Mrs Ireton, herself, making no mention of any such purpose, issued her usual orders for the attendance of Juliet, with her implements of amusement; and went, at an early hour, to a light building, called the Temple of the Sun, which overlooked the sea, from the end of the garden.
This Temple, like every place which Mrs Ireton capriciously, and even for the shortest interval, inhabited, was now filled with materials for recreation, which, ingeniously employed, might have whiled away a winter; but which, from her fluctuating whims, were insufficient even for the fleet passage of a few hours. Books, that covered three window-seats; songs and sonatas that covered those books; various pieces of needle-work; a billiard-table; a chess-board; a backgammon-board; a cup and ball, &c. &c.; all, in turn, were tried; all, in turn, rejected; and invectives the most impatient were uttered against each, as it ceased to afford her pleasure; as if each, with living malignity, had studied to cause her disappointment.
About noon, she took the arm of Juliet, to descend the steps of the Temple. Upon opening the door, Ireton appeared sauntering in the garden. Juliet vexed at his sight, which Elinor had assured her that she would never encounter, severely felt the mortification of being seen in her present situation, by one who had so repeatedly offended her by injurious suspicions, and familiar impertinence.
Mrs Ireton, hastily relinquishing the arm of Juliet, from expecting that of her son, at whose sight she was evidently surprised; now resolved, with her most brilliant flourishes, to exhibit the new object of her power.
‘Why don’t you take care of the child, Miss Ellis?’ she cried aloud. ‘Do you design to let him break his neck down the stone steps? I beg your pardon, though, for asking the question. It may be very mal à propos. It may be necessary, perhaps, to some of your plans, to see a tragedy in real life? You may have some work in agitation, that may require that sort of study. I am sorry to have stood so unopportunely in your way: quite ashamed, upon my word, to have prevented your taking a few hints from the child’s dislocating a limb, or two; or just fracturing his skull. ’Twould have been a pretty melancholy sight, enough, for an elegiac muse. I really beg your pardon, for being so uncooth, as to think of such a trumpery circumstance as saving the child’s life.’
Juliet, during this harangue, assiduously followed the young gentleman; who, with a shout of riotous rebellion, ran down the steps, and jumping into a parterre, selected, by his eye, the most beautiful of the flowers for treading under his feet; and, at every representation of Juliet, flung at her as many pinks, carnations, and geraniums, as his merciless little fingers could grasp.
Ireton, approaching, looked smilingly on, negligently nodding, and calling out, ‘Well done, Loddard! Bravo, my little Pickle!’
Loddard, determined to merit this honourable testimony of his prowess, continued his sport, with augmented boldness. His wantonness, however, though rude, was childish; Juliet, therefore, though tormented, gave it no serious resentment; but she was not equally indifferent to the more maturely malicious insolence of Ireton, who, while he openly enjoyed the scene, negligently said to Loddard, ‘What, my boy, hast got a new nurse?’
Mrs Ireton, having stood some time leaning upon the balustrade of the steps which she was descending, in vain expectations of the arm of her son, who had only slightly bowed to her, with an ‘How do do, Ma’am?’ to which he waited not for an answer; now indignantly called out, ‘So I am to be left to myself, am I? In this feeble and alarming state to which I am reduced, incapable to withstand a gust of wind, or to baffle the fall of a leaf, I may take care of myself, may I? I am too stout to require any attention? too robust, too obstreperous to need any help? If I fall down, I may get up again, I suppose? If I faint, I may come to myself again, I imagine? You will have the goodness to permit that, I presume? I may be mistaken, to be sure, but I should presume so. Don’t you hear me, Mistress Ellis? But you are deaf, may be?—I am alarmed to the last degree!—You are suddenly seized, perhaps with the loss of one of your senses?’
This attack, begun for her son, though, upon his romping with the little boy, in total disregard to its reproach, ending for Juliet, made Ireton now, throwing back his head, to stare, with a sneering half-laugh, at Juliet, exclaim, ‘Fie, Mrs Betty! How can you leave Mrs Ireton, unaided, in such peril? Fie, Mrs Polly, fie! Mrs.... What is your new nurse’s name, my boy?’
The boy, who never held his tongue but when he was desired to speak, would make no answer, but by running violently after Juliet, as she sought to escape from him; flinging flowers, leaves, grass, or whatever he could find, at her, with boisterous shouts of laughter, and with all his little might.
Mrs Ireton, brought nearly to good humour by the sight of the perplexity and displeasure of Juliet, only uttered, ‘Pretty dear! how playful he is!’ But when, made still more daring by this applause, the little urchin ventured to touch the hem of her own garments, she became suddenly sensible of his disobedience and wanton mischief, and commanded him from her presence.
As careless of her wrath as he was ungrateful for her favour, the young gentleman thought of nothing so little as of obedience. He jumped and, skipped around her, in bold defiance of all authority; laughing loudly in her face; making a thousand rude grimaces; yet screaming, as if attacked by a murderer, when she attempted to catch him; though, the moment that he forced himself out of her reach, hallooing his joyous triumph in her ears, with vociferous exultation.
Juliet was ordered to take him in hand, and carry him off; an order which, to quit the scene, she prepared with pleasure to obey: but the young gentleman, though he pursued her with fatiguing fondness when she sought to avoid him, now ran wildly away.
Mrs Ireton, enraged, menaced personal chastisement; but upon his darting at Juliet, and tearing her gown, she turned abruptly aside, in the apprehension of being called upon for reparation; and, gently saying, ‘What a frisky little rogue it is!’ affected to observe him no longer.
The torn robe proved a potent attraction to the little dog, who, yelping with unmeaning fury, flew at and began gnawing it, with as much vehemence, as if its destruction were essential to his well being.
A party of company was now announced, that begged to join Mrs Ireton in the garden; and, tripping foremost from the advancing throng, came, Selina.
Ireton, flapping his hat over his eyes, leisurely sauntered away. Mrs Ireton returned to the Temple, to receive her guests with more state; and Juliet hoping, though doubtfully, some relief and countenance, bent forward to greet her young friend.
Selina, with a look of vivacity and pleasure, eagerly approached; but while her hands were held out, in affectionate amity, and her eyes invited Juliet to meet her, she stopt, as if from some sudden recollection; and, after taking a hasty glance around her, picked a flower from a border of the parterre, and ran back with it to present to Lady Arramede.
Juliet, scarcely disappointed, retreated; and the party advanced in a body. She would fain have hidden herself, but had no power; the boy, with romping violence, forcibly detaining her, by loud shrieks, which rent the air, when she struggled to disengage herself from his hold. And, as every visitor, however stunned or annoyed, uttered, in approaching him, the admiring epithets of ‘Dear little creature!’ ‘Sweet little love!’ ‘Pretty little dear!’ &c. the boy, in common with children of a larger growth, concluding praise to be approbation, flung himself upon Juliet, with all his force; protesting that he would give her a green gown: while all the company,—upon Mrs Ireton’s appearing at an open window of the Temple,—unanimously joined in extolling his strength, his agility, and his spirited character.
The wearied and provoked Juliet now seriously and strenuously sought to disengage herself from the stubborn young athletic; but he clung round her waist, and was jumping up at her shoulders, to catch at the ribbon of her hat, when Lady Kendover and her niece, who were the last of the company that arrived, entered the garden.
Lady Barbara Frankland no sooner perceived Juliet, and her distress, than, swift as the wind, breaking from her aunt, she flew forward to give her succour; seizing the sturdy little assailant by his arms, when unprepared to defend himself, and twisting him, adroitly, from his prey; exclaiming, ‘You spoilt little wicked creature, beg pardon of that lovely Miss Ellis directly! this moment!’
‘Ellis! Dear, if it is not Ellis!’ cried Selina, now joining them. ‘How glad I am to see you, my dear Ellis! What an age it is since we met!’
Juliet, whose confidence was somewhat more than staggered in the regard of Selina, coldly courtsied to her; while, with the warmest gratitude, she began expressing her acknowledgements for the prompt and generous kindness of Lady Barbara; when the boy, recovering from his surprise, and furious at any controul, darted at her ladyship with vindictive violence; attempting, and intending, to practise upon her the same feats which had nearly subdued Juliet: but the situation was changed: the exclamations were reversed; and ‘O, you naughty little thing!’ ‘How can you be so rude?’ ‘Fie, child, fie!’ were echoed from mouth to mouth; which every step bent forward to protect ‘poor Lady Barbara’ from the troublesome little creature.
The boy was then seriously made over to his maid, to be new dressed; with a promise of peaches and sugar plums if he would be so very good a child, as to submit to the repugnant operations of his toilette, without crying or fighting.
The butler now appeared, to announce that the breakfast was ready; and Juliet saw confirmed, that the party had been invited and expected; though Mrs Ireton meant to impress her with the magnificent idea, that this was her common way of life.
The company all re-entered the house, and all without taking the smallest notice of Juliet; Lady Barbara excepted, who affectionately shook hands with her, and warmly regretted that she did not join the party.
Juliet, to whom the apparent mystery of her situation offered as much apology for others, as it brought distress to herself, went back, far more hurt than offended to the Temple.
Hence, presently, from under one of the windows, she heard a weak, but fretful and angry voice, morosely giving impatient reprimands to some servant, while imperiously refusing to listen to even the most respectful answer.
Looking from the window, she saw, and not without concern, from the contrast to the good humour which she had herself experienced, that this choleric reproacher was Sir Jaspar Herrington.
The nursery-maid, who came, soon afterwards, in search of some baubles, which her young master had left in the Temple; complained that her mistress’s rich brother-in-law, Sir Jaspar, who never entered the house but upon grand invitations, had been at his usual game of scolding, and finding fault with all the servants, till they all wished him at Jericho; sparing nobody but Nanny, whom the men called the Beauty. He was so particular, when he was in his tantarums, the maid added, that he was almost as cross as the old lady herself; except, indeed, to his favourites, and those he could never do enough for. But he commanded about him at such a rate, that Mrs Ireton, she was sure, would never let him into the house, if it were not in the hope of wheedling him into leaving the great fortune, that had fallen to him with the name of Herrington, to the young ‘Squire; though the young ‘Squire was well enough off without it; being certain of the Ireton estate, because it was entailed upon him, if his uncle, Sir Jaspar, should die without children.
Juliet did not hear this history of the ill temper of her generous old beau, without chagrin; but the prating nursery-maid ceased not recording what she called his tantarums, till the well known sound of his crutches announced his approach, when she hastily made her exit.
With the awkward feeling of uncertain opinion, softened off, nevertheless, by the remembrance of strong personal obligation, Juliet presented herself at the door, to shew her intention of descending.
Occupied by the pain of labouring up the steps, he did not raise his head, or perceive her, till he had reached the threshold of the little building. His still brilliant eyes became then brighter, and the air of harsh asperity which, while mounting, his countenance still retained, from recent anger, was suddenly converted into a look of the most lively pleasure, and perfect good humour. After touching his hat, and waving his hand, with an old fashioned, but well bred air of gallantry, he laughingly confessed, that he had ascended with the view of recruiting his strength and spirits, by a private visit to the god Morpheus; to enable him to get through the weighty enterprize, of encountering a throng of frivolous females, without affronting them by his yawns. ‘How little,’ he continued, ‘did I imagine myself coming to Sleep’s most resistless conqueror, Delight! If I rouse not now, I must have more soporiferous qualities than the Sleepers! or even than the Sleeping Beauty in the Wood, who took a nap of forty years.’
Then entreating her to be seated, he dropt upon the easy chair, which had been prepared for Mrs Ireton; and crossed his crutches, as if by accident, in a manner that prevented her from retreating. She was the less, however, impatient of this delay, as she saw that the windows looking from the house into the garden, were filled with company, which she desired nothing so little as to pass in review.
Taking, therefore, a place as far from him as was in her power, she made herself an occupation, in arranging some mulberry leaves for silk-worms.
The Baronet, whose face expressed encreasing satisfaction at his situation, courteously sought to draw her into discourse. ‘My little friends,’ cried he, smiling, ‘who are always at work, have continually been tormenting me of late, with pinches and twitches, upon my utter neglect of my sister-in-law, Mrs Ireton. I could not for my life imagine why they took so prodigious an interest in my visiting her; but they nipt, and squeezed, and worried me, without intermission; accusing me of misbehaviour; saying she was my sister-in-law; and ill, and hypochondriac; and that it was by no means pretty behaved in me, not to shew her more respect. It was in vain I represented, that she was rich, and did not want me; or that she was disagreeable, and that I did not want her; ’twas all one; they insisted I should go: and this morning, when I would have excused myself from coming to her fine breakfast, they beset me in so many ways, that I was forced to comply. And now I see why! Poor, earthly, mundane mortal that I was! I took them for envious sprites, jealous of my repose! But I see, now, they were only recreative little sylphs, amusing themselves with whipping and spurring me on to my own good!’
And is this, thought Juliet, the man who bears a character of impatience and ill humour? this man, whose imagination is so playful, and whose desire to please can only be equalled by his desire to serve?
‘And where,’ he continued, ‘have you all this time been eclipsed? From sundry circumstances, that perversely obtruded themselves upon my knowledge, in defiance of the ill reception I gave them, I was led, at first, to conclude, that you had been spirited away by Sir Lyell Sycamore.’
He fixed his eyes upon her curiously; but the colour that rose in her cheeks betrayed no secret consciousness; it shewed open resentment.
‘O! I soon saw,’ he resumed, as if he had been answered, though she had not deigned to disclaim an idea that she deemed fitted simply for contempt; ‘by the mortified silence of my young gallant, that the fates had not been propitious to his wishes. In characters of his description, success never courts the shade. It basks in the sun-shine, and seeks the broadest day. How is it that you have thus piqued the vain spark? He came to me in such a flame, to upbraid me for what he called the cursed ridiculous dance that I had led him, that I fairly thought he meant to call me out! I began, directly, to look about me for the stoutest of my crutches, to parry, for a last minute or two, his broad sword; and to deliberate which might be the thickest of my leather cushions, to hold up in my defence, for reverberating the ball, in case he should prefer pistols. But he deigned, most fortunately, to content himself with only abusing me: hinting, that such superannuated old geese, as those who had passed their grand climacteric, ought not to meddle with affairs of which they must have lost even the memory. I let him bounce off without any answer; very thankful to the “Sisters three” to feel myself in a whole skin.’
Looking at her, then, with an expression of humorous reproach, ‘You will permit me, I hope, at least,’ he added, ‘to flatter myself, that, when your indulgence to the garrulity of age has induced you to bear with my loquacity till I am a little hoarser, your consideration for sore throats and heated lungs, will prevail upon you to utter a little word or two in your turn?’
Juliet, laughing, answered that she had been too well amused, to be aware how little she had seemed to merit his exertions.
‘Tell me, then,’ cried he, with looks that spoke him enchanted by this reply; ‘through what extraordinary mechanism, in the wheel of fortune, you have been rolled to this spot? The benevolent sprites, who have urged me hither, have not given me a jot of information how you became known to Mrs Ireton? By what strange spell have you been drawn in, to seem an inmate of her mansion? and what philters and potions have you swallowed, to make you endure her never-ending vagaries?’
Half smiling, half sighing, Juliet looked down; not willing to accept, though hardly able to resist, the offered licence for complaint.
‘Make no stranger,’ the old Baronet laughingly added, ‘of me, I beg! She is my sister-in-law, to be sure; but the law, with all its subtleties, had not yet entailed our affections, with our estates, to our relations; nor articled our tastes, with our jointures, to our dowagers. Use, therefore, no manner of ceremony! How do you bear with her freaks and fancies? or rather,—for that is the essential point, why do you bear with them?’
‘Can that,’ said Juliet, ‘be a question?’
‘Not a wise one, I confess!’ he returned; ‘for what but Necessity could link together two creatures who seem formed to give a view of human nature diametrically opposite the one from the other? These indeed must be imps,—and imps of darkness,—who, busy, busy still—delight
To join the gentle to the rude!1
that can have coupled so unharmonizing a pair. Hymen, with all the little active sinister devils in his train, that yoke together, pell mell, for life, hobbling age with bounding youth; choleric violence with trembling timidity; haggard care with thoughtless merriment;—Hymen himself, that marrying little lawyer, who takes upon him to unite what is most discordant, and to tie together all that is most heterogeneous; even he, though provided with what is, so justly, called a licence, for binding together what nature itself seems to sunder; he, even he, I assert, never buckled in the same noose, two beings so completely and equally dissimilar, both without and within. Since such, however, has been the ordinance of these fantastic workers of wonders, will you let me ask, in what capacity it has pleased their impships to conjure you hither?’
Juliet hesitated, and looked ashamed to answer.
‘You are not, I hope,’ cried he, fixing upon her his keen eyes, ‘one of those ill-starred damsels, whose task, in the words of Madame de Maintenon, is to ‘amuse the unamuseable?’ You are not, I hope, ...’ he stopt, as if seeking a phrase, and then, rather faintly, added, ‘her companion?’
‘Her humble servant, Sir!’ with a forced smile, said Juliet; ‘and yet, humbled as I feel myself in that capacity, not humble enough for its calls!’
The smiles of the old Baronet vanished in a moment, and an expression of extreme severity took their place. ‘She uses you ill, then?’ he indignantly cried, and, grasping the knobs of his two crutches, he struck their points against the floor, with a heaviness that made the little building shake, ejaculating, in a hoarse inward voice, ‘Curse her!’
Juliet stared at him, affrighted by his violence.
‘Can it be possible,’ he cried, ‘that so execrable a fate should be reserved for so exquisite a piece of workmanship? Sweet witch! were I but ten years younger, I would snatch you from her infernal claws!—or rather, could I cut off twenty;—yet even then the disparity would be too great!—thirty years younger,—or perhaps forty,—my hand and fortune should teach that Fury her distance!’
Juliet, surprised, and doubting whether what dropt from him were escaped sincerity, or purposed irony, looked with so serious a perplexity, that, struck and ashamed, he checked himself; and recovering his usually polite equanimity, smiled at his own warmth, saying, ‘Don’t be alarmed, I beg! Don’t imagine that I shall forget myself; nor want to hurry away, lest my animation should be dangerous! The heat that, at five-and-twenty, might have fired me into a fever, now raises but a kindly glow, that stops, or keeps off stagnation. The little sprites, who hover around me, though they often mischievously spur my poor fruitless wishes, always take care, by seasonable twitches, in some vulnerable gouty part, to twirl me from the regions of hope and romance, to very sober real life!’
Fearful of appearing distrustful, Juliet looked satisfied, and again he went on.
‘Since, then, ’tis clear that there can be no danger in so simple an intercourse, why should I not give myself the gratification of telling you, that every sight of you does me good? renovates my spirits; purifies my humours; sweetens my blood; and braces my nerves? Never talk to me with mockery of fairyism, witchcraft, and sylphs; the real influence of lovely youth, is a thousand times more wonderful, more potent, and more incredible! When I have seen you only an instant, I feel in charity with all mankind for the rest of the day; and, at night, my kind little friends present you to me again; renew every pleasing idea; revive the most delightful images; and paint you to me—just such as I see you at this moment!’
Juliet, embarrassed, talked of returning to the house.
‘Do you blush?’ cried he, with quickness, and evidently increasing admiration; ‘is it possible that you are not enough habituated to praise, to hear it without modest confusion? I have seen “full many a lady”—but you—O you!—so perfect and so peerless are created, of every creature best!’2
‘My whole life has been spent in worshipping beauty, till within these very few years, when I have gotten something like a surfeit, and meant to give it over. For I have watched and followed Beauties, till I have grown sick of them. I have admired fine features, only to be disgusted with vapid vanity. A face with a little meaning, though as ugly as sin and satan, I have lately thought worth forty of them! But you—fair sorceress! you have conjured me round again to my old work! I have found the spell irresistible. You have such intelligence of countenance; such spirit with such sweetness, smiles so delicious, though rare! looks so speaking; grace so silent;—that I forget you are a beauty; and fasten my eyes upon you, only to understand what you say when you don’t utter a word! That’s all! Don’t be uneasy, therefore, at my staring. Though, to be candid, we know ourselves so little, that, ’tis possible, had you not first caught my eyes as a beauty, I might never have looked at you long enough to find out your wit!’
A footman now came to acquaint Sir Jaspar, that the rice-soup, which he had ordered, was ready; and that the ladies were waiting for the honour of his company to breakfast.
‘I heartily wish they would wait for my company, till I desire to have theirs!’ Sir Jaspar muttered: but, sensible of the impropriety of a refusal, arose, and, taking off his hat, with a studied formality, which he hoped would impress the footman with respect for its object, followed his messenger: whispering, nevertheless, as he quitted the building, ‘Leave you for a breakfast!—I would almost as willingly be immersed in the witches’ cauldron, and boiled into morsels, to become a breakfast myself, for the amusement of the audience at a theatre!’
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