CHAPTER XXI.
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But Dr. Ives was mistaken—had he seen
the sparkling eyes, and glowing cheeks of
Miss Moseley—the smile of satisfaction and
happiness, which played on the usually
thoughtful face of Mrs. Wilson, when the Earl
handed them into his own carriage, as they
left his house, on the evening of the discovery;
the Doctor would have gladly acknowledged
the failure of his prognostics. In
truth, there was no possible event, that under
the circumstances, could have given both
aunt and niece such heartfelt pleasure, as
the knowledge that Denbigh and the Earl
were the same person.
Pendennyss stood holding the door of the
carriage in his hand, irresolute how to act,
when Mrs. Wilson said,
“Surely, my Lord, you sup with us.”
“A thousand thanks, my dear Madam,
for the privilege,” cried the Earl, as he
sprang into the coach—the door was closed,
and they drove off.
“After the explanation of this morning,
my Lord,” said Mrs. Wilson, willing to remove
all doubts between him and Emily, and
perhaps anxious to satisfy her own curiosity,
“it will be fastidious to conceal our desire
to know more of your movements. How
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came your pocket-book in the possession of
Mrs. Fitzgerald?”
“Mrs. Fitzgerald!” cried Pendennyss, in
astonishment, “I lost the book in one of the
rooms of the Lodge, and supposed it had
fallen into your hands, and betrayed my
disguise, by Emily's rejection of me, and
your own altered eye. Was I mistaken then
in both?”
Mrs. Wilson now, for the first time, explained
their real grounds of refusing his
offers, which, in the morning, she had loosely
mentioned, as owing to a misapprehension
of his just character, and recounted the
manner of the book's falling into the hands
of Mrs. Fitzgerald.
The Earl listened in amazement, and after
musing with himself, exclaimed, “I remember
taking it from my pocket, to show Col.
Egerton some singular plants I had gathered,
and think I first missed it, when returning
to the place I had then laid it—it was
gone; in some of the side-pockets were letters
from Marian, addressed to me, properly;
and I naturally thought they had met your
eye.”
Mrs. Wilson and Emily immediately
thought Egerton the real villain, who had
caused both themselves and Mrs. Fitzgerald
so much uneasiness, and the former mentioned
her suspicions to the Earl.
“Nothing more probable, dear Madam,”
cried he, “and this explains to me his
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startling looks when we first met, and evident
dislike to my society, for he must have seen
my person, though the carriage hid him from
my sight.”
That Egerton was the wretch, and
through his agency, the pocket-book had
been carried to the Cottage, they all now
agreed, and turned to more pleasant subjects.
“Master!—her—Master,” said Peter
Johnson, as he stood at a window of Mr.
Benfield's room, stirring a gruel for the old
gentleman's supper, and stretching his neck,
and straining his eyes, to distinguish by the
light of the lamps—“I do think there is
Mr. Denbigh, handing Miss Emmy from a
coach, covered with gold, and two foot-men,
all dizzined with pride like.”
The spoon fell from the hands of Mr.
Benfield—he rose briskly from his seat,
and adjusting his dress, took the arm of the
steward, as he proceeded to the drawing-room.
While these several movements were in
operation, which consumed some time, the
old bachelor relieved the tedium of Peter's
impatience, by the following speech:
“Mr. Denbigh!—what, back?—I thought
he never could let that rascal John shoot
him, and forsake Emmy after all; (here the
old gentleman suddenly recollected Denbigh's
marriage) but now, Peter, it can do
no good either.—I remember, that when my
friend, the Earl of Gosford—(and again he
was checked by the image of the card-table,
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and the Viscountess,) “but Peter,” he said,
with great warmth, “we can go down and
see him though.”
“Mr. Denbigh!” exclaimed Sir Edward,
in astonishment, as he saw the companion of
his sister and child, enter the drawing-room,
“you are welcome once more to your old
friends; your sudden retreat from us, gave
us much pain, but we suppose Lady Laura
had too many attractions, to allow us to keep
you any longer in Norfolk.”
The good Baronet sighed, as he held out
his hand, to the man he had once hoped to
receive as a son.
“Neither Lady Laura, nor any other lady,
my dear Sir Edward,” cried the Earl, as he
took the Baronet's hand, “drove me from
you, but the frowns of your own fair daughter;
and here she is, ready to acknowledge
her offence—and, I hope, atone for it.”
John, who knew of the refusal of his sister,
and was not a little displeased with the
cavalier treatment he had received at Denbigh's
hands, felt indignant at such improper
levity, as he thought he now exhibited, being
a married man, and approached with—
“Your servant, Mr. Denbigh—I hope my
Lady Laura is well.”
Pendennyss understood his look, and replied
very gravely, “Your servant, Mr. John
Moseley—my Lady Laura is, or certainly
ought to be, very well, as she has this moment
gone to a route, accompanied by her
husband.”
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The quick eye of John glanced from the
Earl---to his aunt---to Emily; a lurking smile
was on all their features—the heightened colour
of his sister—the flashing eyes of the
young man—the face of his aunt—all told
him, something uncommon was about to be
explained; and yielding to his feelings, he
caught the hand, Pendennyss extended to
him, as he cried,
“Denbigh, I see—I feel—there is some
unaccountable mistake—we are—”
“Brothers!” said the Earl, emphatically.
“Sir Edward—dear Lady Moseley, I throw
myself on your mercy—I am an impostor—
when your hospitality received me into your
house, it is true, you admitted George Denbigh,
but he is better known as the Earl of
Pendennyss.”
“The Earl of Pendennyss!” exclaimed
Lady Moseley, in a glow of delight, as she
saw at once through some juvenile folly---a
deception, which promised both happiness and
rank to one of her children; “is it possible,
my dear Charlotte, this is your unknown
friend.”—
“The very same, Anne,” replied the smiling
widow, “and guilty of a folly, that at
all events, removes the distance between us
a little, by showing he is subject to the failings
of mortality. But the masquerade is
ended, and I hope you and Edward will not
only treat him as an Earl, but receive him
as a son.”
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“Most willingly—most willingly,” cried
the Baronet, with great energy; “be he prince—
peer—or beggar—he is the preserver of
my child, and as such, he is always welcome.”
The door now slowly opened, and the
venerable bachelor appeared on its threshold.
Pendennyss, who had never forgotten the
good will manifested to him by Mr. Benfield,
met him with a look of pleasure, as he expressed
his happiness at seeing him again
and in London.
“I never have forgotten your goodness in
sending honest Peter, such a distance from
home, or the object of his visit. I now regret
a feeling of shame occasioned my answering
your kindness so laconically;” turning
to Mrs. Wilson, he added, “for a time,
I knew not how to write a letter even—
afraid to sign my proper appellation, and
ashamed to use my adopted one.”
“Mr. Denbigh, I am happy to see you. I
did send Peter, it is true, to London, on a
message to you—but it is all over now,”—
and the old man sighed—“Peter, however,
escaped the snares of this wicked place; and
if you are happy, I am content. I remember
when the Earl of—”
“Pendennyss!” exclaimed the other, “imposed
on the hospitality of a worthy man,
under an assumed appellation, in order to
pry into the character of a lovely female,
who was only too good for him, and who
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now is willing to forget his follies, and make
him, not only the happiest of men, but the
nephew of Mr. Benfield.”
During this speech, the countenance of Mr.
Benfield had manifested evident emotion—
he looked from one to another, until he saw
Mrs. Wilson smiling near him; pointing to
the Earl with his finger, he stood unable to
speak, as she answered, simply,
“Lord Pendennyss.”
“And Emmy dear—will you—will you
marry him?” cried Mr. Benfield, suppressing
his feelings, to give utterance.
Emily felt for her uncle, and blushing
deeply, with great frankness, put her hand in
that of the Earl, who pressed it with rapture
again and again to his lips.
Mr. Benfield sunk into a chair, and with
a heart softened by his emotions, burst into
tears. “Peter,” he cried, struggling with
his feelings, “I am now ready to depart in
peace—I shall see my darling Emmy, happy,
and to her care, I shall commit you.”
Emily, deeply affected with his love, threw
herself into his arms in a torrent of tears, and
was removed from them by Pendennyss, in
consideration for the feelings of both.
Jane felt no emotions of envy for her sister's
happiness; on the contrary, she rejoiced
in common with the rest of their friends in
her brightening prospects, and they took
their seats at the supper table, as happy a
group, as was contained in the wide circle of
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the Metropolis; a few more particulars served
to explain the mystery sufficiently, until a
more fitting opportunity made them acquainted
with the whole of the Earl's proceedings.
“My Lord Pendennyss,” said Sir Edward,
pouring out a glass of wine, and passing the
bottle to his neighbour: “I drink your health—
and happiness to yourself and my darling
child.”
The toast was drank by all the family,
and the Earl replied to them with his thanks
and smiles, while Emily could only notice
them, with her blushes and tears.
But this was an opportunity not to be lost
by the honest steward, who had, from affection
and long services, been indulged in familiarities,
exceeding any other of his master's
establishment. He very deliberately helped
himself to a glass of wine, and drawing near
the seat of the bride-elect, with a humble reverence,
commenced his speech as follows:
“My dear Miss Emmy:—Here's hoping
you'll live to be a comfort to your honoured
father, and your honoured mother, and my
dear honoured master, and yourself, and
Madam Wilson.” The steward paused to
clear his voice, and cast his eye round the
table to collect the names; “and Mr. John
Moseley, and sweet Mrs. Moseley, and pretty
Miss Jane,” (Peter had lived too long in
the world to compliment one handsome woman
in the presence of another, without
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qualifying his speech a little) “and Mr. Lord Denbigh—
Earl like, as they say he now is, and”—
Peter stopped a moment to deliberate, and
then making another reverence, he put the
glass to his lips; but before he had got half
through its contents, recollected himself,
and replenishing to the brim, with a
smile, acknowledging his forgetfulness, continued,
“and the Rev. Mr. Francis Ives, and
the Rev. Mrs. Francis Ives.” Here the unrestrained
laugh of John interrupted him;
and considering with himself that he had
included the whole family, he finished his
bumper. Whether it was pleasure at his eloquence,
in venturing on so long a speech, or
the unusual allowance, that affected the steward,
he was evidently much satisfied with
himself, and stepped back, behind his master's
chair, in great good humour.
Emily, as she thanked him, noticed with a
grateful satisfaction, a tear in the eye of the
old man, as he concluded his oration, that
would have excused a thousand breaches of
fastidious ceremony. But Pendennyss rose
from his seat, and took him kindly by the hand,
as he returned his own thanks for his good
wishes.
“I owe you much good will, Mr. Johnson,
for your two journies in my behalf, and trust
I never shall forget the manner in which you
executed your last mission, in particular.
We are friends, I trust, for life.”
“Thank you—thank your honour's
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lordship,” said the steward, almost unable to utter;
“I hope you may live long, to make
dear little Miss Emmy as happy—as I know
she ought to be.”
“But really, my lord,” cried John, observing
that the steward's affection for his sister,
had affected her to tears, “it was a singular
circumstance, the meeting of the four passengers
of the stage, so soon at your hotel?”
and Moseley explained his meaning to the
rest of the company.
“Not so much so as you imagine,” said
the Earl in reply; “yourself and Johnson
were in quest of me; Lord Henry Stapleton
was under an engagement to meet me that
evening at the hotel, as we were both going
to his sister's wedding—I having arranged
the thing with him, by letters previously;—
and the General, M`Carthy, was also in
search of me, on business relating to his niece,
the Donna Julia. He had been to Annerdale
House, and through my servants, heard I
was at a hotel. It was the first interview
between us, and not quite as amicable an one
as he has since paid me in Wales. In my
service in Spain, I saw the Conde, but not the
General. The letter he gave me, was from
the Spanish ambassador, claiming a right to
require Mrs. Fitzgerald from our government,
and deprecating my using an influence, to
counteract his exertions”—
“Which you refused,” said Emily, eagerly.
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“Not refused,” answered the Earl, smiling
at her warmth, at the same time he admired
her friendly zeal, “for it was unnecessary—
there is no such power vested in the ministry;
but I explicitly told the General, I would
oppose any violent measures to restore her to
her country and a convent. From the courts,
I apprehended nothing for my fair friend.”
“Your honour—my Lord,” said Peter,
who had been listening with great attention,
“if I may presume, just to ask two questions,
without offence.”
“Say on, my good friend,” said Pendennyss,
with an encouraging smile.
“Only,” continued the steward—hemming,
to give proper utterance to his thoughts—“I
wish to know, whether you staid in that same
street, after you left the hotel—for Mr. John
Moseley and I, had a slight difference in opinion
about it.”
The Earl smiled, as he caught the arch
expression of John, and replied—
“I believe I owe you an apology, Moseley,
for my cavalier treatment—but guilt
makes us all cowards. I found you were ignorant
of my incognito, and I was equally
ashamed to continue it, or become the relator
of my own folly. Indeed,” he continued,
smiling on Emily as he spoke, “I thought
your sister had pronounced the opinions of
all reflecting people on my conduct. I went
out of town, Johnson at day-break. What
is your other query?”
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“Why, my lord,” said Peter, a little disappointed
at finding his first surmise untrue,
“that outlandish tongue, your honour used—”
“Was Spanish,” cried the Earl.
“And not Greek, Peter,” said his master,
gravely. “I thought, from the words you
endeavoured to repeat to me, you had made
a mistake. You need not be disconcerted,
however, for I know several members of the
parliament of this realm, who could not talk
the Greek language—that is, fluently. So it
can be no disgrace, to a serving man to be ignorant
of it.”
Somewhat consoled to find himself as well
off as the representatives of his country, Peter
resumed his station in silence, when the
carriages began to announce the return from
the opera. The Earl took his leave, and the
party retired to rest.
The thanksgivings of Emily that night,
ere she laid her head on her pillow, were the
purest offering of mortal innocence. The prospect
before her was unsullied by a cloud, and
she poured out her heart in the fullest confidence
of pious love and heartfelt gratitude.
As early on the succeeding morning as
good-breeding would allow, and much earlier
than the hour sanctioned by fashion, the Earl
and Lady Marian stopped in the carriage of
the latter, at the door of Sir Edward Moseley.
Their reception was the most flattering
that could be offered to people of their stamp;
sincere—cordial—and, with a trifling
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exception in Lady Moseley, unfettered with any of
the useless ceremonies of high life.
Emily felt herself drawn to her new acquaintance,
with a fondness, which doubtless
grew out of her situation with her brother, but
which soon found reasons enough in the soft,
lady-like, and sincere manners of Lady Marian,
to justify her attachment on her own
account.
There was a very handsome suite of drawing-rooms
in Sir Edward's house, and the
doors communicating, were carelessly open.
Curiosity to view the furniture, or some such
trifling reason, induced the Earl to find his
way, into the one adjoining that, in which the
family were seated. It was unquestionably
a dread of being lost in a strange house, that
induced him to whisper a request to the
blushing Emily, to be his companion; and
lastly, it must have been nothing, but a knowledge
that a vacant room was easier viewed,
than one filled with company, that prevented
any one from following them; John smiled
archly at Grace, doubtless in approbation
of the comfortable time his friend was likely
to enjoy, in his musings on the taste of their
mother. How the door became shut, we
have ever been at a loss to imagine.
The company without were too good natured
and well satisfied with each other, to
miss the absentees, until the figure of the
Earl appeared at the reopened door, beckoning,
with a face of rapture, to Lady Moseley
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and Mrs. Wilson. Sir Edward next disappeared—
then Jane—then Grace—then Marian;
until John began to think a tete-a-tete
with Mr. Benfield, was to be his morning's
amusement.
The lovely countenance of his wife, however,
soon relieved his ennui, and John's curiosity
was gratified by an order to prepare
for his sister's wedding the following week.
Emily might have blushed more than common
during this interview, but it is certain
she did not smile less; and the Earl, Lady
Marian assured Sir Edward, was so very different
a creature, from what he had been,
that she did hardly think it was the same
sombre gentleman, she had passed the last
few months with, in Wales and Westmoreland.
A messenger was despatched for Dr. Ives,
and their friends at B—, to be witnesses
to the approaching nuptials; and Lady Moseley
at length found an opportunity of indulging
her taste in splendour, on this joyful
occasion.
Money was no consideration; and Mr. Benfield
absolutely pined at the thought, the
great wealth of the Earl, put it out of his power
to contribute, in any manner, to the comfort
of his Emmy. However, a fifteenth codicil
was framed by the ingenuity of Peter
and his master, and if it did not contain the
name of George Denbigh, it did that of his
expected second son, Roderic Benfield
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Denbigh, to the qualifying circumstance of twenty
thousand pounds, as a bribe for the name.
“And a very pretty child, I dare say it will
be,” said the steward, as he placed the paper
in its repository. “I don't know I ever saw,
your honour, a couple, that I thought, would
make a handsomer pair, like—except”—and
Peter's mind dwelt on his own youthful form,
coupled with the smiling graces of Patty
Steele.
“Yes! they are as handsome as they are
good!” replied his master. “I remember
now—when our speaker took his third wife,
the world said—they were as pretty a couple
as there was at court. But my Emmy and
the Earl will be a much finer pair. Oh!—
Peter Johnson—they are young—and rich—
and beloved—but, after all, it avails but little,
if they be not good.”
“Good!” cried the steward in astonishment;
“they are as good as angels.”
The master's ideas of human excellence
had suffered a heavy blow, in the view of his
Viscountess—but he answered mildly, “as
good as mankind can well be.”
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Cooper, James Fenimore, 1789-1851 [1820], Precaution, volume 2 (A. T. Goodrich & Co., New York) [word count] [eaf051v2].
