Chapter IX

The maid who waited on Emmeline had no sooner heard these particulars, than conceiving her to be more interested in the fate of Delamere than any other person, she ran up to tell her of it; and tho' she had not retained the name of Elkerton perfectly, Emmeline, who instantly recollected the adventure at Staines, saw the truth at once; and was terrified at the impending event to a degree that made her for a moment incapable of reflection.

To be, however remotely, or however innocently, the cause of any man's hazarding his life, was shocking to all her feelings. But to suppose that Lord Montreville might be made by her means the most wretched of human beings, by the loss of an only and beloved son, was an idea which froze her blood.

Her regard for Delamere, which was the affection of a sister somewhat heightened perhaps by his persevering preference of herself, her friendship for Augusta, and her anxiety for the peace of his whole family, added to her general tenderness of heart, all co-operated to distress her on this occasion. As soon as she could recollect what was best to be done, she sought Mr. Stafford, to whom she related what she had heard, which the servant who had brought the intelligence repeated before him.

Mr. Stafford, at Emmeline's earnest request, set out for the house of Delamere, who had not that day been at Woodfield because he expected Fitz-Edward. Mr. Stafford delivered to him a pressing entreaty from Emmeline that he would forbear to meet Elkerton, or at least delay it 'till she could speak to him; but Delamere shewing Stafford the letter he had received, desired him to go back and make Emmeline easy as well as he could, since to comply with her request was entirely out of his power. To the necessity of his meeting Elkerton, Stafford assented; and returned home to relate the little success of his embassy, while the terror and alarm of Emmeline were only encreased by his visit.

Such was her anxiety, that she would have gone herself to Tylehurst, if Mrs. Stafford had not represented to her that it would be certainly improper, and probably ineffectual.

She passed a sleepless night, tormenting herself with a thousand imaginary modes of misery which might arise from the meeting of the next day. But while she continued to form and reject projects for preventing it, seven o'clock passed, and the _rencontre_ ended without bloodshed; the cautious valour of Elkerton having been so loud, that a magistrate who lived in the town, and who was well known to Lord Montreville, had heard of it, and, with a party of constables, had followed Elkerton at some distance. They concealed themselves, by the justice's order, in a gravel-pit near the place of combat, and there saw the ground already possessed by Delamere and Fitz-Edward.

The trembling challenger, with a face as pale as if Delamere's pistol had already done it's worst, followed by Jackman, on whose undaunted countenance he cast a rueful and imploring look, then rode slowly up, punctual to the time.

The usual ceremonies passed, Elkerton's blood seemed to be all gone to his heart, to encourage it to be stout; and his knees, which trembled most piteously, appeared to resent the desertion. He cast round the heath a hopeless look--no succour approached! The ground was measured; each took their post; and his trembling encreased so violently, that Delamere apprehended very little from a pistol in so unsteady a hand. But had he apprehended more, he was of a temper to receive it, unshrinkingly. The moment to fire now arrived; and Elkerton, while cocking his pistol, saw the _possé_ rise out of the gravel-pit; but he was too far gone to be sensible of the seasonable relief; therefore, without knowing what he was about, he fired his pistol before they could seize his arm, and then stood like a statue, nearly insensible of the happiness of his deliverance.

The justice advancing himself on horseback, now put both the gentlemen under arrest: and Elkerton seeing himself at length safe for the present, thought he might venture to insist on standing Mr. Delamere's fire. The more the worthy justice opposed it, the more vehement he grew: but Delamere, who despised him too much to be really angry with him, went off the field, telling Elkerton that any other time, when there were fewer witnesses, he would give him what further satisfaction he might require. He gave his honour to the justice that he would trouble himself no farther about the affair; and Elkerton having given Jackman's bail for his present pacific intentions, was suffered to go also.

He returned to the house of his East Indian friend, exulting secretly in his escape, and openly in his valour, to which latter Jackman did not bear testimony so warmly as he thought friendship required. Determined, however, to lose no part of the glory which he thought he had dearly purchased by being frightened out of his wits, he wrote, in the form of a letter, a most tremendous account of the duel to the daily papers, in which he described all it's imaginary horrors, and ended with asserting very roundly, that 'Mr. Elkerton had the misfortune dangerously to wound the Hon. Frederic Delamere; and, when this account came away, there were no hopes of his recovery.'

Having secured himself a fame, at least, for two or three days, he set out for London to enjoy it; never reflecting on any other consequences than those most flattering to his ridiculous vanity. He knew he should be talked of; and by representing what had _not_ happened, have a fair opportunity of telling what _had_, in his own way.

When Emmeline, who had never ceased walking about and listening, saw Delamere and Fitz-Edward riding quietly across the lawn which led to the house, she ran eagerly down to meet them: but the idea that Elkerton might possibly be killed checked her joy; and when they came up to her, breathless agitation prevented her asking what she wanted to know. Delamere, who saw her so pale and terrified, threw himself instantly off his horse and caught her in his arms.

'Has no harm happened, Mr. Delamere?'

'None in the world, my Emmeline. Nobody is hurt so much as you are; tho' poor Elkerton was almost as much frightened. Come, pray compose yourself--you have not yet the glory to boast of having a life lost about you.'

'Heaven forbid that I ever should!' answered she--'I am grateful that there has been no mischief!--Oh! if I could describe what I have suffered, surely you would never terrify me so again.'

She could not restrain her tears. Delamere led her into the house; where, while Mrs. Stafford gave her hartshorn and water, Delamere, at her request, related exactly what had happened: and having given Emmeline his honour that he would think no more of the affair if Elkerton did not, the tranquillity of the house seemed to be restored, and Delamere and Fitz-Edward were invited to dinner; where great alteration in the looks of the latter, was remarked by both the ladies. Nor was it in looks only that Fitz-Edward was extremely changed.--His chearfulness was quite gone; he appeared to be ineffectually struggling with some unconquerable uneasiness; and tho' his soft and insinuating manners were the same, he no longer sought, by a thousand agreeable sallies and lively anecdotes, to entertain; or whatever attempt he made was so evidently forced, that it lost it's success. Remarkable for his temperance at table, for which he had often endured the ridicule of his companions, he now seemed to fly to the bottle, against his inclination, as if in hopes to procure himself a temporary supply of spirits.

Every day after that on which Emmeline and Mrs. Stafford made this remark, it's justice was more evident.

While Delamere was in the fields, Fitz-Edward would sit whole mornings with Mrs. Stafford and Emmeline, leaning on their work-table, or looking over Emmeline, busied with her pencil. Had his marked attention to Mrs. Stafford continued, she would have seen his behaviour with great alarm; but he no longer paid her those oblique yet expressive compliments of which he used to be so lavish. It seemed, as if occupied by some other object, he still admired and revered her, and wished to make her the confidant of the sorrow that oppressed him. If they were accidentally alone, he appeared on the point of telling her; then suddenly checking himself, he changed the discourse, or abruptly left her; and as he was a man whom it was impossible to know without receiving some impressions in his favour, she felt, as well as Emmeline, a pity for him, which they wished to be justified in feeling, by hearing that whatever was the cause of his unhappiness, he had not brought it on himself by any crime that would make their regard for him blameable.--For Emmeline, tho' she knew that it was with no good design he had contributed to Delamere's getting her off, yet could not persuade herself to hate him for it, when he not only humbly solicited her forgiveness, but protested that he was truly rejoiced, as well as astonished at her steadiness and good conduct; and would be so far from encouraging any such attempt for the future, that he would be the first to call Delamere to an account, could he suppose he harboured intentions which he now considered as ungenerous and criminal.

These declarations had made his peace both with Emmeline and her friend; and his languid and sentimental conversation, tho' it made him less entertaining, did not make him less interesting to either of them.

Mr. Stafford, ever in pursuit of some wild scheme, was now gone for a few days into another county, to make himself acquainted with the process of manuring land with old wigs--a mode of agriculture on which Mr. Headly had lately written a treatise so convincing, that Mr. Stafford was determined to adopt it on his own farm as soon as a sufficient number of wigs could be procured for the purpose.

During this absence, and on the fourth day after Elkerton's exploit, a stormy morning had driven Delamere from the fields; who went into Mrs. Stafford's dressing-room, where he found Fitz-Edward reading Cecilia to Mrs. Stafford and Miss Mowbray while they sat at work.

Mrs. Stafford had her two little boys at her feet; and when Delamere appeared, she desired him to take a chair quietly, and not disturb so sober a party. But he had not been seated five minutes, before the children, who were extremely fond of him, crept to him, and he began to play with them and to make such a noise, that Mrs. Stafford laughingly threatened to send all the riotous boys into the nursery together--when at that moment Millefleur, who had some time before come down to attend his master, entered the room with a letter which he said came express from Berkley-square.

Delamere saw that his father's hand had almost illegibly directed it. He opened it in fearful haste, and read these words--

'Before this meets you, your mother will probably be no more. A
paragraph in the newspaper, in which you are said to have been
killed in a duel, threw her into convulsions. I satisfied myself of
your safety by seeing the man with whom you fought, but your mother
is incapable of hearing it. Unhappy boy! if you would see her
alive, come away instantly.

MONTREVILLE.'

_Berkley-square, Feb. 29._

It is impossible to say whether the consternation of Emmeline or that of Delamere was the greatest. By the dreadful idea of having occasioned his mother's death, every other was for a moment absorbed. He flew without speaking down stairs, and into the stable where he had left his horse; but the groom had carried the horse to his own stables, supposing his master would stay 'till night. Without recollecting that he might take one of Mr. Stafford's, he ran back into the room where Emmeline was weeping in the arms of her friend, and clasping her wildly to his bosom, he exclaimed--'Farewell, Emmeline! Farewell, perhaps, for ever! If I lose my mother I shall never forgive _myself_; and shall be a wretch unworthy of _you_. Dearest Mrs. Stafford! take care I beseech you of her, whatever becomes of me.'

Having said this, he ran away again without his hat, and darted across the lawn towards his own house, meaning to go thither on foot; but Fitz-Edward, with more presence of mind, was directing two of Mr. Stafford's horses to be saddled, with which he soon overtook Delamere; and proceeding together to the town, they got into a post-chaise, and went as expeditiously as four horses could take them, towards London.

Equally impetuous in all his feelings, his grief at the supposed misfortune was as violent as it could have been had he been sure that the worst had already happened. He now remembered, with infinite self-reproach, how much uneasiness and distress he had occasioned to Lady Montreville since he left her in November at Audley-Hall without taking leave--and recollecting all her tenderness and affection for him from the earliest dawn of his memory; her solicitude in his sickness, when she had attended him herself and given up her rest and health to contribute to his; her partial fondness, which saw merit even in his errors; her perpetual and ardent anxiety for what she believed would secure his happiness--he set in opposition to it his own neglect, impatience, and disobedience; and called himself an unnatural and ungrateful monster.

Fitz-Edward could hardly restrain his extravagant ravings during the journey; which having performed as expeditiously as possible, they arrived in Berkley-square; where, when the porter opened the door to them, Delamere had not courage to ask how his mother did; but on Fitz-Edward's enquiry, the porter told them she was alive, and not worse.

Relieved by this account, Delamere sent to his father to know if he might wait upon him.

His Lordship answered--"That he would only see Colonel Fitz-Edward; but that Delamere might come in, to wait 'till his mother's physicians arrived."

Lord Montreville was indeed so irritated against Delamere by all the trouble and anxiety he had suffered on his account, that he determined to shew his resentment; and in this resolution he was encouraged by Sir Richard Crofts, who represented to him that his mother's danger, and his father's displeasure, might together work upon his mind, and induce him to renounce an attachment which occasioned to them both so much unhappiness.

It was in this hope that his Lordship refused to see his son; and while Fitz-Edward went to him, Delamere was shewn into another room, where his youngest sister immediately came to him.

She received him with rapture mingled with tears; and related to him the nature of his mother's illness, which had seized her two days before, on her unfortunately taking up a newspaper from the breakfast-table, where it was very confidently said that he was mortally wounded in a duel with a person named Elkerton, of Portland-Place. That Lord Montreville had luckily had a letter from Fitz-Edward the day before, (whom he had forgiven the part he took in regard to Emmeline on no other condition than that he should go down to him, and give his Lordship an account of his conduct) and that therefore he was less alarmed, tho' very much hurried by the paragraph.

He had, however, gone to Elkerton's house, where he found him very composedly receiving the enquiries of his friends, and where he insisted on hearing exactly what had happened.

His Lordship immediately returned to his wife; but the convulsions had arisen to so alarming an height, that she was no longer capable of hearing him; and she had ever since continued to have, at very short intervals, such dreadful fits, as had entirely contracted her left side, and left very little hope of her recovery.

Delamere was extremely shocked at this account; and after waiting some time, Fitz-Edward came to him, and told him that his father was extremely angry, and absolutely refused to see him or hear his apology, unless he would first give his honour that if Lady Montreville should survive the illness his indiscreet rashness had brought upon her, he would, as soon as she was out of danger, go abroad, and remain there till he should obtain forgiveness for his past errors and leave to return.

The heart of Delamere was accessible only by the avenues of affection and kindness; compulsion and threats only made him more resolutely persist in any favourite project. Sir Richard Crofts therefore, who had advised this measure, shewed but little knowledge of his temper, and never was more mistaken in his politics.

Delamere no sooner heard the message, than he knew with whom it originated; and full of indignation at finding his father governed by a man for whom he felt only aversion and contempt, he answered, with great asperity--'That he came thither not to solicit any favour, but to see his mother. That he would not be dictated to by the Crofts; but would remain in town 'till he knew whether his mother desired to see him; and be ready to wait on his father when he would vouchsafe to treat him as his son.'

He then shook hands with Fitz-Edward, kissed his sister, and walked out of the house, in spite of their united endeavours to detain him. All they could obtain of him was his consent to go to Fitz-Edward's lodgings, as he had none of his own ready; from whence he sent constantly every hour to enquire after Lady Montreville.