which my ignorance and weakness would meet with help and kindness.

"JEREMIAH SERGE.

"P. S. All here desire their kind love. We wish to hear from you, and to learn that Miss Flint is mending. God bless you, and your kind-hearted compassionate lady! You are a happy man, Sir Murdoch! You have indeed a helpmate! Would to God all wives could be called so."

In order to avoid prolixity, I have suppressed a few of Miss Cowley's letters, which were written during the course of a month, as those contain nothing essentially necessary to the narrative before me; and are chiefly addressed to Miss Howard, and written in Italian and French, with a view to making these languages familiar to her. But I am so much influenced by Miss Cowley's opinions, that I cannot persuade myself that I could better oblige my readers, than by recommencing my allotted work, with the following letters sent to Miss Hardcastle with her friend's usual punctuality.

Putney, Dec. 6.

"This letter, my dear Miss Cowley, will not amuse you, but it will make its appeal to your good nature: you will think of the invalid who has beguiled three or four tedious days of their allotted dullness, in writing it: you will think you see her raising her languid eyes to heaven, whilst she breathes out a petition for your happiness; and you will think with kindness of the grateful and obliged

"CAROLINE SERGE."

"My dear young Friend,"

"I am your loving friend,

"JEREMIAH SERGE."

You will love and reverence this woman, Lucy. I am certain you will. Sedley will give you this packet. You will understand my caution. I have written to Mary in French, expressly to prevent her inquiries. Let me know that the manuscript is safe in your hands, and that you concur with your perhaps too impetuous,

RACHEL COWLEY.

P. S. We were reading a beautiful work of Mrs. Inchbald's, called, "The Simple Story," when the vagrants returned. Red eyes and defluxions in the head are the least of these tributes which this novel merits. Ours escaped all further inquiry.

HISTORY OF THE FLAMALL FAMILY.

Under these happy circumstances of life, did I reach my seventeenth year, when towards the autumn, I was requested to prepare for the accommodation of a young man, who was to reside with us. Philip perceived my surprise. "It was not possible for me to avoid receiving him under my roof," added he; "his mother pressed the measure on me, with so much earnestness from her death-bed, that I had not the resolution to refuse her request; and standing as I do in the relation of a guardian to the young man, who has not a single connexion or friend in the world to whom he can turn, except myself, it is the more incumbent on me to provide for his safety. He is a modest lad; but at present a mere green-horn. He has been very ill since he has been in town, and I should not be surprised, if, with his excessive sorrow for the loss of his only friend, and the effects of his dreadful fever, he be plunged into a decline. You will be kind to him, my dear Harriet," continued he, "for you will pity him. If we can manage to get him well, he will become my pupil in the office, for he is poor, and must have some employment. He is sensible of this, and grateful for the education and little means which Mrs. Duncan has contrived to leave him."

Mr. Duncan's health, for the space of more than a month, gave an ostensible colour to my attentions. I had pity, for the motive of an assiduity which, young as I was, my heart whispered was but the assumed name for love. My brother trusting, as I concluded, to the effects of his intelligence relative to his ward's fortune and disgraceful birth, for the security of a girl of seventeen, whose good sense and prudence were proverbial with him, left the interesting invalid to my unremitting cares, till the bloom of youth was restored, and Mr. Duncan was deemed in a condition to pass some hours in the office, in pursuance of his declared intention of studying the law. To what purpose should I detail the progress of a passion mutually excited under such circumstances as I have already mentioned? Let it suffice, that my lover was a stranger to the arts of seduction, and myself too inexperienced for the documents of worldly prudence, and too innocent for doubts or cautions.

I complied with a project from which I had little to fear, well knowing that my brother's example had been contagious in his family. Our banns were published: Keith officiated as father at the altar, and his wife as my friend and companion, my appearance not contradicting hers. My husband demanded a certificate of our marriage, and I returned home with it in my bosom unsuspected.

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