The Manoeuvring Mother (Vol. 1-3). Lady Charlotte Campbell Bury
Mrs. Pynsent underwent considerable anxiety during the tête-à-tête, but, when her son became tender, her interference became imperative.
"Tommy, what are you squeezing your cousin there about, when you are nearly married; secrets are ill-bred things, Master Tommy."
Miss Wycherly's distress became apparent, and she threw open the window; her cousin good-humouredly and awkwardly endeavoured to conceal her from observation, by pointing out the beauties of the view.
"There, Pen, are the trees I spoke of, (clear up and dry your eyes, Pen) and my father talks of planting upon that hill, (don't let any one guess you are down in the mouth, Pen). I think I like it best as it now stands. Spottiswoode, Tyndal, give me your opinion."
The gentlemen were soon engaged in disputing the propriety of planting, or not planting a fine swell in the park, each arguing upon their opinions, enabling Miss Wycherly to recover some degree of composure; and, when her well-appointed equipage drove to the door, she was able to perform her adieus with tolerable calmness. Tom Pynsent offered his arm to Lady Spottiswoode.
"Now, my lady, three gentlemen can't cut themselves down into two, so I shall take charge of you, while they fight for your daughter and Pen."
Mr. Spottiswoode stood irresolute for an instant, but the Mr. Tyndals took possession of Miss Spottiswoode; neither of those gentlemen approached Miss Wycherly. Mr. Spottiswoode was, of course, under the necessity of leading her to the carriage, but it took place in profound silence. Tom Pynsent, now awake to his cousin's state of mind, managed every thing for her.
"There, ladies, you are comfortable. Pen, let me place you comfortably upon your throne."
Mrs. Pynsent screamed from the drawing-room window, "I say, Tom, put Pen inside!"
Tom Pynsent, however, seated his cousin safely on the "throne," as she had always designated the coach-box, and Mr. Spottiswoode took his seat by her side; the Mr. Tyndals also mounted their horses, and rode away.
Mr. Spottiswoode paused to admit of Tom Pynsent's careful arrangement of his cousin's box-cloak, but Mrs. Pynsent again screamed from the window:—
"I say, Tom, you'll be too late for Wetheral!"
Tom Pynsent noticed his mother's exclamations by a sharp movement of the elbow, and remained till he had adjusted every thing with precision. He then shook his cousin's hand forcibly, and descended upon the steps of the door. "All's right, Spottiswoode."
The carriage was soon lost behind the knoll, which had been the subject of dispute.
The Mr. Tyndals appeared no more by the side of the carriage, and a long silence was broken by a remark from Mr. Spottiswoode.
"I wonder we see nothing of the Tyndals."
Miss Wycherly answered, half hesitating, "I believe I have offended Mr. Henry Tyndal."
"That is to be regretted," was Mr. Spottiswoode's reply, and a second silence ensued; the remainder of the drive was passed without a word on either side. Lady Spottiswoode urged Miss Wycherly to remain with them and dine; but Penelope's heart was too ill at ease to accept her hospitality. Her pallid countenance and hurried voice pleading excuses, spoke more powerfully than words could do, and her friends forbore to press her compliance. Mr. Spottiswoode still held the reins, and evinced no intention to quit the box. Miss Wycherly dared not meet his eye, as she thanked him for the trouble he had taken.
"You must not return thanks yet, for my task is not ended," replied Mr. Spottiswoode, "I shall drive you safely to Lidham."
"Pray—not for the world!" exclaimed Miss Wycherly, fixing her eyes upon her companion, in the energy of speaking; Mr. Spottiswoode's face wore a mild expression, and a smile quivered on his lip, but it fled at her exclamation, and his manner resumed its reserve. She remembered Julia's charge to be gentle; she remembered her cousin's charge to "pitch it in smoothly;" she saw also Mr. Henry Tyndal walking his horse in the distance.
"Yes, yes, Charles Spottiswoode, drive on, and drive fast—don't wait for any one!"
"Not for Tyndal?" asked Mr. Spottiswoode, provokingly.
"Not for a human being—drive on, I beseech you!"
Mr. Spottiswoode obeyed, and the carriage proceeded with rapidity in the direction of Lidham.
Three miles were traversed, and Lidham rose among its woods in grandeur, ere Miss Wycherly attempted to speak; she had taxed her memory to bring forward some topic of conversation, but it played her false; she had awaited a remark from her companion, upon which to ground her intended kindness, and it had not reached her ear—her heart now pined to recover its former ease and happiness, yet no opportunity offered to attempt the resumption. To begin the subject voluntarily, was a thought which fled at its very birth. What! own herself in the wrong, and apologize for having given pain to a worthy heart? Ask for pardon, when she had insulted a human being in the dearest feelings? and, when her spirit longed to be at peace with her lover, full of its own injustice and wrong? forbid it, womanly dignity!
Mr. Spottiswoode passed through the lodge at Lidham, and yet Miss Wycherly persevered in her silence; no matter, Mr. Wycherly was in sight, and the hour was past for repentance; she must henceforth submit to bear a gnawing and unpitied remorse for her levity of conduct, and for the knowledge that she had thrown away the very opportunity she had coveted, to try her power upon her lover's forgiveness. To her "dignity" she must sacrifice an ingenuous confession of sorrow for an error, heartless as it was uncalled for; and the demands of "dignity" superseded the claim of right. So do women often create their own misery, by daring to offend, yet quailing under the degradation of revoking an ungenerous speech.
Mr. Wycherly returned to the house, and was ready to receive his daughter and Mr. Spottiswoode when they drove up in his usual way. It never occurred to him that the somewhat long absence of the latter from Lidham was a sure prognostic of a misunderstanding between the parties most interested in the visits.
"Why, Spottiswoode, you are a truant, but Pen has caught you at last, I see. She and I thought you were gone for ever, but I'm glad to see you, however." Mr. Wycherly handed his daughter from the barouche-box. "Well, now, come down, for dinner has been ready this half-hour; down with you, my good fellow."
Mr. Spottiswoode declined staying dinner; he would take his own horse, and return to Shrewsbury.
"My good fellow, what's the matter with you? you won't think of losing your dinner? Nonsense, my dear sir; stay and take your dinner, and go home afterwards, if you like. Here, Pen, try your eloquence."
But Miss Wycherly had flown in sorrow and anger to her own room. Mr. Spottiswoode perceived her departure, and it decided his own; he could not be prevailed upon to defer his ride home till the evening. It was evident Miss Wycherly got out of his way, and her manner towards him was offensive; he could not think of remaining at Lidham, to subject himself to repeated annoyances; Mr. Wycherly pressed in vain.
"Well, Spottiswoode, you are determined, so I can't help it; but I think there is something in the wind."
"I am returning to my mother's house," replied Mr. Spottiswoode, as he shook hands.
"Give my compliments," said Mr. Wycherly, "and tell her I say you are an obstinate mule."
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