The Life and Legacy of Harriette Wilson. Harriette Wilson
used to walk in the Palais Royal at Paris, but afterwards became Marchioness of Wellesley.
"I have called upon you, Miss Harriette," said Sir William, almost in tears, "in the first place, because you are considered exactly like my wife,"—my likeness to Lady Abdy had often been thought very striking—"and, in the second, because I know you are a woman of feeling!"
I opened my eyes in astonishment.
"Women," he continued, "have feeling, and that's more than men have."
I could not conceive what he would be at.
"You know, Miss Harriette, all about what has happened, and my crim. con. business, don't you, miss?"
"Yes."
"Could you have thought it?"
"Oh yes!"
"And yet, I am sure, Charles Bentinck is worse than I am."
"In what way, pray?"
"Why, a worse head," said Sir William, touching his forehead, "and I don't pretend to be clever myself."
"Is that all? But I would not be so very demonstrative as to touch my forehead, if I were you."
"That Charles Bentinck," said he, half angry, "is the greatest fool in the world; and in Paris we always used to laugh at him."
"But," said I, "why did you suffer his lordship to be eternally at your house?"
"Why, dear me!" answered Abdy, peevishly, "I told him in a letter I did not like it and I thought it wrong, and he told me it was no such thing."
"And therefore," I remarked, "you suffered him to continue his visits as usual?"
"Why, good gracious, what could I do! Charles Bentinck told me, upon his honour, he meant nothing wrong."
"This man is really too good!" thought I, and then I affected the deepest commiseration of his mishap.
"Why did she run away from you?" said I. "Why not, at least, have carried on the thing quietly?"
"That's what I say," said Abdy.
"Because," I continued, "had she remained with you sir, you would have always looked forward with hope to that period when age and ugliness should destroy all her power of making conquests."
"Oh," said Abdy, clasping his hands, "if any real friend like you had heartened me up in this way at the time, I could have induced her to have returned to me! But then, Miss Wilson, they all said I should be laughed at and frightened me to death. It was very silly to be sure of me to mind them; for it is much better to be laughed at, than to be so dull and miserable as I am now."
"Shall I make you a cup of tea, Sir William?"
"Oh! Miss, you are so good! tea is very refreshing when one is in trouble."
I hastened to my bell, to conceal the strong inclination I felt to laugh in his face, and ordered tea.
"Green tea is the best, is it not, Miss?" said Sir William.
"Oh, yes," answered I, "as green as a willow leaf: and in extreme cases like yours I am apt to recommend a little gunpowder."
"Just as you please, Miss."
I asked him, after he had swallowed three cups of tea, whether he did not feel himself a little revived.
"Yes, Miss, I should soon get better here; but you know my house is such a very dull house and in such a very dull street too! Hill-street is, I think, the dullest street in all London, do you know, Miss Wilson."
"True, Sir William! would not you like to go to Margate?"
"Why I was thinking of travelling, for you know in Hill Street, there is her sofa just as she left."
"Very nervous indeed," said I, interrupting him. "I would burn the sofa at all events."
"And then there is her pianoforte."
"Lady Abdy was musical then?"
"Oh, very. She was always at it! I used to be tired to death of her music and often wished she would leave off: but now she is gone Miss Wilson, I would give the world to hear her play Foote's minuet!"
"Or, 'Off she goes,'" added I.
"What is that, pray, Miss?"
"A very lively dance," I answered.
"True, Miss, I recollect my wife used to play it."
"Dear me, Sir William, how could she be so foolish as to run away? I dare say you never interfered with her, or entered her room without knocking."
"Never, upon my honour."
"Well, I always heard you were a very kind, obliging, good-natured husband."
"Yes, and sometimes, when I used to knock latterly, Lady Abdy would not open the door!"
"That was wrong," said I, shaking my head, "very wrong."
"And how could that nasty, stupid fellow seduce her I cannot think!"
"There was good blood in her veins, you know, by the mother's side. Besides, to tell you the truth, I don't think Charles Bentinck did seduce Lady Abdy from you."
"Oh! dear, Miss Wilson, what do you mean?"
"Shall I speak frankly?"
"Oh, Lord a mercy! pray do! I am quite in a fright!"
"I think Fred Lamb was one of her seducers; but how many more may have had a finger in the pie, I really cannot take upon myself to say."
"Oh, Lord! oh, Lord! Miss Wilson!" said Sir William, grasping my arm with both his hands, "you do not say so? What makes you think so?"
"I have seen Fred Lamb daily and constantly riding past her door. I know him to be a young man of strong passions, much fonder of enjoyment than pursuit; and further, my sister Fanny, one of the most charitable of all human beings, told me she had seen Fred Lamb in a private box at Drury Lane with your wife, and her hand was clasped in his, which he held on his knee!"
"Oh, la, Miss!"
"Come, do not take on so," said I, in imitation of Brummell's nonsense, and striving to conceal a laugh, "leave your dull house in Hill Street, and set off to-morrow morning, on some pleasant excursion. Be assured that you will find fifty pretty girls, who will be so delighted with you as soon to make you forget Lady Abdy."
"But then," said Sir William, "I cannot think how she came to be in the family-way: for I am sure, Miss Wilson, that during all the years we have lived together, I always——"
"Never mind," interrupted I, "go home now, and prepare for your journey, and be sure to write to me, and tell me if your mind is easier."
"Thank you, Miss Wilson! you are all goodness. I'll be sure to write, and I mean to set off to-morrow morning, and I'll never come back to that nasty, dull, large house of mine again."
"Get the sofa removed," said I, "at all events."
"Yes, Miss, I will, thank you; and the pianoforte. So good-bye, Miss;" and then returning, quite in a whisper, "perhaps, Miss Wilson, when you and I become better acquainted, you'll give me a kiss!"
I only laughed, and bade him take care of himself, and so we parted.
All this nonsense was however very poor amusement to me, now that I had lost Lord Ponsonby. I considered that, although I was by my hard fate denied the pleasure of consoling his affliction, I might yet go into the country and lead the same retired sort of life which he did; and there endeavour by study to make myself rather more worthy of him. "I am a very ignorant little fool," thought I, "but it does not, therefore, follow, that I should remain a fool all my life, like Sir William Abdy." My plan was settled and arranged in less than an hour, and my small trunk packed, my carriage filled with books, and I and my femme de chambre on our road to Salt Hill.
I told the landlady of the Castle Inn, that I was come to take up my residence with her for a