Part 24 (2/2)
Even Lady Juliana was shocked at this intelligence, though the folly, more than the wickedness, of the thing, seemed to strike her mind; but Henry was no nice observer, and was therefore completely satisfied with the disapprobation she expressed for her sister-in-law's conduct.
”I am so sorry for poor dear Lindore,” said Lady Juliana after having exhausted herself in invectives against his wife. ”Such a generous creature as he to be used in such a manner--it is quite shocking to think of it! If he had been an ill-natured stingy wretch it would have been nothing; but Frederick is such a n.o.ble-hearted fellow--I dare say he would give me a thousand pounds if I were to ask him, for he don't care about money.”
”Lord Lindore takes the matter very coolly, understand,” replied her husband; ”but--don't be alarmed, dear Julia--your father has suffered a little from the violence of his feelings. He has had a sort of apoplectic fit, but is not considered in immediate danger.”
Lady Juliana burst into tears, desired the carriage might be put up, as she should not go out, and even declared her intention of abstaining from Mrs. D-----'s a.s.sembly that evening. Henry warmly commended the extreme propriety of these measures; and, not to be outdone in greatness of mind, most heroically sent an apology to a grand military dinner at the Duke of Y---'s; observing, at the same time, that, in the present state of the family, one or two friends to a quiet family dinner was as much as they should be up to.
CHAPTER XXIII.
”I but purpose to embark with thee On the smooth surface of a summer sea, While gentle zephyrs play in prosp 'rous gales, And Fortune's favour fills the swelling sails.”
_Henry and Emma._
How long these voluntary sacrifices to duty and propriety might have been made it would mot be difficult to guess; but Lady Juliana's approaching confinement rendered her seclusion more and more a matter of necessity; and shortly after these events took place she presented her delighted husband with a son. Henry lost no time in announcing the birth of his child to General Cameron, and at the same time requesting he would stand G.o.dfather, and give his name to the child. The answer was as follows;--
”HORT LODGE, BERKS.
”DEAR HENRY--By this time twelve month I hope it will be my turn to communicate to you a similar event in my family to that which your letter announces to me. As a preliminary step, I am just about to march into quarters for life with a young woman, daughter to my steward. She is healthy, good-humoured, and of course vulgar, since she is no connoisseur in china, and never spoke to a pug-dog in her life.
”Your allowance will be remitted regularly from my Banker until the day of my death; you will then succeed to ten thousand pounds, secured to your children, which is all you have to expect from me. If, after this, you think it worth your while, you are very welcome to give your son the name of yours faithfully, WILLIAM CAMERON.”
Henry's consternation at the contents of this epistle was almost equalled by Juliana's indignation. ”The daughter of a steward!--Heavens!
it made her sick to think of it. It was too shocking! The man ought to be shut up. Henry ought to prevent him from disgracing his connexions in such a manner. There ought to be a law against old men marrying-”
”And young ones too,” groaned Douglas, as he thought of the debts he had contracted on the faith and credit of being the General's heir; for with all the sanguine presumption of thoughtless youth and buoyant spirits, Henry had no sooner found his fault forgiven than he immediately fancied it forgotten, and himself completely restored to favour. His friends and the world were of the same opinion; and, as the future possessor of immense wealth, he found nothing so easy as to borrow money and contract debts, which he now saw the impossibility of ever discharging. Still he flattered himself the General might only mean to frighten him; or he might relent; or the marriage might go off; or he might not have any children; and, with these _mighty_ hopes, things went on as usual for some time longer. Lady Juliana, who, to do her justice, was not of a more desponding character than her husband, had also her stock of hopes and expectations always ready to act upon. She was quite sure that if papa ever came to his senses (for he had remained in a state of stupefaction since the apoplectic stroke) he would forgive her, and take her to live with him, now that that vile Lady Lindore was gone, or, if he should never recover, she was equally sure of benefiting by his death; for though he had said he was not to leave her a s.h.i.+lling, she did not believe it. She was sure papa would never do anything so cruel; and at any rate, if he did, Lindore was so generous, he would do something very handsome for her; and so forth.
At length the bubbles burst. The same paper that stated the marriage of General William Cameron to Judith Broadcast, Spinster, announced, in all the dignity of woe, the death of that most revered n.o.ble man and eminent statesman, Augustus, Earl of Courtland.
In weak minds it has generally been remarked that no medium can be maintained. Where hope holds her dominion she is too buoyant to be accompanied by her anchor; and between her and despair there are no gradations. Desperate indeed now became the condition of the misjudging pair. Lady Juliana's name was not even mentioned in her father's will, and the General's marriage rendered his settlements no longer a secret.
In all the horrors of desperation, Henry now found himself daily beset by creditors of every description. At length the fatal blow came.
Horses, carriages, everything they could call their own, were seized.
The term for which they held the house was expired, and they found themselves on the point of being turned into the street, when Lady Juliana, who had been for two days, as her woman expressed it, _out of one fit into another,_ suddenly recovered strength to signify her desire of being conveyed to her brother's house. A hackney coach was procured, into which the hapless victim of her own follies was carried. Shuddering with disgust, and accompanied by her children and their attendants, she was set down at the n.o.ble mansion from which she had fled two years before.
Her brother, whom she fortunately found at home, lolling upon a sofa with a new novel in his hand, received her without any marks of surprise; said those things happened every day; hoped Captain Douglas would contrive to get himself extricated from this slight embarra.s.sment; and informed his sister that she was welcome to occupy her old apartments, which had been lately fitted up for Lady Lindore. Then ringing the bell, he desired the housekeeper might show Lady Juliana upstairs, and put the children in the nursery; mentioned that he generally dined at eight o'clock; and, nodding to his sister as she quitted the room, returned to his book, as if nothing had occurred to disturb him from it.
In ten minutes after her entrance into Courtland house Lady Juliana had made greater advances in _religion_ and _philosophy_ than she had done in the whole nineteen years of her life; for she not only perceived that ”out of evil cometh good,” but was perfectly ready to admit that ”all is for the best,” and that ”whatever is, is right.”
”How lucky is it for me,” exclaimed she to herself, as she surveyed the splendid suite of apartments that were destined for her accommodation--”how very fortunate that things have turned out as they have done; that Lady Lindore should have run off, and that the General's marriage should have taken place just at the time of poor papa's death ”--and, in short, Lady Juliana set no bounds to her self-gratulations on the happy turn of affairs which had brought about this change in her situation.
To a heart not wholly devoid of feeling, and a mind capable of anything like reflection, the desolate appearance of this magnificent mansion would have excited emotions of a very different nature. The apartments of the late Earl, with their wide extended doors and windows, sheeted furniture, and air of dreary order, exhibited that waste and chilling aspect which marks the chambers of death; and even Lady Juliana shuddered, she knew not why, as she pa.s.sed through them.
Those of Lady Lindore presented a picture not less striking, could her thoughtless successor have profited by the lesson they offered. Here was all that the most capricious fancy, the most boundless extravagance, the most refined luxury, could wish for or suggest. The bedchamber, dressing-room, and boudoir were each fitted up in a style that seemed rather suited for the pleasures of an Eastern sultana or Grecian courtesan than for the domestic comfort of a British matron.
”I wonder how Lady Lindore could find in her heart to leave this delicious boudoir,” observed Lady Juliana to the old housekeeper.
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