Chapter XVI (3)

Notwithstanding this “farewell for ever,” there was still at the bottom of Almeria’s heart, even whilst she bewailed herself in this manner, a secret hope that Ellen’s esteem and friendship might be recovered, and she resolved to make the trial. She was eager to put this idea into execution the moment it occurred to her; and after apologizing to the Lady Bradstones for not, as usual, accompanying them in their morning ride, she set out to walk to Miss Elmour’s lodgings. It was a hot day--she walked fast from the hurry and impatience of her mind. The servant who attended her knocked twice at Mr. Elmour’s door before any one answered; at last the door was opened by a maid-servant, with a broom in her hand.

“Is Miss Elmour at home?”

“No, sir, she left Cheltenham this morning betimes, and we be getting the house ready for other lodgers.”

Almeria was very much disappointed--she looked flushed and fatigued; and the maid said, “Ma’am, if you’ll be pleased to rest a while, you’re welcome, I’m sure--and the parlour’s cleaned out--be pleased to sit down, ma’am.”--Almeria followed, for she was really tired, and glad to accept the good-natured offer. She was shown into the same parlour where she had but a few weeks before taken leave of Ellen. The maid rolled forward the great arm-chair, in which old Mr. Elmour had been seated; and as she moved it, a gold-headed cane fell to the ground.

Almeria’s eyes turned upon it directly as it fell; for it was an old friend of hers: many a time she had played with it when she was a child, and for many years she had been accustomed to see it in the hand of a man whom she loved and respected. It brought many pleasing and some painful associations to her mind--for she reflected how ill she had behaved to the owner of it the last time she saw him.

“Ay, ma’am,” said the maid, “it is the poor old gentleman’s cane, sure enough--it has never been stirred from here, nor his hat and gloves, see, since the day he died.”

“Died!--Good Heavens!--Is Mr. Elmour dead?”

“Yes, sure--he died last Tuesday, and was buried yesterday. You’d better drink some of this water, ma’am,” said the girl, filling a glass that stood on the table. “Why! dear heart! I would not have mentioned it so sudden in this way, but I thought it could no way hurt you. Why, it never came into my head you could be a friend of the family’s, nor more, may be, at the utmost, than an acquaintance, as you never used to call much during his illness.”

This was the most cutting reproach, and the innocence with which it was uttered made it still more severe. Almeria burst into tears; and the poor girl, not knowing what to say next, and sorry for all she had said, took up the cane, which had fallen from Almeria’s hands, and applied herself to brightening the gold head with great diligence. At this instant there was a double knock at the house-door.

“It’s only the young gentleman, ma’am,” said the maid, as she went towards the door.

“What young gentleman?” said Almeria, rising from her seat.

“Young Mr. Elmour, ma’am: he did not go away with his sister, but stayed to settle some matters. Oh, they have let him in!”

The maid stood with the parlour-door half open in her hand, not being able to decide in her own fancy whether the lady wished that he should come into the room or stay out; and before either she, or perhaps Almeria, had decided this point, it was settled for them by his walking in. Almeria was standing so as to be hid by the door; and he was so intent upon his own thoughts, that, without perceiving there was any body in the room, he walked straight forward to the table, took up his father’s hat and gloves, and gave a deep sigh. He heard his sigh echoed--looked up, and started at the sight of Almeria, but immediately assumed an air of distant and cold respect. He was in deep mourning, and looked pale, as if he had suffered much. Almeria endeavoured to speak; but could get out only a few words, expressive of _the shock and astonishment_ she had just felt.

“Undoubtedly, madam, you must have been shocked,” replied Frederick, in a calm voice; “but you could not have reason to be much astonished. My father’s life had been despaired of some time--you must have seen how much he was changed when you were here a few weeks ago.” Almeria could make no reply; the tears, in spite of all her efforts to restrain them, rolled down her cheeks: the cold, and almost severe, manner, in which Frederick spoke, and the consciousness that she deserved it, struck her to the heart. He followed her, as she abruptly quitted the room, and in a tone of more kindness, but with the same distant manner, begged to have the honour of attending her home. She bowed her head, to give that assent which her voice could not at this instant utter; and she was involuntarily going to put her arm within his; but, as he did not seem to perceive this motion, she desisted, coloured violently, adjusted the drapery of her gown to give employment to the neglected hand, then walked on with precipitation. Her foot slipped as she was crossing the street; Frederick offered his arm--she could not guess, from the way in which it was presented, whether her former attempt had been perceived or not. This trifle appeared to her a point of the utmost importance; for by this she thought she could decide whether his feelings were really as cold towards her as they appeared, whether he felt love and anger, or contempt and indifference. Whilst she was endeavouring in vain to form her opinion, all the time she leant upon his arm, and walked on in silence, a carriage passed them; Frederick bowed, and his countenance was suddenly illuminated. Almeria turned eagerly to see the cause of the change, and as the carriage drove on she caught a glimpse of a beautiful young lady. A spasm of jealousy seized her heart--she withdrew her arm from Frederick’s. The abruptness of the action did not create any emotion in him--his thoughts were absent. In a few minutes he slackened his pace, and turned from the road towards a path across the fields, asking if Miss Turnbull had any objection to going that way to Lady Bradstone’s instead of along the dusty road. She made no objection--she thought she perceived that Frederick was preparing to say something of importance to her, and her heart beat violently.

“Miss Turnbull will not, I hope, think what I am going to say impertinent; she may be assured that it proceeds from no motive but the desire to prevent the future unhappiness of one who once honoured my family with her friendship.”

“You are too good--I do not deserve that you should be interested in my happiness or unhappiness--I cannot think you impertinent--pray speak freely.”

“And quickly,” she would have added, if she dared. Without abating any of his reserve from this encouragement, he proceeded precisely in the same tone as before, and with the same steady composure.

“An accidental acquaintance with a friend of my Lord Bradstone’s, has put me in possession of what, perhaps, you wish to be a secret, madam, and what I shall inviolably keep as such.”

“I cannot pretend to be ignorant of what you allude to,” said Almeria; “but it is more than probable that you may not have heard the exact state of the business; indeed it is impossible that you should, because no one but myself could fully explain my sentiments. In fact they were undecided; I was this very morning going to consult your sister upon that subject.”

“You will not suppose that I am going to intrude my counsels upon you, Miss Turnbull; nothing can be farther from my intention: I am merely going to mention a fact to you, of which I apprehend you are ignorant, and of which, as you are circumstanced, no one in your present society, perhaps no one in the world but myself, would choose to apprize you. Forgive me, madam, if I try your patience by this preface: I am very desirous not to wound your feelings more than is necessary.”

“Perhaps,” said Almeria, with a doubtful smile, “perhaps you are under a mistake, and imagine my feelings to be much more interested than they really are. If you have any thing to communicate to Lord Bradstone’s disadvantage, you may mention it to me without hesitation, and without fear of injuring my happiness or his; for, to put you at ease at once, I am come to a determination positively to decline his lordship’s addresses.”

“This assurance certainly puts me at ease at once,” said Frederick. But Almeria observed that he neither expressed by his voice nor countenance any of that joy which she had hoped to inspire by the assurance: on the contrary, he heard it as a determination in which he was personally unconcerned, and in which pure benevolence alone could give him an interest. “This relieves me,” continued he, “from all necessity of explaining myself further.”

“Nay,” said Almeria, “but I must beg you will explain yourself. You do not know but it may be necessary for me to have your antidote ready in case of a relapse.”

No change, at least none that betrayed the anxiety of a lover, was visible in Frederick’s countenance at this hint of a relapse; but he gravely answered, that, when so urged, he could not forbear to tell her the exact truth, that Lord Bradstone was a ruined man--ruined by gaming--and that he had been so indelicate as to declare to his _friend_, that his sole object in marrying was money. Our heroine’s pride was severely hurt by the last part of this information; but even that did not wound her so keenly as the manner in which Frederick behaved. She saw that he had no remains of affection for her lurking in his heart--she saw that he now acted merely as he declared, from a desire to save from misery one who had formerly honoured his family with her friendship. Stiff, cold words--she endeavoured to talk upon indifferent subjects, but could not--she was somewhat relieved when they reached Lady Bradstone’s door, and when Frederick left her. The moment he was gone, however, she ran up stairs to her own apartment, and looked eagerly out of her window to catch the last glimpse of him. Such is the strange caprice of the human heart, that a lover appears the most valuable at the moment he is lost. Our heroine had felt all her affection for Frederick revive with more than its former force within this last hour; and she thought she now loved with a degree of passion of which she had never before found herself capable. Hope is perhaps inseparable from the existence of the passion of love. She passed alternately from despair to the most flattering delusions: she fancied that Frederick’s coldness was affected--that he was acting only from honour--that he wished to leave her at liberty--and that as soon as he knew she was actually disengaged from Lord Bradstone, he would fly to her with all his former eagerness. This notion having once taken possession of her mind, she was impatient in the extreme to settle her affairs with Lord Bradstone. He was not at home--he did not come in till late in the evening. It happened, that the next day Almeria was to be of age; and Lord Bradstone, when he met her in the evening, reminded her of her promise not “to prolong the torments of suspense beyond that period.” She asked whether he had, in compliance with her request, communicated the affair to Lady Bradstone? No; but he would as soon as he had reasonable grounds of hope. Miss Turnbull rejoiced that he had disobeyed her injunctions--she said that Lady Bradstone might now be for ever spared hearing what would have inevitably excited her indignation. His lordship stared, and could not comprehend our heroine’s present meaning. She soon made it intelligible. We forbear to relate all that was said upon the occasion: as it was a disappointment of the purse and not of the heart, his lordship was of course obliged to make a proportional quantity of professions of eternal sorrow and disinterestedness. Almeria, partly to save her own pride the mortification of the repetition, forbore to allude to the confidential speech in which he had explained to _a friend_ his motives for marrying; she hoped that he would soon console himself with some richer heiress, and she rejoiced to be disencumbered of him, and even of his coronet; for in this moment coronets seemed to her but paltry things--so much does the appearance of objects vary according to the medium through which they are viewed!

Better satisfied with herself after this refusal of the earl, and in better spirits than she had been for some months, she flattered herself with the hopes that Frederick would call upon her again before he left Cheltenham; he would then know that Lord Bradstone was no longer her lover.

She fell asleep full of these imaginations--dreamed of Frederick and Elmour Grove--but this was only a dream. The next day--and the next--and the next--passed without her seeing or hearing any thing of Frederick; and the fourth day, as she rode by the house where the Elmours had lodged, she saw put up in the parlour window an advertisement of “_Lodgings to be let_.” She was now convinced that Frederick had left Cheltenham--left it without thinking of her or of Lord Bradstone. The young Lady Bradstones observed that she scarcely spoke a word during the remainder of her morning’s ride. At night she was attacked with a feverish complaint: the image of the beautiful person whom she had seen in the coach that passed while she was walking with Frederick, was now continually before her eyes. She had made all the inquiries she could, to find out who that young lady might be; but this point could not be ascertained, because, though she described the lady accurately, she was not equally exact about the description of the carriage. The arms and livery had totally escaped her observation. The different conjectures that had been made by the various people to whom she had applied, and the voices in which their answers were given, ran in her head all this feverish night.

“Perhaps it was Lady Susanna Quin--very likely it was Lady Mary Lowther--very possibly Miss Grant; you know she goes about with old Mrs. Grant in a yellow coach--but there are so many yellow coaches--the arms or the livery would settle the point at once.” These words, _the arms and the livery would settle the point at once,_ she repeated to herself perpetually, though without annexing any ideas to the words. In short, she was very feverish all night; and in the morning, though she endeavoured to rise, she was obliged to lie down again. She was confined to her bed for about a week: Lady Bradstone sent for the best physicians; and the young ladies, in the intervals of dressing and going out, whenever they could remember it, came into Miss Turnbull’s room to “hope she found herself better.” It was obvious to her that no one person in the house cared a straw about her, and she was oppressed with the sense of being an encumbrance to the whole family. Whilst she was alone she formed many projects for her future life, which she resolved to execute as soon as she should recover. She determined immediately to go down to her own house in the country, and to write to Ellen a recantation of all her fine lady errors. She composed, whilst she lay on her feverish pillow, twenty letters to her former friend, each of them more eloquent and magnanimous than the other: but in proportion as her fever left her, the activity of her imagination abated, and with it her eloquence and magnanimity. Her mind, naturally weak, and now enfeebled by disease, became quite passive, and received and yielded to the impressions made by external circumstances. New trains of ideas, perfectly different from those which had occupied her mind during her fever, and in the days preceding her illness, were excited during her convalescence. She lay listening to, or rather hearing, the conversation of the young Lady Bradstones. They used to come into her room at night, and stay for some time whilst they had their hair curled, and talked over the events of the day--whom they had met--what dresses they had worn--what matches were on the tapis, &c. They happened one night to amuse themselves with reading an old newspaper, in which they came to an account of a splendid masquerade, which had been given the preceding winter in London by a rich heiress.

“Lord! what charming entertainments Miss Turnbull might give if she pleased. Why, do you know, she is richer than this woman,” whispered Lady Bab; “and she is of age now, you know. If I were she, I’m sure I’d have a house of my own, and the finest I could get in London. Now such a house as my aunt Pierrepoint’s--and servants--and carriages--and I would make myself of some consequence.”

This speech was not lost upon our heroine; and the whisper in which it was spoken increased its effect. The next day, as Lady Bab was sitting at the foot of Almeria’s bed, she asked for a description of “my aunt Pierrepoint’s house.” It was given to her _con amore_, and a character of “my aunt Pierrepoint” was added gratis. “She is the most charming amiable woman in the world--quite a different sort of person from mamma. She has lived all her life about court, and she is connected with all the great people, and a prodigious favourite at court--and she is of such consequence!--You cannot imagine of what consequence she is!”

Lady Gabriella then continued the conversation, by telling Miss Turnbull a great secret, that her aunt Pierrepoint and her mother were not on the best terms in the world: “for mamma’s so violent, you know, about politics, and quite on a contrary side to my aunt. Mamma never goes to court; and, between you and me, they say she would not be received. Now that is a shocking thing for us; but the most provoking part of the business is, that mamma won’t let my aunt Pierrepoint present us. Why, when she cannot or will not go to the drawing-room herself, what could be more proper, you know, than to let us be presented by Lady Pierrepoint?--Lady Pierrepoint, you know, who is such a prodigious favourite, and knows every thing in the world that’s proper at court, and every where: it really is monstrous of mamma! Now if you were in our places, should not you be quite provoked? By-the-bye, you never were presented at court yourself, were you?”

“Never,” said Almeria, with a sudden feeling of mortification.

“No, you could not--of course you could not, living with mamma as you do; for I am sure she would quarrel with an angel for just only talking of going to court. Lord! if I was as rich as you, what beautiful birthday dresses I would have!”

These and similar conversations wrought powerfully upon the weak mind of our poor heroine. She rose from her bed after her illness wondering what had become of her passion for Frederick Elmour: certainly she was now able to console herself for his loss, by the hopes of being presented at court, and of being dressed with uncommon splendour. She was surprised at this change in her own mind; but she justified it to herself by the reflection, that it would show an unbecoming want of spirit to retain any remains of regard for one who had treated her with so much coldness and indifference, and who in all probability was attached to another woman. Pride and resentment succeeded to tenderness; and she resolved to show Frederick and Ellen that she could be happy her own way. It is remarkable that her friendship for the sister always increased or decreased with her love for her brother. Ambition, as it has often been observed, is a passion that frequently succeeds to love, though love seldom follows ambition. Almeria, who had now recovered her strength, was one morning sitting in her own room, meditating arrangements for the next winter’s campaign, when she was roused by the voices of Lady Bab and Lady Kitty at her room door.

“Miss Turnbull! Miss Turnbull! come! come!--Here’s the king and queen and all the royal family, and my aunt Pierrepoint--come quick to our dressing-room windows, or they will be out of sight.”

The fair hoydens seized her between them, and dragged her away.

“Mamma says it’s horribly vulgar to run to the windows, but never mind that. There’s my aunt Pierrepoint’s coach--is not it handsome?--Oh! everything about her is so handsome!--you know she has lived all her life at court.”

The eulogiums of these young ladies, and the sight of Lady Pierrepoint’s entry in to Cheltenham in the wake of royalty, and the huzzas of the mob, and the curiosity of all ranks who crowded the public walks in the evening, to see the illustrious guest, contributed to raise our heroine’s enthusiasm. She was rather surprised afterwards to observe that Lady Pierrepoint passed her sister and nieces, on the public walk, without taking the slightest notice of them; her head was turned indeed quite another way when she passed, and she was in smiling conversation with one of her own party.

Lady Gabriella whispered, “My aunt Pierrepoint cannot _know_ us now, because we are with mamma.”

Miss Turnbull now, for the first time, saw Lady Bradstone in a situation in which she was neglected; this served to accelerate the decline and fall of her ladyship’s power over her mind. She began to consider her not as a person by whom she had been brought into notice in the circles of fashion, but as one by whom she was prevented from rising to a higher orbit. Lady Bradstone went to see her sister the day after her arrival, but she was _not at home_. Some days afterwards Lady Pierrepoint returned her visit: she came in a sedan chair, because she did not wish that her carriage should be seen standing at Lady Bradstone’s door. It was incumbent upon her to take every possible precaution to prevent the suspicion of her being biassed by sisterly affection; her sister and she were unfortunately of such different opinions in politics, and her sister’s politics were so much disapproved of, where Lady Pierrepoint most wished for approbation, that she could not, consistently with her principles or interest, countenance them, by appearing in public with one so obnoxious.

Miss Turnbull observed, with the most minute attention, every word and gesture of Lady Pierrepoint. At first view, her ladyship appeared all smiling ease and affability; but in all her motions, even in those of her face, there was something that resembled a puppet--her very smiles, and the turns of her eyes, seemed to be governed by unseen wires. Upon still closer observation, however, there was reason to suspect that this puppet might be regulated by a mind within, of some sort or other; for it could not only answer questions by a voice of its own, and apparently without being prompted, but moreover it seemed to hesitate, and to take time for thought, before it hazarded any reply. Lady Pierrepoint spoke always as if she thought her words would be repeated, and must _lead to consequences_; and there was an air of vast circumspection and mystery about her, which appeared sublime or ridiculous according to the light in which it was considered. To our heroine it appeared sublime. Her ladyship’s conversation, if a set of unmeaning phrases be deserving of that name, at length turned upon the concern she felt that it had not been in her power to procure an increase of pension for a certain Mrs. Vickars. “Such a respectable character!--the widow of a distant relation of the Pierrepoints.” There was no probability, after all the interest and influence she had used, she said, that Mrs. Vickars could ever be gratified in the line she had attempted; that therefore it was her ladyship’s advice to her to look out for some situation of an eligible description, which might relieve her from the distressing apprehension of appearing burdensome or importunate.

As well as her ladyship’s meaning could be made out, cleared from the superfluity of words with which it was covered, she wished to get rid of this poor widow, and to fasten her as an humble companion upon any body who would be troubled with _such a respectable character!_ Miss Turnbull foresaw the possibility of obliging her ladyship by means of Mrs. Vickars: for as she proposed to purchase a house in town, it would be convenient to her to have some companion; and this lady, who was of a certain age, and who had always lived in the best company, would be well suited to serve as her chaperon. To do our heroine justice, considering that she was unpractised in manoeuvring with court ladies, she conducted her scheme with a degree of address worthy of her object. Through the medium of Lady Bab and Lady Gabriella, she opened a correspondence with Lady Pierrepoint. Mrs. Vickars was introduced to Miss Turnbull--liked her prodigiously; and Lady Pierrepoint was most happy in the prospect of her relation’s being so eligibly situated. In proportion as Miss Turnbull advanced in the good graces of Lady Pierrepoint, she receded from Lady Bradstone. This lady’s indignation, which had been excited against Almeria by her not siding with her against her daughters, now rose to the highest pitch, when she perceived what was going on. No crime could in her eyes be greater than that of seceding from her party. Her violence in party matters was heightened by the desire to contrast herself with her sister Pierrepoint’s courtly policy. Lady Bradstone, all the time, knew and cared very little about politics, except so far as they afforded her opportunities for the display of spirit and eloquence. She had a fine flow of words, and loved to engage in argument, especially as she had often been told by gentlemen that her enthusiasm became her extremely, and that, even if a man could resist the force of her arguments, he must yield to the fire of her eyes. It happened that Miss Turnbull was present one day when Lady Bradstone had been unusually warm in a political argument, and Lady Pierrepoint as cool and guarded as her sister was eager. Almeria was appealed to, and gave judgment in favour of Lady Pierrepoint, who happened to be in the right. Regardless of right or wrong, Lady Bradstone became more and more vehement, whilst Lady Pierrepoint sat in all the composed superiority of silence, maintaining the most edifying meekness of countenance imaginable, as if it were incumbent on her to be, or at least to seem, penitent for a sister’s perversity. She sighed deeply when the _tirade_ was finished, and fixed her eyes upon her beautiful niece Gabriella. Lady Gabriella immediately filled up the pause by declaring that she knew nothing of politics and hoped she never should, for that she did not know of what use they were to women, except to prevent them from going to court.

Lady Bradstone expressed high indignation at perceiving that her daughters thought more of dancing at a birthnight ball than of the good of the nation.

Mrs. Vickars, who was present, now interposed a word as mediatrix, observing, that it was natural for the young ladies at their age: and Miss Turnbull, catching or imitating something of the tone of Lady Pierrepoint, ventured to add, that “it was a pity that Lady Bradstone’s daughters did not enjoy all the advantages of their high rank, and that she really wished Lady Bradstone could be prevailed upon to enter into conciliatory measures.”

On hearing this speech, Lady Bradstone, no longer able to restrain her anger within the bounds of politeness, exclaimed, “I am not surprised at receiving such advice from you, Miss Turnbull; but I own I am astonished at hearing such sentiments from my daughters. High sentiments are to be expected from high birth.”

How Lady Bradstone contrived to make her aristocratic pride of birth agree with her democratic principles, it may be difficult to explain; but fortunately the idea of preserving consistency never disturbed her self-complacency. Besides, to keep her ladyship in countenance, there are so many examples of persons who live as royalists and talk as republicans.

Almeria could not brook the affront implied by Lady Bradstone’s last speech; and matters were now brought to a crisis: she resolved not to remain longer in a house where she was exposed to such insults. She was of “age, and, thank Heaven! independent.”

Lady Bradstone made no opposition to her determination; but congratulated her upon the prospect of becoming independent.

“I agree with you, Miss Turnbull, in thanking Heaven for making me independent. Independence of mind, of course,” added she, “I value above independence of purse.”

Whatever vexation our heroine might feel from this speech, and from the perfect indifference with which Lady Bradstone parted from her, was compensated by the belief that she had by her conduct this evening ingratiated herself with Lady Pierrepoint. She was confirmed in this opinion by Mrs. Vickars, who said that her ladyship afterwards spoke of Miss Turnbull as a very judicious and safe young person, whom she should not scruple to protect. She was even so condescending as to interest herself about the house in town, which Miss Turnbull talked of purchasing: she knew that a noble friend of hers, who was going on a foreign embassy, had thoughts of parting with his house; and it would certainly suit Miss Turnbull, if she could compass the purchase. Almeria felt herself highly honoured by her ladyship’s taking a concern in any of her affairs; and she begged of Mrs. Vickars to say, that “expense was no object to her.” She consequently paid a few hundred guineas more than the value of the house, for the honour of Lady Pierrepoint’s interference. Her ladyship saw into the weakness of our heroine’s character, and determined to make advantage of it. It was a maxim of hers, that there is no person so insignificant, but some advantage may be made of them; and she had acted upon this principle through life, sometimes so as to excite in the minds of the ignorant a high admiration of her affability. It is said, that when Lady Pierrepoint was asked why she married, she replied, “To increase my consequence, and strengthen my connexions.”

Perhaps this speech was made for her by some malicious wit; but it is certain that she never upon any occasion of her life neglected an opportunity of acting upon this principle. She was anxious with this view to have as many dependents as possible: and she well knew that those who were ambitious of a curtsy from her at the playhouse, or a whisper at the opera, were as effectually her dependents as the mendicants at her door, who are in want of a shilling. The poor may be held in the iron fetters of necessity, but the rich are dragged behind the car of fashion by the golden chains of vanity.

The summer in the life of a fine lady is a season comparatively of so little consequence, that the judicious historian may pass over some months of it without their being missed in the records of time. He hastens to the busy and important season of winter.

Our heroine took possession of her magnificent house in town: and Mrs. Vickars was established as _arbitratrix elegantiarum_.

This lady deemed herself a judge in the last appeal of every thing that became a person of fashion; and her claim to infallibility upon those points was established by her being fourth cousin to Lady Pierrepoint. Almeria soon discovered in her companion an inordinate love of power, and an irritability of temper, which misfortunes and ill health had increased to such a degree that it required more than the patience of a female Job to live with her upon good terms. Martyrs in the cause of vanity certainly exhibit wonderful, if not admirable, fortitude, in the midst of the absurd and extravagant torments which they inflict upon themselves. Our heroine endured for a whole season, without any outward complaint, but with many an inward groan, the penance which she had imposed upon herself: the extent of it can be comprehended only by those who have been doomed to live with a thoroughly ill-tempered woman. The reward was surely proportioned to the sufferings. Miss Turnbull received a smile, or a nod, or something like a curtsy from Lady Pierrepoint, whenever she met her in public; her ladyship’s cards were occasionally left at the Yorkshire heiress’s door; and she sometimes honoured Miss Turnbull’s crowded rooms, by crowding them still more with her august presence. There was further reason to hope, that her ladyship might be induced to present Almeria at court before the next birthday. All these advantages were to be attributed to Mrs. Vickars, for she was the connecting link between two beings of inferior and superior order. We forbear to describe, or even to enumerate, the variety of balls, suppers, dinners, déjeunés, galas, and masquerades, which Miss Turnbull gave to the fashionable world during this winter. The generous public forget these things the week after they are over; and the consequence they bestow endures no longer than the track of a triumphal chariot.

Our heroine was never fully convinced of this truth till it was confirmed by her own experience. She found it necessary continually to renew her expensive efforts, to keep herself alive in the memory of her great acquaintance. Towards the time when she expected to be presented at court by Lady Pierrepoint, a sudden coolness was apparent in her ladyship’s manner; and one morning Almeria was surprised by a note from her, regretting, in the most polite but positive terms, that it would be absolutely out of her power to have the honour of presenting Miss Turnbull at St. James’s. In the utmost consternation, Almeria flew for an explanation to Mrs. Vickars. Mrs. Vickars was in a desperate fit of _the sullens_, which had lasted now upwards of eight-and-forty hours, ever since her advice had not been taken about the placing of certain bronze figures, with antique lamps in their hands, upon the great staircase. It was necessary to bring the lady into a good humour in the first place, by yielding to her uncontrolled dominion over the _candelabras_. This point being settled, and an unqualified submission in all matters of taste, past, present, or to come, declared or implied on the part of our heroine, Mrs. Vickars on her part promised to set out immediately on an embassy to Lady Pierrepoint, to discover the cause of the present discontent. After making sundry ineffectual attempts to see her noble relation, she was at last admitted; and after one hour’s private audience, she returned to the anxious Almeria with a countenance lengthened to the utmost stretch of melancholy significance.

“What _is_ the matter, Mrs. Vickars?”

It was long before this question was answered; but after many friendly lamentations, Mrs. Vickars could not help observing, that Miss Turnbull had nobody to blame in this business but herself. This, or any thing else, she was willing to admit, to get at the point, “But what have I done? I dare say it is, as you say, all my own fault--but tell me how?”

“How!--Can you, my dearest Miss Turnbull, forget that you did the most imprudent and really unaccountable thing, that ever woman did?--Lady Pierrepoint _had it_ from Stock the banker. Now you must be certainly conscious to what I allude.”

Almeria still looked innocent till Mrs. Vickars produced the book dedicated to Lady Bradstone, for twelve copies of which Miss Turnbull had subscribed. Her name was printed among the list of subscribers, and there was no palliating the fact. When her companion saw that she was quite overwhelmed with the sense of this misfortune, she began to hint, that though the evil was great, it was not without remedy; that in her own private opinion, Lady Pierrepoint might have passed over the thing, if she had not heard it at a most unlucky moment. The provoking banker mentioned it to her ladyship just after he had disappointed her of certain moneys, for which she was negotiating. From her situation and means of obtaining secret and early intelligence, she had it frequently in her power to make money by selling in or out of the stocks. Such an opportunity at present occurred; and “it was a great pity,” Mrs. Vickars observed, “that the want of a little ready money should preclude her from the possibility of profiting by her situation.” Miss Turnbull, who was not deficient in quickness of comprehension, upon this hint immediately said, “that her ladyship might command some thousands which she had in Sir Thomas Stock’s bank.” Lady Pierrepoint the next day found that it would be best to hush up the affair of the subscription to the fatal pamphlet. She said, “that she had with infinite satisfaction ascertained, that the thing had not been noticed in the quarter where she feared it would have created an insuperable prejudice--that there were other Turnbulls, as she was happy to understand, in the world, besides Mrs. Vickars’s friend; and that as, in the list of subscribers, she was mentioned only as _Miss_ Turnbull, not as Almeria Turnbull, all was safe, and nobody would suspect that a lady presented at court by my Lady Pierrepoint could be the same person that subscribed to a book of such a description.”

This affair being adjusted, the league was tacitly formed between interest and vanity. Miss Turnbull was presented at court by Lady Pierrepoint, and her ladyship bought into the stocks with the Yorkshire heiress’s money. The gratification of Almeria’s ambition, however, did not complete her happiness. When she was at the summit of the Alps of fashion, she saw how little was to be seen.

Though she liked to have it to say that she was a great deal with Lady Pierrepoint, yet the time always passed most heavily in her company; nor was the inferiority of this lady’s understanding compensated by an affectionate heart. Her smoothly polished exterior prevented all possibility of obtaining any hold over her. She had the art at once to seem to be intimate with people, and to keep them at the greatest distance; as, in certain optical deceptions, an object which appears close to us, eludes our hand if we attempt to grasp it. Almeria felt the want of that species of unreserved confidence and friendship which she had formerly enjoyed with Ellen. In judging of what will make us happy, we are apt to leave time out of the account; and this leads to most important errors. For a short period we may be amused or gratified by what will fatigue and disgust us if long continued. The first winter that she spent in dissipation she was amused; but winter after winter passed; and the recurrence of the same public diversions, and the same faces, and the same common-place conversation, wearied instead of interesting her. But as the pleasure of novelty declined, the power of habit increased; and she continued the same course of life for six years--six long years! against both her judgment and her feelings, the absolute slave of an imaginary necessity. Thus the silly chicken remains prisoner in a circle of chalk: even when the hand by which it was held down is removed, it feels an imaginary pressure, from which it dares not even attempt to escape.

Almeria, however, was now arrived at an age when she could no longer, with any propriety, be called a chicken: she was seven-and-twenty; and the effect of keeping late hours, and the continual petty irritations to which she had been subject, were sufficiently visible in her countenance. She looked in a morning so faded and haggard, that any one not used to the _wear and tear_ of fashionable faces would have guessed Almeria’s age to be seven-and-thirty instead of seven-and-twenty. During her six campaigns in London, she or her fortune had made many conquests; but none of her London captives had ever obtained any power over her affections, and her ambition could not decide upon the pretensions of her several suitors. Lady Pierrepoint, who was her prime adviser, had an interest in keeping her unmarried; because during this time her ladyship employed most advantageously certain moneys, which she had borrowed from our heiress. This female politician made some objection to every proposal; continually repeating, that Miss Turnbull might do better--that she might look higher--that with her pretensions, there could be no doubt that she would have a variety of advantageous offers--and that her _play_ should be to raise her value by rejecting, without hesitation, all pretenders but those of the first distinction. Lady Pierrepoint, who usually spoke with all the ambiguity of an oracle, seemed on this subject more than usually mysterious. She dropped half sentences, then checked herself, hinted that she was not at liberty to speak out; but that she had her own private reasons for advising her friend Miss Turnbull not to be precipitate in her choice. Her ladyship’s looks said more than her words, and Almeria interpreted them precisely as she wished. There was a certain marquis, whom she sometimes met at Lady Pierrepoint’s, and whom she would have been pleased to meet more frequently. He was neither young, nor handsome, nor witty, nor wise. What was he then?--He was a marquis--and is not that enough?--Almeria saw that he was looked up to as a person of great influence and importance, and she now had the habit of trusting to the eyes and ears of others. She now considered what people were _thought of_, not what they really were; and according to this mode of estimation she could not fail to form a high opinion of this exalted personage. He paid her distinguished, but not decisive attention; and perhaps the uncertainty in which she was kept as to his views increased her interest upon the subject. There was always some obstacle, which seemed to prevent him from declaring himself:--at one time he was suddenly obliged to go ambassador to some foreign court; he went, and stayed a year; at his return he was immersed in politics, and deplored his hard fate in terms which Almeria thought it was impossible not to construe favourably to her wishes. She thought she was upon the point of becoming a marchioness, when his lordship was again sent into what he called banishment. Lady Pierrepoint had constantly letters from him, however; passages from which she from time to time read to Almeria, in whose weak mind this kept alive an indistinct hope, for which she had no rational foundation. She was confirmed in her belief that the marquis had serious thoughts of her, by the opinion of Mrs. Vickars, who she thought was in the secret, and who certainly would not speak decidedly without sufficient reason. Indeed, nothing but the pleasure she received from Mrs. Vickars’s favourable prognostics upon this subject could have in any degree balanced the pain she daily endured from this lady’s fretful temper. Almeria submitted to her domineering humour, and continued to propitiate her with petty sacrifices, more from fear than love--from fear that her adverse influence might be fatal to her present scheme of aggrandizement. Weak minds are subject to this apprehension of control from secret causes utterly inadequate to their supposed effects; and thus they put their destiny into the hands of persons who could not otherwise obtain influence over their fate.

The time at length arrived when our heroine was to be confirmed in her expectations, or wakened from her state of self-delusion. The marquis returned from abroad, and Lady Pierrepoint wrote a note more mysteriously worded than usual, signifying that she “wished to have a conference with Miss Turnbull on a subject of some importance; and begged to know at what hour in the morning she might be secure of the pleasure of finding her at home.” Almeria named her hour, and waited for its arrival with no small impatience. Lady Pierrepoint’s thundering knock at the door was heard; her ladyship was shown up stairs; and she entered the room with a countenance that seemed to promise well. She preluded with many flattering phrases--declared that ever since she had been first acquainted with Miss Turnbull at Cheltenham, she had always considered her with sentiments of esteem, of which she had since given indeed the most convincing proofs, by accepting of obligations from her.

“Obligations!” exclaimed Almeria, with an air of polite astonishment.

“Yes, my dear Miss Turnbull,” continued her ladyship, with still more polite humility, “I am under obligations to you assuredly. Things of a pecuniary nature ought not to be named, I confess, in the same sentence with friendship; yet for the sake of one’s family it is, whilst we remain in this world, the duty of every one to pay a certain degree of attention to such points; and a person who has, like me, advantages of situation and connexions, would not be justifiable in neglecting, under due limitations, to make use of them.”

Miss Turnbull readily assented to these guarded truisms, but wondered to what all this was to lead.

“The money which you have had the goodness to trust in my hands,” continued her ladyship, “has, without in the least impoverishing, or, I hope, _inconveniencing_ you, been of the most material advantage to me.”

Almeria comprehended that her ladyship referred to her speculations in the stocks, and she congratulated her upon her success; and added assurances, that for her own part she had not been in the slightest degree _inconvenienced_. Whilst Miss Turnbull uttered these assurances, however, she was not sorry to see Lady Pierrepoint take out of her pocket-book bank notes to the amount of her debt; for in plain truth, the interest of this loan had never been punctually paid; and Almeria had often regretted that she had placed so much of her fortune out of her own power. “Let me now return these to you with a thousand thanks,” said her ladyship. “Indeed, my niece Gabriella has more reason even than I have to thank you; for you must know, my dear Miss Turnbull, that all my speculations have been for her. From the time that she came to live with me, I was determined that she should be properly established; and you must be sensible that, for a young lady’s establishment in our days, money is as essential as beauty. La belle Gabrielle is now provided for as she ought to be, and of course the consequence will be a suitable alliance.” Miss Turnbull expressed her satisfaction at finding that her money had been instrumental in attaining so happy a purpose, and presumed to ask if her ladyship had any immediate alliance in view.

“It is a secret as yet; but I have no secrets for you, my dear Miss Turnbull: indeed, I came here this morning by our dear Gabriella’s particular desire to communicate it to you. I flatter myself you will approve of her choice--our favourite marquis.”

Almeria was so much astonished and shocked by these words, that she turned as pale as if she were going to faint. “Our favourite marquis!” she repeated in a faltering voice; “I thought----”

The fear of becoming ridiculous restrained her anger, and she paused.--“You thought, perhaps,” resumed the perfectly-composed Lady Pierrepoint, “you thought, perhaps, my dear, that there was too great a disparity of age between Gabriella and the marquis.”

“Oh! no.”

“Why, that is an objection, I confess; at least it would be to some young ladies: but as Gabriella is satisfied, we may waive that.”

“Oh! yes, certainly.”

“One cannot help being interested for him; he is such a respectable character--and so much in love! It would really surprise you, my dear; for you know he was a man, one would have imagined, so much immersed in politics--I protest I never had a suspicion of his having a thought of Gabriella, till the proposal was absolutely made.”

“I am sure _I_ never suspected the marquis’s attachment to Lady Gabriella,” said Miss Turnbull: “on the contrary--”

“On the contrary,” pursued Lady Pierrepoint, “he paid her always, as I remember, less attention than to twenty others, who were indifferent to him.”

The struggle was still violent in our heroine’s mind between rage and the dread of exposing herself to ridicule. Lady Pierrepoint saw this, and coolly held her in this dilemma.

“Now,” continued her ladyship, “men are such unaccountable creatures, one never can understand them. Do you know, my dear Miss Turnbull, I had, till his lordship explained himself unequivocally to me, a notion that he was in love with you.”

“Really!” said our heroine, forcing a laugh.

“Did your friend Mrs. Vickars never tell you so?”

“Yes, she did--frequently.”

“Both of us mistaken, you see, my dear. Mortifying! to find one’s judgment so fallible. I tell the marquis, he might absolutely have been privately married to Gabriella without my finding him out--it is so easy now, the easiest thing in the world, to impose upon me. Well, I must bid you adieu for the present, my dear Miss Turnbull--you may imagine I have a world of business on my hands.”

With the utmost appearance of cordiality Lady Pierrepoint shook our heroine’s receding hand; and, without seeming to notice the painful emotions visible in Almeria’s countenance, departed smiling, and perfectly composed.

The moment that her ladyship had left the room, our heroine retired to her own apartment, and hastily bolted the door to prevent the intrusion of Mrs. Vickars, whose curiosity and condolence, whether real or affected, she was not in a humour to endure. She walked up and down the room in great agitation, by turns angry with Lady Pierrepoint, with the marquis, with Lady Gabriella, with Mrs. Vickars, and with herself. After her anger had spent itself, the sorrowful certainty that it was unavailing remained; the disappointment was irremediable, and her mortification was the more poignant, because she had no human being to sympathize in her feelings, no one to whom she could complain.

“So this is fashionable friendship!” said she to herself. “This is the end of all Lady Pierrepoint’s and Lady Gabriella’s professions of regard for me!--Fool that I have been, to become their dupe!--With my eyes open I saw nothing that was going forward, though now I can recollect a thousand and a thousand circumstances, by which I might have been undeceived. But I trusted implicitly--idiot that I was!--to the friendship of this treacherous, unfeeling courtier. Once I had a friend, to whom I might trust implicitly--I never, never, shall find her equal.”

A transient recollection of former times crossed her mind--but those times could not be recalled; and the present pressed upon her most forcibly. Frustrated in all her ambitious schemes, she was sensible that all that now remained for her was to conceal her disappointment, and to avoid the contempt to which she would be exposed in the world, if it were whispered that Miss Turnbull had fancied that the Marquis of ---- was in love with her, whilst he was all the while paying his addresses to Lady Gabriella Bradstone. This powerful fear of ridicule conquered, or suppressed, all other feelings. With all the resolution she could assume, Almeria went to Mrs. Vickars, and congratulated her upon the happy event which was soon likely to take place in her family: she even constrained herself so far, as, without expressing either suspicion or resentment, to hear her companion disclaim all knowledge of the affair, and declare that she had, that morning, for the first time, heard of it from Lady Pierrepoint, with a degree of astonishment from which she had not yet recovered.

In a few weeks afterwards Lady Gabriella’s marriage took place. Our heroine’s mortification was much increased by the splendour in which the bride appeared, and by the great share of the public attention which the fair marchioness seemed for some days to engross. Miss Turnbull was weary of hearing the praises of her equipages and dress; and the dissimulation she was continually obliged to practise towards Mrs. Vickars became intolerable. Nothing but a pretext for quarrelling with this lady was wanting to Almeria, and nothing but an excuse for leaving Almeria was now desired by Mrs. Vickars, who had received an invitation from the marchioness, which she was impatient to accept. The ladies one morning after breakfast fell into a dispute upon the comparative merits of blue and green. It was not to all appearance a very dangerous subject, but in certain situations every subject becomes dangerous.

“This riband is a beautiful blue,” said Miss Turnbull.

“I confess I do not think so,” said Mrs. Vickars; “it is a very unbecoming shade of blue.”

“Unbecoming!--I have been told by twenty people, that it is remarkably becoming to me. Mrs. Ingoldsby told me yesterday, that she never saw so beautiful a blue.”