Secresy; or, Ruin on the Rock

'Weeks only were allotted to my stay, but I staid months. My father's mandates for my return were no sooner read than forgotten. All was enchantment and happiness. My sisters loved Arabella affectionately; and had so little knowledge of the world as to imagine our union altogether proper and probable.

At length, either surprised or alarmed at my continuance in the country, or having certain intelligence of my engagements, my father arrived one evening secretly and altogether unexpectedly. And, while we imagined our joys secure from interruption, he listened behind the little summer-house in which Arabella and I were interchanging vows of eternal constancy, till rage would not permit him to hear us longer. Then he burst upon us; and, as I defended my love with vehemence, he deprived me of present sensation by a blow.

'When I recovered I was confined to one room, and could obtain no tidings of Arabella, no intercourse with my sisters nor any intermission of the rigours of my imprisonment: although I obstinately refused all sustenance beyond the small quantity which irresistible hunger compelled me to eat against my will. In three weeks, one of my sisters found an expedient to let me know Arabella had been turned out of the house, and had taken shelter at the farm-house of a relation about five and twenty miles distance; that my father gave her the character of an abandoned strumpet, and vowed I should die in prison if I did not swear to renounce her for ever.

'From this time, I laboured night and day in contriving my escape till I effected it; and travelled the five and twenty miles with such speed in my emaciated state that I had no sooner thrown myself into Arabella's arms than I fell into fits. A fever succeeded; and, during this period, the people of the house, though excessively poor, strove with all their might to add comforts and conveniences to my situation. Arabella was my nurse. To them I was bound by gratitude – to her my ties became strengthened till they excluded reason, reflection, and prudence. The moments of returning health were devoted to my affection. Our days were passed alone. Our former distresses and future prospects were alike forgotten; and we became as guilty as happy.

'Scarcely had we begun to repent our error, when my father discovered my retreat; and once more tore me from my love. Guarded, fettered, and enduring every species of brutal usage from those employed about me, I was conveyed first to London, and then sent abroad, where I remained above two years – refusing to give her up, and refused upon any other terms to be allowed to return. My father's death gave me liberty. I flew to England; and found my Arabella pining under the accumulated distresses of extreme poverty, destroyed reputation, and a consumptive habit: all which miseries were rendered doubly poignant by the possession of an infant.

'I will not attempt, madam, to describe to you what I endured when I saw her and my child wanting absolute necessaries. All I could call my own was employed to procure medical advice for Arabella; and that all was a trifle. My father, to the astonishment of every one, had died insolvent. My sisters were taken into dependence by different relations; and I was turned adrift on the world without knowledge or means to procure myself one penny. To assist those who have no power to assist themselves, who have no claims but on me, me the author of their calamity, I have plunged myself into debt. The man of whom I have borrowed money pointed out to me the plan of marrying your mother; and, when I revolted at the dishonourable action, he showed me the opposite picture – a jail. – What can I do, Miss Ashburn? Can I see them die – and consent to linger out my wretched existence in a prison? No! I am driven by extremity of distress; and must go on, or perish.'

'Does Arabella know you intend to marry?'

'O yes.'

'Where is she? May I see her?'

'She and her child reside at the distance of three miles from this place.'

I prevailed on Mr. Davenport to ride with me to the village in which Arabella resided; and, after introducing me to her, I also prevailed on him to leave us alone.

Arabella had beside her a tambour frame, at which she worked, when her cough and cold sweats would permit her. The little girl played on the floor. She received us with that sort of composure which seemed to denote the utter sacrifice of all her hopes and wishes, and that nothing was now left to excite agitation. I said, 'I am no stranger to your misfortunes, Arabella. In what manner did you support yourself, while Mr. Davenport was abroad?'

'By fancy works,' replied she, pointing to the frame. 'I endeavoured also to teach a school; but Mr. Davenport's father had spread such reports of me, which the birth of my child but too well confirmed, that scarce any one would give me the least encouragement.'

'What were your parents?'

'Poor shopkeepers, madam, who put themselves to numberless inconveniences to qualify me for earning my subsistence in a comfortable manner. Could I regain my health, and be removed to some place where no one knew my faults, Mr. Davenport should not be burthened with either of us; he should not – '

A tear rose, but quickly withdrew itself; and the serenity of a broken heart again took possession of her features.

'Why have you not urged Mr. Davenport to engage in some trade or profession?'

'Ah, madam, he has been brought up a gentleman. Trade would appear to him an indelible disgrace. He thinks he ought to respect the honour of his family, although they will not assist him. And as to a profession he has not the means.'

'And can you consent to live in possession of his affection and endearments, when he is married?'

'No, madam, no!' replied Arabella with firmness. 'The moment he becomes a husband, he is as dead to me as if the cold grave concealed him. He loves ease; he has been used to expence and pleasure – he will enjoy it all. I cannot live long, nor do I desire to live. I know he never will desert that poor babe – Don't you, madam, allow that innocent creature fully entitled to a father's protection?'

I had just taken the child on my lap. 'Yes,' said I: 'and you Arabella must live to see her possess it. My motives are not those of curiosity. I come to do you service; and I insist that you hope for better days. It shall be my part to devise better means than marriage for Mr. Davenport. I intend shortly to visit you again.'

I could not converse with Mr. Davenport any more that day, for it was necessary I should return and prepare myself to be partaker of a very splendid entertainment given by Sir Thomas Barlowe to all the fashionable people at Bath. I therefore engaged him to visit me again the next morning, and we separated.

Making mention of the entertainment brings Mr. Murden to my remembrance; and, as he played a part that very evening which attracted much notice and gave rise to speculation, I shall here relate it before I return to the subject of Mr. Davenport.

Ever since Mr. Murden joined us at Bath I have heard from his female acquaintance perpetual complaints of him. He was, they say, seducing, irresistible. No vivacity was ever so delicate as Murden's. No flattery ever so dangerous as from him. His look, his air, his voice, his gestures, all had their own peculiar character of persuasion. Thus captivating they say he was; and they lament, with all the energy of which they are capable, that he should now have become dull, lifeless and unbearable. I too, Sibella, have found him transformed. I see him negligent and inattentive to me and others; but he is neither dull nor lifeless. Some vision of imagination seems to possess him, to infuse into him as it were a new existence. I have seen his cheek glow, his eye beam. I have heard his breathings but half uttered; and, although at such moments I have suffered inconvenience from the want of his attention and assistance, I would rather have placed my safety in hazard than have disturbed his alluring dreams of fancy. So firmly has he become inaccessible to the temptations of dissipation and sensuality, that I revere his transformation and long for his confidence; but alas, I have to regret that he is secret and mysterious, and that while at Bath he has avoided me almost as constantly as he has neglected those damsels of fashion who have been calling forth all their enchantments to attract or subdue him.

To my great surprise, and some little satisfaction, no sooner was the Nabob's ball in preparation than Mr. Murden requested to be my partner. He had never danced here, though he had been frequently at the rooms; and I did expect to be honoured on this occasion by my fair friends with some very scornful looks and important whispers. – Hear the result.

The company assembled, a numerous and brilliant party. I had caught a previous glimpse of Mr. Murden elegantly dressed, and I expected every moment his appearance in the ball-room. That I was engaged I answered to several invitations; but to whom was yet in embryo, for the first, second, third and fourth minuet had been danced, and yet no partner for me appeared.

At length he came, but not with the smile of pleasure, not with the soft tread of politeness, the complacent mien of attention. No: he actually rushed upon us, his features almost distorted with some species of passion, his hair deranged, and the powder showered on his dress as if he had been dashing his head against some hard substance in a paroxysm of rage. And in this strange manner did he, with eager long strides, cross the saloon, and throw himself into the vacant seat beside me, uttering a deep groan.

The eyes of every one were upon him; and astonishment imposed silence on every tongue. 'Miss Ashburn! Miss Ashburn!' repeated he twice very loud; then closed his teeth and murmured through them some words I could not understand, and several horrid imprecations. He sat thus a few minutes, his countenance varying from the deepest red to a most livid paleness, when Sir Thomas approached. 'Why, nephew! why Arthur! what, what, are you ill? – are you – ?' and, without finishing his speech, the baronet retired abruptly; for Murden gnashing his teeth at that instant his uncle conceived he was mad; and I believe the baronet was scarce assured he had escaped the infection.

A bolder man now walked up. No less than the Earl of Ulson, of whom you have heard me speak. ''Pon my soul, Murden, this is superlatively unusual! The ladies are actually terrified. Zounds! Murden, you must – '

We had not the good fortune to hear his lordship's advice to the end: for Mr. Murden, utterly inattentive to any thing but his own agitations, now snatched a crumpled letter from his pocket; and, tearing it into a thousand pieces, dashed the fragments on the floor. He there contemplated them a moment with a malignant smile; then carefully gathered up every fragment, and darted out of the room.

The band continued playing quite composedly; but the company assembled in separate groups, to communicate their various conjectures on the very extraordinary gambol this extraordinary young man had been playing. Sir Thomas's gentleman and a valet were sent in search of him and ordered to enquire into his malady; but we were presently informed that he was writing in his own chamber, and had bitterly sworn to blow out the brains of whatever person should dare to interrupt him. Brains not being a superfluity here, we e'en resolved to resume our dancing, and leave him alone to be as mad as he thought proper.

On the succeeding morning, I met him early and alone in the breakfast room. I was agitated with the expectation of hearing something painful and astonishing. I even intreated to be admitted to his confidence. He referred me to some future period. He spoke with calmness and resolution, but he seldom looked up. When the rest of the family joined us, my mother amused herself with affecting a ridiculous pity for him, Lady Barlowe painted her astonishment, while his uncle with much more sincerity laboured to impress us with an adequate idea of the terror he had suffered the preceding evening. Every syllable sunk into the soul of Murden. He preserved an inflexible and haughty silence: but I saw, in his agitated countenance, that he was frequently on the point of bursting into rage and madness. Sir Thomas Barlowe will on many occasions wind a shapeless circumstance round and round, till he has persuaded himself he has discovered something in it really insulting and injurious to him. He now conjectured, surmised, and talked of Murden's behaviour, till he had assured himself it could have no other design than to afflict him, the most affectionate of uncles; and, having for a short time indulged in the pathos of lamentation, he began to weep. Although I could scarcely forbear smiling at Sir Thomas Barlowe's folly, yet I was considerably affected by the sudden transition the baronet's tears produced in Murden. He forgot his anger and his dejection; he pressed his uncle's hand; soothed him with kind expressions: and, suddenly assuming an air of cheerfulness, began to hand the cups and arrange the tea-table.

'You are in love with some creature you are ashamed of, Murden,' said my mother; 'I will swear it.'

'Do, madam,' replied he.

'Now do tell, me nephew Arthur,' said the baronet, 'why you tore it to pieces so unmercifully – tell me, dear Arthur, all about that letter.'

Why should he, Sibella, have fixed his eyes on me, while the colour rushed from his cheek, at the mention of that letter? Why did he groan? Why did he appear no more during the whole of that day? Why has he since been so uniformly pensive? Why seek me as a companion, yet reject me as a friend? Such are the enquiries constantly obtruding themselves upon me.

Adieu, dear Sibella. The remainder of Davenport's story must again be deferred till another opportunity.

CAROLINE ASHBURN

LETTER III

FROM CLEMENT MONTGOMERY TO ARTHUR MURDEN

Sweet enthusiast! I loveliest romancer! sustained by thee, I could boldly defy the maxims of the world, could bear unmoved its taunting scorns, its loudest reproaches. Stimulated by thy visionary precepts, I could rush alone on its host of temptations, and attempt with the giant step of fortitude to tread their legions into nothingness!

Methinks, Arthur, I see her now: and an increase of warmth glides through every vein till it reaches my heart, which glows and throbs more proudly and more proudly, that the arbitress of its every motion is Sibella Valmont. Let imagination dress up her most airy forms, let fancy exhaust the riches of her invention, the vision thus created may dazzle, may delude in the absence of perfection; but bring the all-radiant charms of Sibella in contrast, and it sinks into vapour. Painting and language are alike incompetent to represent her. – Ha! that thought again shoots across my brain – I – I was inconstant! – Oh, I would give an eye, an ear, nay a limb, that I had never known other embraces! – Then I might have been all soul too: – what she now is, what I can imagine but never shall experience. – Yes, you gave the advice, Murden; and I, deserving almost damnation for the deed, stooped to gross allurements, and obeyed the calls of appetite, and I ought to have braved death in support of my constancy. Thank God! she cannot know it! And oh, may annihilation, or the worst of curses, fall on this head, rather than I again pollute myself, or entertain one thought within my breast that may not rank with her angelic purity!

Yes, Murden, I say purity. Ay, and she is as pure as angels, notwithstanding Clement has been admitted to her embraces. For I am her husband. She never heard of ties more holy, more binding, than those of the heart. Custom has not placed its sordid restraint on her feelings. Nature forms her impulses. Oh, she is Nature's genuine child! more lovely than painting can trace: yet robust as the peasant who climbs yon hill to toil for his hourly subsistence – soft as her lover's bounding wishes can desire: yet stedfast, aspiring, brave enough to lead an army in the field. No cowardly apprehensions enter her mind. She shrinks not from the wintry blast. Let the torrent descend, the wind howl, the lowering thunder roar: it affects not her peace. No trembling nerves has she!

Methinks I see her now: I hear again the harmony of that voice; now softening into the scarcely audible adieu; now rising into firmness, to instruct her Clement how to bear his destiny.

I had just quitted Mr. Valmont's study, where I underwent another torturing repetition of all the inconsistency of his designs for us. So freezing was his language, that it appeared to chill sensation; and when he presented me the 500l, which is to open my prospects in life, I was scarcely sensible either of its value or design. – I believe I never thanked him; and though I did not take his offered hand, its touch I dreaded more than the torpedo.

Languid, sunk, and overwhelmed, I crawled with feeble steps to my Sibella. – What a change! her vigour awakened mine; and as though hope, perseverance and courage had resigned themselves to her guidance, she commanded them to possess me wholly – commanded me to receive the noble inmates, and to vow I would be bravely independent, though a bed of straw were my portion and crumbs my fare.

I write this letter at my first resting place since I quitted Valmont castle; and the benignancy of my lovely Sibella has even chased my resentment towards you, but should an hour of lassitude perchance creep on me in my banishment, I may be tempted to enquire narrowly into the nature of your very mysterious epistles.

CLEMENT MONTGOMERY

LETTER IV

FROM SIBELLA VALMONT TO CAROLINE ASHBURN

Clement – my Clement is gone! All is silence around me. The trees have dropped their leafy ornaments; the wind sweeps through them in mournful cadence. Their foliage no longer intercepts my eye when it would extend itself around the vast horizon. I, now seated on the ivy-covered ruins of the hermitage, view this space; and tell myself it contains not one being to whom Sibella is the object of esteem, tenderness, or concern. Oh Caroline, Caroline! I am weary of this solitude. My mind bursts the bounds prescribed to my person, and impels itself forward to share the advantages of society. Compelled to return to its prison, it is disgusted with its own conceptions, and sinks into languor and dissatisfaction. Could it be my parents who doomed me to this slavery? Did they deem the benefits of intercourse a blessing too great for their innocent offspring? No: it must be Mr. Valmont's own plan; 'tis he alone who could wish to rob me of the faculties of my soul; and, finding I dare think, dare aim to extend them, dare seek to be happy, he shuns me with aversion or loads me with reproach.

Why, if he meant me to degenerate into the mere brute, did he not chain me in a cave, shut out the light of the glorious sun, forbid me to converse with intelligent nature? Then I might have expressed my wants in a savage way; have ravenously satisfied the calls of hunger or thirst; and, lying down to enjoy the sleep of apathy, have thought, if I could have thought at all, that this was to be happy. A being superior to this only in a little craft, did Mr. Valmont design to make me: a timid, docile slave, whose thoughts, will, passions, wishes, should have no standard of their own, but rise, change or die as the will of a master should require! Such is the height of virtues I have heard Mr. Valmont describe as my zenith of perfection.

He laments that he suffered me to share in Clement's education. Happy mistake! Then I found I was to be the friend and companion of man – Man the image of Divinity! – Where, then, are the boundaries placed that are to restrain my thought? – To be the companion, I must be equal – To be the friend, I must have comprehension and judgment: must be able to assist, or willing to be taught.

In the little intercourse I have had with Mrs. Valmont, she also has placed before me her picture of females: a picture as absurd and much more unintelligible to me than the other. She represents beauty as the supreme good; ascribes to it the most fabulous effects of power, conquest, and dominion. She represented me to myself as entering your world; and transformed me into a being so totally without description, that I ran from her to seek again my own nature: to find the friend and companion of man.

You, Caroline, are not such as either of these people describe. No: nor am I. Then shall I – but let me be content – a very short time and I shall join my Clement: shall aid his labour with my exertions. Oh, my Clement, my love, my lover, speed forward to the accomplishment of thy talk! Oh, be thy desires as bounded as my wishes! Thy Sibella covets no castles, no palaces. Seek for her but a shelter from inclemency, and take her therein to liberty, to thee!

Often, Caroline, have I imagined the useless parts of that vast building converted into little cottages such as I have seen from the top of its turrets. Fancy has instantly peopled the desert. I have believed myself surrounded by an active hardy race. I have arisen to enjoy the delights of communication: when, perchance, the rushing of a silent fawn through the thicket has awakened me from my trance; has reminded me that I too was one of the solitary herd; that the castle with its moats, walls, and battlements yet stood where gloom and silence hold their court, where Mr. Valmont presides and denies Sibella his presence, and where the inexorable key is turned on that library lest she should think too often or too well.

Andrew comes through the wood – he beckons – holds up a letter. – 'Tis your's, Caroline.

I have pondered on the contents of your letter three days. What shall I say for myself more than you have already said for me? I feel, I confess, that in being secret I have deceived Mr. Valmont, have been guilty of vice. But how could I, tell me, Caroline; for my future benefit tell if you can, how could I devise a means by which I might have preserved my sincerity and saved my lover? – I can not. Remember it was my Clement's peace, happiness, and welfare, for which I made the sacrifice.

Yet now I feel it forcibly; for I hesitate to declare the rest; I, who knew no concealment, have by one deviation from my sincerity even become cowardly and irresolute in friendship. I fear your censures, Caroline; and dare think of eluding them, because too conscious that I cannot refute them. – I persevere in secresy, in deception! Mr. Valmont is still unacquainted with our marriage. For myself, I had not done this – for myself, I could not perceive its value or necessity. I yielded to the ardent remonstrances of Clement; and promised to conceal our union, till his independence should have placed him beyond the mischief of my uncle's resentment. Ah! let me turn, to seek solace, in the end, for the means!

Be the means what they may, the end is effected. My Clement is restored. The energies of his mind are renovated. You will see him, Caroline: but you will see no feebleness in his character. You will find his love could never be a trifling effervescence; you will discover that we mutually love, from the intimate knowledge of increasing virtues; and no fabled or real oblivion can shed its influence on a love so elevated, so entire, so utterly beyond the reach of annihilation.

I conjure you, my friend, by your own words, to watch over my Clement – to preserve him free from taint; and to restore him, just such as he so lately quitted the arms of his, and your.

LETTER V

FROM ARTHUR MURDEN TO CAROLINE ASHBURN

MADAM

That I most ardently desire to possess your esteem is, whether you believe it or not, a fact I avow with all possible sincerity. Nor is it less a fact, that I quitted Bath so abruptly to avoid giving you my confidence: the only thing in the world by which I could be entitled to ask your esteem.

'Why do I then write to you?' – you are about to demand – Ah! madam: I have by me a long catalogue of such unanswered questions – Why do I do this? – and why do I do that? insolently treads on the heel of my almost every action.

Can you find a name more despicable than folly for the will that acts in opposition to acknowledged reason? If you can – apply that worst of names to me – to my incomprehensible conduct.

Oh, Miss Ashburn, almost without a motive have I pursued a dream, a phantasy! The offspring of my heated imagination. – Fancy lent her utmost delusions, and dressed the vision in such glowing charms that neither prudence, honour, friendship, nor aught else could stay me in my course – not even the heavenly —