her expiring protectress was still before her eyes; and if exhausted nature forced her to give way to a momentary forgetfulness, she soon started from her imperfect slumber, and fancied she heard the voice of Mrs. Carey, calling on her for help; and her last groan still vibrated in her ears!—while the stillness of the night, interrupted only by the cries of the owls which haunted the ruins, added to the gloomy and mournful sensations of her mind.
At length however the sun arose—the surrounding objects lost the horror that darkness and silence had lent them—and Emmeline fell into a short but refreshing repose.
CHAPTER II
As soon as Emmeline arose the next morning, she addressed the following letter to Lord Montreville.
'My Lord,
'In the utmost affliction, I address myself to your Lordship, to acquaint you with the death of Mrs. Carey, after an illness of a very few moments: by which unhappy event I have lost a friend who has indeed been a mother to me; and am now left at the castle, ignorant of your Lordship's pleasure as to my future residence.
'You will, my Lord, I doubt not, recollect that it is, at my time of life, improper for me to reside here with Mr. Maloney; and if it be your Lordship's intention for me to continue here, I hope you will have the goodness to send down some proper person to fill the place of the worthy woman I have lost.
'On your Lordship's humanity and consideration I depend for an early answer: in which hope I have the honor to remain,
your Lordship's
dutiful and most humble servant,
Emmeline Mowbray.
Mowbray Castle, 21st May.
The same post carried a letter from Mr. Maloney, informing Lord Montreville of the housekeeper's death, and desiring directions about Miss, as he elegantly termed Emmeline.
To these letters no answers were returned for upwards of a fortnight: during which melancholy interval, Emmeline followed to the grave the remains of the friend of her infancy, and took a last farewel of the only person who seemed interested for her welfare. Then returning with streaming eyes to her own room, she threw herself on the bed, and gave way to a torrent of tears; for her spirits were overcome by the mournful scene to which she had just been a witness, and by the heavy forebodings of future sorrow which oppressed her heart.
The troublesome civilities of the steward Maloney, she soon found the difficulty of evading. Fearful of offending him from whom she could not escape; yet unable to keep up an intercourse of civility with a man who would interpret it into an encouragement of his presumptuous attentions, she was compelled to make use of an artifice; and to plead ill health as an excuse for not dining as usual in the steward's room: and indeed her uneasiness and grief were such as hardly made it a pretence.
After many days of anxious expectation, the following letter arrived from the house-steward of Lord Montreville; as on such an occasion his Lordship did not think it necessary to write himself.
Berkley-Square, June 17, 17—
'Miss,
'My Lord orders me to acquaint you, that in consequence of your's of the 21st ult. informing his Lordship of the old housekeeper's, Mrs. Carey's, decease, he has directed Mrs. Grant, his Lordship's town housekeeper, to look out for another; and Mrs. Grant has agreed with a gentlewoman accordingly, who will be down at the castle forthwith. My Lord is gone to Essex; but has directed me to let Mr. Maloney know, that he is to furnish you with all things needful same as before. By my Lord's command, from, Miss,
your very humble servant,
Richard Maddox.'
While Emmeline waited the expected arrival of the person to whose care she was now to be consigned, the sister of Mrs. Carey, who was the only relation she had, sent a nephew of her husband's to take possession of what effects had belonged to her; in doing which, a will was found, in which she bequeathed fifty pounds as a testimony of her tender affection to 'Miss Emmeline Mowbray, the daughter of her late dear master;' together with all the contents of a small chest of drawers, which stood in her room.
The rest of her property, which consisted of her cloaths and about two hundred pounds, which she had saved in service, became her sister's, and were delivered by Maloney to the young man commissioned to receive them.
In the drawers given to her, Emmeline found some fine linen and laces, which had belonged to her mother; and two little silk boxes covered with nuns embroidery, which seemed not to have been opened for many years.
Emmeline saw that they were filled with letters: some of them in a hand which she had been shewn as her father's. But she left them uninspected, and fastened up the caskets; her mind being yet too much affected with her loss to be able to examine any thing which brought to her recollection the fond solicitude of her departed friend.
The cold and mechanical terms in which the steward's letter was written, encreased all her uneasy fears as to her future prospects.
Lord Montreville seemed to feel no kindness for her; nor to give any consideration to her forlorn and comfortless situation. The officious freedoms of Maloney encreased so much, that she was obliged to confine herself almost entirely to her own room to avoid him; and she determined, that if after the arrival of the companion she expected, he continued to besiege her with so much impertinent familiarity, she would quit the house, tho' compelled to accept the meanest service for a subsistence.
After a fortnight of expectation, notice was received at the castle, that Mrs. Garnet, the housekeeper, was arrived at the market town. The labourer, with an horse, was dispatched for her, and towards evening she made her entry.
To Emmeline, who had from her earliest remembrance been accustomed only to the plainest dress, and the most simple and sober manners, the figure and deportment of this woman appeared equally extraordinary.
She wore a travelling dress of tawdry-coloured silk, trimmed with bright green ribbands; and her head was covered with an immense black silk hat, from which depended many yellow streamers; while the plumage, with which it was plentifully adorned, hung dripping over her face, from the effects of a thunder shower thro' which she had passed. Her hair, tho' carefully curled and powdered on her leaving London, had been also greatly deranged in her journey, and descended, in knotty tufts of a dirty yellow, over her cheeks and forehead; adding to the vulgar ferocity of a harsh countenance and a coarse complexion. Her figure was uncommonly tall and boney; and her voice so discordant and shrill, as to pierce the ear with the most unpleasant sensation, and compleat the disagreeable idea her person impressed.
Emmeline saw her enter, handed by the officious Maloney; and repressing her astonishment, she arose, and attempted to speak to her: but the contrast between the dirty, tawdry, and disgusting figure before her, and the sober plainness and neat simplicity of her lost friend, struck so forcibly on her imagination, that she burst into tears, and was altogether unable to command her emotion.
The steward having with great gallantry handed in the newly arrived lady, she thus began:
'Oh! Lord a marcy on me!—to be shore I be got here at last! But indeed if I had a known whereabout I was a coming to, 'tis not a double the wagers as should a hired me. Lord! why what a ramshakel ould place it is!—and then such a monstrous long way from London! I suppose, Sir,' (to Maloney) 'as you be the steward; and you Miss, I reckon, be the young Miss as I be to have the care on. Why to be sure I did'nt much expect to see a christian face in such an out of the way place. I don't b'leve I shall stay; howsomdever do let me have some tea; and do you, Miss, shew me whereabout I be to sleep.'
Emmeline, struggling with her dislike, or at least desirous of concealing it, did not venture to trust her voice with an answer; for her heart was too full; but stepping to the door, she called to the female servant, and ordered her to shew the lady her room. She had herself been