“that I have spent two hours by myself in a library without being tired of my existence? — How different are my feelings now from what they would have been in the same circumstances six months ago! — I should then have thought the loss of a birthnight ball a mighty trial of temper. It is singular, that my having spent a winter with one of the most dissipated women in England should have sobered my mind so completely. If I had never seen the utmost extent of the pleasures of the world, as they are called, my imagination might have misled me to the end of my life; but now I can judge from my own experience, and I am convinced that the life of a fine lady would never make me happy. Dr. X—— told me, the other day, that he thinks me formed for something better, and he is incapable of flattery.”
The idea of Clarence Hervey was so intimately connected with that of his friend, that Miss Portman could seldom separate them in her imagination; and she was just beginning to reflect upon the manner in which Clarence looked, whilst he declared to Sir Philip Baddely, that he would never give up Dr. X— — when she was startled by the entrance of Marriott.
“Oh, Miss Portman, what shall we do? what shall we do?-My lady! my poor lady!” cried she.
“What is the matter?” said Belinda.
“The horses — the young horses! — Oh, I wish my lady had never seen them. Oh, my lady, my poor lady, what will become of her?”
It was some minutes before Belinda could obtain from Marriott any intelligible account of what had happened.
“All I know, ma’am, is what James has just told me,” said Marriott. “My lady gave the coachman orders upon no account to let Mrs. Luttridge’s carriage get before hers. Mrs. Luttridge’s coachman would not give up the point either. My lady’s horses were young and ill broke, they tell me, and there was no managing of them no ways. The carriages got somehow across one another, and my lady was overturned, and all smashed to atoms. Oh, ma’am,” continued Marriott, “if it had not been for Mr. Hervey, they say, my lady would never have been got out of the crowd alive. He’s bringing her home in his own carriage, God bless him!”
“But is Lady Delacour hurt?” cried Belinda.
“She must — to be sure, she must, ma’am,” cried Marriott, putting her hand upon her bosom. “But let her be ever so much hurt, my lady will keep it to herself: the footmen swear she did not give a scream, not a single scream; so it’s their opinion she was no ways hurt — but that, I know, can’t be — and, indeed, they are thinking so much about the carriage, that they can’t give one any rational account of any thing; and, as for myself, I’m sure I’m in such a flutter. Lord knows, I advised my lady not to go with the young horses, no later than —”
“Hark!” cried Belinda, “here they are.” She ran down stairs instantly. The first object that she saw was Lady Delacour in convulsions — the street-door was open — the hall was crowded with servants. Belinda made her way through them, and, in a calm voice, requested that Lady Delacour might immediately be brought to her own dressing-room, and that she should there be left to Marriott’s care and hers. Mr. Hervey assisted in carrying Lady Delacour — she came to her senses as they were taking her up stairs. “Set me down, set me down,” she exclaimed: “I am not hurt — I am quite well — Where’s Marriott? Where’s Miss Portman?”
“Here we are — you shall be carried quite safely — trust to me,” said Belinda, in a firm tone, “and do not struggle.”
Lady Delacour submitted: she was in agonizing pain, but her fortitude was so great that she never uttered a groan. It was the constraint which she had put upon herself, by endeavouring not to scream, which threw her into convulsions. “She is hurt — I am sure she is hurt, though she will not acknowledge it,” cried Clarence Hervey. “My ankle is sprained, that’s all,” said Lady Delacour —“lay me on this sofa, and leave me to Belinda.”
“What’s all this?” cried Lord Delacour, staggering into the room: he was much intoxicated, and in this condition had just come home, as they were carrying Lady Delacour up stairs: he could not be made to understand the truth, but as soon as he heard Clarence Hervey’s voice, he insisted upon going up to his wife’s dressing-room. It was a very unusual thing, but neither Champfort nor any one else could restrain him, the moment that he had formed this idea; he forced his way into the room.
“What’s all this? — Colonel Lawless!” said he, addressing himself to Clarence Hervey, whom, in the confusion of his mind, he mistook for the colonel, the first object of his jealousy. “Colonel Lawless,” cried his lordship, “you are a villain. I always knew it.”
“Softly! — she’s in great pain, my lord,” said Belinda, catching Lord Delacour’s arm, just as he was going to strike Clarence Hervey. She led him to the sofa where Lady Delacour lay, and uncovering her ankle, which was much swelled, showed it to him. His lordship, who was a humane man, was somewhat moved by this appeal to his remaining senses, and he began roaring as loud as he possibly could for arquebusade.
Lady Delacour rested her head upon the back of the sofa, her hands moved with convulsive twitches — she was perfectly silent. Marriott was in a great bustle, running backwards and forwards for she knew not what, and continually repeating, “I wish nobody would come in here but Miss Portman and me. My lady says nobody must come in. Lord bless me! my lord here too!”
“Have you any arquebusade, Marriott? Arquebusade, for your lady, directly!” cried his lordship, following her to the door of the boudoir, where she was going for some drops.
“Oh, my lord, you can’t come in, I assure you, my lord, there’s nothing here, my lord, nothing of the sort,” said Marriott, setting her back against the door. Her terror and embarrassment instantly recalled all the jealous suspicions of Lord Delacour. “Woman!” cried he, “I will see whom you have in this room! — You have some one concealed there, and I will go in.” Then with brutal oaths he dragged Marriott from the door, and snatched the key from her struggling hand.
Lady Delacour started up, and gave a scream of agony. “My lord! — Lord Delacour,” cried Belinda, springing forward, “hear me.”
Lord Delacour stopped short. “Tell me, then,” cried Lord Delacour, “is not a lover of Lady Delacour’s concealed there?” “No! — No! — No!” answered Belinda. “Then a lover of Miss Portman?” said Lord Delacour. “Gad! we have hit it now, I believe.”
“Believe whatever you please, my lord,” said Belinda, hastily, “but give me the key.”
Clarence Hervey drew the key from Lord Delacour’s hand, gave it to Miss Portman without looking at her, and immediately withdrew. Lord Delacour followed him with a sort of drunken laugh; and no one remained in the room but Marriott, Belinda, and Lady Delacour. Marriott was so much fluttered, as she said, that she could do nothing. Miss Portman locked the room door, and began to undress Lady Delacour, who lay motionless. “Are we by ourselves?” said Lady Delacour, opening her eyes.
“Yes — are you much hurt?” said Belinda. “Oh, you are a charming girl!” said Lady Delacour. “Who would have thought you had so much presence of mind and courage — have you the key safe?” “Here it is,” said Belinda, producing it; and she repeated her question, “Are you much hurt?” “I am not in pain now,” said Lady Delacour, “but I have suffered terribly. If I could get rid of all this finery, if you could put me to bed, I could sleep perhaps.”
Whilst Belinda was undressing Lady Delacour, she shrieked several times; but between every interval of pain she repeated, “I shall be better to-morrow.” As soon as she was in bed, she desired Marriott to give her double her usual quantity of laudanum; for that all the inclination which she had felt to sleep was gone, and that she could not endure the shooting pains that she felt in her breast.
“Leave me alone with your lady, Marriott,” said Miss Portman, taking the bottle of laudanum from her trembling hand, “and go to bed; for I am sure you are not able to sit up any longer.”
As she spoke, she took Marriott into the adjoining dressing-room. “Oh,