Read Ebook: Lady Maclairn the Victim of Villany: A Novel Volume 1 (of 4) by Hunter Mrs Rachel

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She had no sooner finished her fluttered welcome, than she presented to me the Brobdingnagian, Miss Lucretia Flint, who, in a stiff green damask gown and petticoat, might have conveyed to a soberer imagination than mine the idea of a mountain clothed in the livery of spring; but on raising my eyes to measure its elevation, a stern countenance of "Burdoth's" sort intercepted my curiosity, and I caught only a glimpse of its snowy summit. She condescended to bend, and offered me her glowing cheek, which I approached with fear and trembling. In order to recover myself, I begged Sir Murdock to introduce me to his son, who had modestly kept at a distance. He made his bow; and we began to chat on the little occurrences of the journey. "You must have found it very tiresome," observed the stately Miss Flint, fixing her eyes on the contented baronet, "I am sure I have pitied you, Miss Cowley." "Pitied me!" repeated I, with an air of astonishment, "I wished our journey had been as long again! and could Sir Murdock have forgotten the road to Tarefield, I would have kidnapped him, and made the tour of England." The saver of links and torches was silenced, and I talked with Malcolm Maclairn of a country and a route which he appeared to know perfectly.

Malcolm Maclairn is the image of his mother; but he is glowing with health, and his manly countenance is embrowned by air and exercise: I do not believe that Sidney's Arcadia has a handsomer shepherd than this village beau.

In stature, Miss Howard is about my height, but in symmetry and proportion of form, so completely Grecian that you must look for her model in the gallery at Florence. To perfect the resemblance the more, she wears her light-brown locks, nearly flaxen, braided up and fastened round her head, whilst a black ribband confines the redundancy of the ringlets from covering her snowy forehead; her eyes are the darkest blue I ever saw, and, perhaps, to their colour it is owing that I never yet saw eyes so expressive at once of spirit and softness: at one moment they make their appeal to the heart by the imploring look of infant-trust and confidence; at another, they bespeak a soul within, equal to the duty of checking insolence; but these emanations are transient, and a melancholy expression of tenderness, rather than of sorrow, more commonly beams from them. To what shall I liken her complexion? I can find nothing but a white rose newly refreshed by the dew of heaven: its delicate smoothness and modest blush exactly correspond with Mary's skin; for its tints would confound the painter to imitate; her smile would convert frenzy to peace, though lost on Miss Flint's flinty heart; and her voice would soften the tigress when robbed of her young.

I know what you will say: "This is a sketch in Rachel Cowley's style, when compassion guides her pencil. It is a thousand to one that this poor girl is any thing more than a pretty one; her youth and depressed fortune have lent their aid to an imagination that always employs vivid colours. We must place Miss Howard's picture by the side of Miss Flint's." Do so, Lucy; the time may come, and I hope will come, when you shall recant, and the triumph of truth shall be that of your

RACHEL COWLEY.

"Grove nods at grove, each alley has a brother, And half the platform just reflects the other; The suffering eye inverted Nature sees, Trees cut as statues, statues cut as trees."

"Indeed you are mistaken," said he, "Philip Flint was ever mindful of his own honour, though grateful for an affection, unbounded in its liberality to him."

What, my Lucy, could occasion the deep blush which suffused Lady Maclairn's countenance when I said this, merely with a view to finish a conversation I was weary of, and which detained me from going to Mrs. Allen? I had risen from my seat whilst speaking, and saw a tear escape from her eye. Would a mind unacquainted with guilt have felt so random a dart? I know what will be your answer. However, it was evident I had touched a sensitive plant; and my retreat was necessary. I reminded the baronet of his promise to assist me in arranging our books, without any diminution of my gaiety. "Do with me what you please," replied he, "so that I am not in your way: but shall I not surprise Mrs. Allen by my appearance?" He glanced his eyes to his tattered gown, "We will run the hazard," said I, passing my arm through his, "for it is ten to one but she is in her night-cap, and chiding my idleness." He smiled. "Lucy, I would you could see this man's countenance when thus lightened up! Surely, never did Heaven more graciously decorate the face of woe! It is with an expression, which not only awakens compassion, but which also produces reverence."

I have well earned my promised recompence. I shall expect a long detail of Horace's adventures by sea and land: if you fail, farewell to your gossiping historian,

RACHEL COWLEY.

"Friends of reason, and my guides of youth, Whose language breath'd the eloquence of truth; Whose life beyond preceptive wisdom taught, The wise in conduct, and the pure in thought."

Two or three songs of Horace's are now locked up; and the baronet is contented with being roused to cheerfulness by Scotch ballads.

Let me know in your next letter how many months Rachel Cowley has been at Tarefield. Mrs. Allen's calendar says not more than one--can this be true? Poor Horace! how tedious must be to him the account of time if he computes it as I do! How many precious hours which Providence has given us, have been, and will be still lost to the account of happiness!--A happiness, Lucy, which would not have interfered with a single duty, nor invaded on the rights of a single human being!--Good night!

Well, I will be good, and endeavour to be patient. I will eat, and drink, and sleep, and forget not only my own cares, but cease to feel and be angry at the sight of oppressed innocence. I will grow fat, and say with Miss Flint and her tribe, "What! are not the poor and friendless made for our use?" I will do any thing rather than grieve my Lucy; but you have, my dear girl, your whims and crotchets to correct, as well as I my petulancies and opinions to govern. What has given you the notion that I am starved at Tarefield? Please to understand that Miss Flint prides herself on the goodness and abundance of her table; and although she has not yet acquired a relish for a dinner of herbs seasoned by love and peace, she has an excellent appetite for the stalled ox. Consequently, as the song says,

"Each day has the spit and the pot, With plenty of pudding and pie."

On our return home I mentioned this arrangement to my companions. Sir Murdock, delighted with his morning walk, said he would be of the evening party; but instantly recollecting the difficulty of my engagement, he asked me, by what stratagem I intended to free the poor captive Mary from her cage. I was not quite prepared with an answer to this question; and could only reply, that I trusted to fortune and my own ingenuity for success.

The gaiety of the baronet amply indemnified Lady Maclairn for having waited for her breakfast. She was treated with the detail of our walk and with quotations from Thompson's seasons; and with the contentedness of the hour, and a good appetite, he rallied me on my advances to the captain, telling his wife of the appointed rendezvous, and of my plot to reach Captain Flint's heart by means of his niece. Would you could see Lady Maclairn in moments like these! Why have I not Ithariel's spear? For nothing less potent can reach the genuine features of this woman's mind! This morning, for example, she was ingenuous and unconstrained, her sweet eyes contemplating with delight the cheerfulness of Sir Murdock, when in a moment I saw her countenance change, and her eyes cast downwards, from the effects of these words: "My Harriot, you must be of our party; you must intercede for poor Mary."--"You know it is not in my power," answered she, with evident distress. Sir Murdock's gaiety sunk in an instant; but I interposed my influence, and with assumed spirits said, I would trust to no one for the deliverance of Mary but myself; and that I had already formed my plan of action. Do you not think Lady Maclairn is somewhat obliged to her guest for these timely helps? I suspect she feels her obligations of this sort sometimes too sensibly.

This poor girl hangs on my spirits. I will reserve for my next letter the account of our evening walk. You will lose nothing by my going to bed; for I am weary, and somewhat of your petulant

RACHEL COWLEY.

"In wavy ringlets falls her beautious hair, That catch new graces from the sportive air: Declin'd on earth, her modest look denies To shew the starry lustre of her eyes: O'er her fair face a rosy bloom is spread, And stains her ivory neck with lovely red: Soft breathing sweets her opening lips disclose, The native odours of the budding rose."

I could not forbear uttering this rhapsody to the captain as he stood near me, whilst Mary was receiving the honest admiration of her humble friends. He smiled, but a sigh succeeded. "She is fair and lovely," said he with emotion, "and as good as she is fair, and as innocent as she is lovely;--but so was her mother, Miss Cowley; yet she found this world a hard pilgrimage!" He turned away from me, and joined his niece. I will now bid you farewell.--Mrs. Allen joins in my blessings for your repose.--Yours,

RACHEL COWLEY.

Yours, ever,

RACHEL COWLEY.

All nature seemed to respire more freely as well as myself, after Mr. Snughead's departure. The evening was indeed an Italian one, and Lady Maclairn contrived to impart to it the charms which so often embellished those at Heathcot. We had a regale of fruit in the avenue, and every one was freed from constraint, and disposed for enjoyment. No, your poor Rachel was not in harmony with the scene. My spirits had been exhausted, and I felt unusually languid. I found a luxury in tears, and I sauntered from the circle. I could not check my imagination: it fondly traced our happy days. The regales of strawberries in the root-house; our Bacchanalian revelries under the mulberry trees, where we retaliated the mischief done to our frocks, by smearing Horace's face with the impurpled juice; our dear father's plots and contrivances, at hide and seek, and our mother's tales of wisdom and wonder! Oh, days of innocence and of peace! how soon departed! whilst the remembrances of your pure joys serve but to heighten the contrast of those hours of my existence which are now lost to me! What has Rachel Cowley in common with such beings as those who have tormented her to-day, thought I! There are those who maintain, that in order to love virtue, we must know vice: but far be from me such experiments! I want no hideous contrasts to shew me her genuine work! I have witnessed that all her "paths are pleasantness," and all her purposes gracious! What, under her benign influence, has been done with that turbulent self-will which, when a child, menaced me with destruction! of that ignorance and presumption which would have rendered me pernicious to my fellow-creatures! "What had I been, Lucy, had I not been sheltered in the very bosom of virtue? and am I a companion for a Miss Flint, or a Mr. Snughead?"

RACHEL COWLEY.

NOTE TO THE READER.

Finding nothing important to my history during the course of several weeks' correspondence, so punctually maintained by Miss Cowley, I have suppressed a few letters, to avoid the censure of prolixity.

RACHEL COWLEY."

A Letter dated in October, and addressed to Miss Hardcastle, is fortunately recovered, and the thread of the narrative, which I found was broken, is by that means preserved. Trusting that my readers are by this time satisfied that Miss Cowley can tell her own story; and are convinced that no labours of mine could better tell it, I cheerfully resume my humble office of copyist.

I do not remember mentioning to you the noble apartments which Mrs. Heartley occupies in the Abbey. But her taste has given to them an appearance of comfort, light, and cheerfulness, which in my opinion more than supplies the absence of the magnificence, which gave the finish to dark and richly carved wainscoting and bow windows, half glazed with painted glass. A good selection of books, in handsome glass-cases, gay chintz furniture, and an excellent musical instrument, assuredly suited better the assembled party, and are much more congenial with the love of neatness and order of the present inmates of the house. But should it happen that any of the departed spirits of the "Ingram" race still hover near the spot of their glory, they must, if they be placable, acknowledge, that although cumbrous greatness is fallen, hospitality still retains her empire in the house; and that those vices which ruined themselves and half the county, are buried in the fallen fabric of Gothic ignorance and superstition. After dinner we had music, which at least vied with the lute and virginal of former times. The Heartleys, I find, are all gifted with a taste for harmony. The mother is an excellent performer on the harpsichord; and her daughter shews that skill in the science so necessary in the teacher, to produce a pupil like Alice. Mary was pressed for a song. "I have forgotten all I know for want of practice," said she with a suppressed sigh. "I will sing with you, my love," replied Mrs. Heartley, "and we shall manage very well." She was encouraged, and timidly sung the little ballad of Prior's, "In vain you tell your panting lover," with taste and expression. "Bravo, my sweet Mary," observed Mrs. Heartley with a smile, "you have not forgotten that song at least. You would recover in a month all you have lost." Elated by this commendation, she turned towards me, and with eagerness observed, that Henry Heartley had taught her not only to sing that song, but to admire the poetry and composition; "for," added she, "Henry was an Orpheus, even in his cradle! I have heard Mrs. Heartley say, that she used to quiet him when a baby, by playing upon the piano-forte. How happy we used to be when he was here!" Mrs. Wilson's calling her away prevented Mary from proceeding on a subject which seemed to have placed her heart on her lips.

She seconded my motion for the family to walk home with us, and it was agreed to, with certain limitations as to the time and extent of our demands; which were forgotten by each in their turn.

"Can any mortal mixture of earth's mould Breathe such divine inchanting ravishment?"

Poor Miss Howard on losing sight of her uncle, felt all her terrors return. "What would her aunt say to her? and what was she to say to her aunt? She would not believe her." Mrs. Allen engaged to stand as witness; and Malcolm encouraged her by saying, "My mother will plead your cause, never fear." But I verily believe the poor girl felt it, as a respite from violence when Warner told her that Miss Flint was asleep.

Mrs. Allen sends her blessing, and your Rachel Cowley remains your affectionate Sister and Friend.

You will, my dear Lucy, when you have read this letter, commend me for my caution. "I am well, and all here are well, thank God for it!" Do not however fancy that I have not had an escape, although the curricle has not been overset, nor have I had a cold and sore throat in consequence of my night walk.

My hitherto restrained tears now flowed abundantly: it was well for me they did, for the throbbing in my temples was excruciating. I attempted to speak; but I could only say with extreme emotion, "Dismiss your fears for her, her happiness shall be my care." A look was the thanks I received. The coach drew up, and Malcolm entered the room. Whilst Mrs. Allen prepared Mary, he said in a whisper, "I leave my father to you. Miss Flint is in strong convulsions, the doctor is sent for, and my mother is dreadfully alarmed." He carried Mary to the carriage, and accompanied her and the captain to the Abbey.

Mrs. Allen went to assist Lady Maclairn, and I to perform a duty which was become pressing, for I had not seen Sir Murdock from the first signal of alarm. I recollected this circumstance with a sensation of terror undefinable at this moment; and quickening my steps, met a servant whom I believe I frightened by my eagerness, for in reply to my question, he said, with some hesitation of manner, that he had seen Sir Murdock go into the garden, and, if I pleased, he would go with me to look for him. I saw the conclusion he had drawn, and therefore, with collected ease, replied that I should soon meet him.

RACHEL COWLEY.

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES

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