# Lady Anne Granard/Chapter 33

CHAPTER XXXIII.
Need we say that our anxious wife broke the seal in haste? No! we are all aware that even the child could not prevent attention, instant attention; to the father, from a wife so devoted, and within so short a time relieved from doubts and fears of the most distressing nature, the first words startled her even now.
"My dear Margaretta,
"I cannot forbear to call you thus in writing; to no other name could I address myself so freely and pleasurably, and since it really is your's, I know you will not object, even if the memory of the past mingle with the present. You have given me so many causes for holding you in the highest degree as an object of pure esteem and warm affection, that you can never suppose my heart can cease to acknowledge your claims, or look upon you rather as my friend Granard's little daughter, than the excellent young woman whose virtues have outgrown her years, rendering her the next successor of her gifted cousin, and so far dearer to me, that she is my wedded wife ​and the mother of my child—the friend to whom I am indebted for the kindest of all possible services, and the one human being to whom I can pour out my soul in the full confidence of my feelings being appreciated. Now I am at this distance, I feel even more than in your presence the extent of my obligations, and my heart aches to be with you, that we may gaze upon our sweet boy together. It is, indeed, no marvel that I can speak to you more fully on paper than when I am with you, for then I am sensible of the disparity in our years; I have a dread that my love may appear foolish, perhaps disgusting to you, or that, with the knowledge you now possess of the years in which I was the slave of an unfortunate, but certainly a reciprocated passion, you may be inclined to despise that which I can offer as the dregs of an exhausted heart—the unworthy offering of a vain old man, unworthy of your youth and beauty.
"Mistake me not, my dear Margaretta; you have given me no reason even for a moment to believe that circumstances have lessened your affection for me; that my sickness, or my sorrow, have changed me in your sight. I say only that fears of this description haunt me—a circumstance which occurred to me since my absence has shown me how great a change has occurred in my person.
"You know I embarked at Pisa in a vessel bound for Messina, but engaged to land passengers at Naples. We had scarcely got out, when my attention ​was drawn to a very elegant-looking man, slowly pacing the deck, with his eyes cast down in a manner which proved that the neighbouring coast had little attraction for him, and, in fact, I saw he was an Englishman. When he turned round from his short walk, whom should it prove but Lord Allerton, whom I first saw at the house of a friend in London, and was so much pleased with, I should have pursued the acquaintance, if your mother had not given me to understand she had reason, for our dear Mary's sake, to be displeased with him.
"I felt much too lonely not to rejoice in seeing a countryman, and immediately addressed him. He evidently rejoiced in hearing his own tongue, but said, 'that although my voice was familiar to his ear, and my person so to a certain degree, he dared not to give me a name.'
"'It is Glentworth; we have met repeatedly at Sir Alfred Robertson's.'
"'God bless me! Mr. Glentworth! Did you not marry a Miss Granard?'
"'I was so happy, sir. My wife has just made me a father, and is, of course, unable to accompany me, to the great grief of both, as you may suppose; but my physician has compelled me to leave her for a short voyage and change of air: I am troubled with a fever not uncommon at this season in Italy.'
"'Only a fever!' he exclaimed. 'You are a happy man! I thought—I feared you were withered ​by some unknown sorrow. You married a very young wife, and though it is certain I know no harm of Lady Anne Granard's daughters, a man who has suffered as I have done is liable to suspicion.'
"'I have known every one of my wife's sisters from their infancy, and more amiable, pure-minded women do not exist. The eldest is with us, for her health was so precarious that it was thought Italy might be useful, and——'
"'Has it been so? is she better?' he cried, with great solicitude.
"I answered 'she was; but that I imputed her recovery more to the tender interest she had taken in her sister and myself, than to any advantages of air. She is,' said I, 'one of those people who live on the heart; something which affected that, occasioned the derangement of her health, and she has derived her cure from the same source.'
"'Is she then engaged?—is she about to marry?'
"'Not to my knowledge; for she has refused very advantageous offers, and, I rather think, determined to reject all such. I alluded only to the excellence of her disposition, which, for our sakes, roused her to an energy beneficial to herself.' Soon after this we retired to his cabin, and he told me a sad and shameful story, which you will see in the English journals, with an addition they may not yet have announced, that, immediately on obtaining a divorce, he set out to travel until the affair should be blown ​over. With him it was an object to avoid the English at Paris and Rome; therefore he crossed France, through Brittany, and took shipping at Marseilles for Naples: as, however, he will find many there whom he knows, I think it likely he will conclude to accompany me to Sicily, which I shall be very glad of, for he is a most agreeable companion, and interests me exceedingly. I cannot be sorry that he has lost a wife who from the very first was a bad one, marrying him only for situation, and becoming at length so hardened, that she actually had the effrontery to tell him, she, with the assistance of her aunt (who, I grieve to say, is your's also, in courtesy), cajoled him into an offer, thereby dividing him from a woman who really loved him. I rather think she meant dear Mary.
"I had a very bad night after leaving him, but since then, have been much better, and shall, I trust, be soon enabled to tell you, my own dear Isabella, I am every way restored. Kiss the babe for me, and tell his mother I am her's, her's only. "Your's, "Fran$^s$. Glentworth.
"N.B. Say every thing kind to Mary and the Count, and don't suppose for a moment I had a sad night from contemplating poor Allerton's sad story, coupled with the proof he had given of my own sad looks. I must not have you think I could thus suffer ​from suspicion of you, my good and excellent Isabella: no! it was the heat and the fever."
If it were joy to poor Georgiana to receive a letter from her sailor lover, still greater was the joy of the young wife to read so long and so kind a letter from her distant lord, one, too, so gratifying in the intelligence it conveyed; but perhaps the circumstance which struck her as best of all, was that of Mr. Glentworth having forgotten the Margaretta with which he began the letter, and resuming the Isabella by which he was wont to recognize her. She trusted it was a sign that his mind was recovering a more healthful state, that he was not obliged to refer to his imagination, and, by giving her an ideal existence, compel himself to love her as the representative of another; surely, if he could do so long without the real Margarita, and appear cheerful and happy as he used to do when in England, he might (now that death had really taken her, poor thing!) resign her entirely, and love his wife, without reference to one who, however beautiful and attached, had innocently caused him a life of sorrow, and herself a year of it, but whom she should ever remember with affection.
Here too they received letters from England of the greatest interest; dear Louisa was, like herself, a mother, and Charles, the happiest of men, wrote as he felt. Poor Georgiana had written also from Rotheles Castle, but her joy was mixed with her own sad story ​of the refusal given to her distant lover by her mother, as the medium of effecting a marriage from which her heart revolted, of the gloom cast over the circle with whom she now resided, from the misconduct of Lady Allerton, and of many fears as to the situation of Lady Anne's affairs, as the earl, her brother, declared he would no longer help her as he had done; seeing the fewer daughters she had to maintain, the more money she spent, refusing respectable offers from an ambition she had no right to indulge, with so numerous a family.
On this topic Helen dilated still more, when she also had reverted to the painful situation of Georgiana, who might have been married to the brother of the best and most amiable nobleman in England, who would have made her a good settlement, and provided, with his grandfather's assistance, an income more than sufficient for Georgiana's wishes, a great deal. The poor girl could not tell all that was passing in her heart on the subject; but it is certain much did pass there respecting the possibility of Georgiana's union becoming a prelude to her own; but, as this could not be spoken of, she turned abruptly to the subject of mamma's wants, related the manner of her borrowing money from Mr. Palmer, and of her gay living since she went to Brighton, quoting a paragraph from the Morning Post which announced the intention of Lady Anne Granard, with her beautiful daughters, to preside at one of the stalls, at a grand fancy bazaar, ​in Kemp Town, which was expected to be the gayest scene and the most splendid assemblage of royalty and nobility ever beheld in Brighton.
"That it is true mamma does meditate doing this, I cannot doubt; for she has written, desiring both Louisa and me to make as many pretty things as possible, saying we must work the harder because Georgiana cannot assist her, Lord Rotheles disliking all kinds of exhibitions of young ladies. We would fulfil her wishes, but Louisa cannot sit up to work, you know; and she prefers the baby to all the hand-screens in the world, and mamma has sent me no money to buy materials with—so what can I do?"
"What can she do, indeed?" was re-echoed by both sisters, as Mary, who was the one to whom the letter was addressed, thus proceeded:—
"We expect letters from you every day to tell us, as we trust, that you are well and happy, for that will do me good; as I know, if you are in health, being in cash, you can have no trouble—at least, Isabella cannot. How fortunate she has been! how differently is she now situated to the time when Mr. Glentworth came to see us, and she was ordered to remain in the nursery, that Georgiana might wear the muslin frock they had between them. She did not look well in that dark merino, yet she got the best man that ever was born—the kind friend to us all. I doubt not he loved her from that very time, because he pitied her, as we all have often done."
​ "You are mistaken, dear Helen," said Mrs. Glentworth, "very much mistaken in your conclusions, as Isabella has since then known to her sorrow, but not in your assertions; for dearly, indeed, did you all love me and cheer me on my thorny path: you indeed shared it, dear Mary. It was curious to hear mamma blame you for growing plain, and me for being plain. Of course, we could not help it in either case, and should have been pitied, not blamed."
"She used to say I could, and be, therefore, the more severe in her remarks upon me, but it is better for us both to forget them, Isabella," said Mary.
"Very true, dear Mary, and we must also forget all in my history which shews my error as to my married life, painting it all sunshine. I wish never to draw on their sympathies, but I can well understand Helen's distress, and must try to relieve it as soon as possible; how can we manage?"
"Count Riccardini will do it by getting a banker's order, payable in London; but I confess myself much more uneasy about mamma than Helen, whom Louisa can always help with a trifle. Lady Anne's income is so well known, nobody will lend her money, nor can one wish they should, as there is no saying how they could be repaid. I am sure things are bad with her, for there are no letters from her, which is a sign she is very poor."
"In that case, she would have written to ask for money, I think."
​ "If she had wanted any sum which your purse or mine, united, could have supplied, she would have demanded it unquestionably; but she would, on no account, choose Mr. Glentworth to know her distress, for she fears him as much as my uncle Rotheles. I greatly dread her applying to the Marquess of Wentworthdale, which would be a kind of sale of dear Georgiana; it is horrible to think of."
"Finish your letter, dear Mary; something consolatory may arise in it."
Mary glanced over the letter, "She says Viscount Meersbrook, the brother of Lieutenant Hales (that lover of Georgiana whom mamma peremptorily refused), took our house for three months, and paid beforehand, that he is intimate with the Palmers, and that at Christmas Lord Rotheles will reduce mamma's allowance one half. Now, as she always spends her money before she gets it, you know, what will become of her when Christmas comes? Helen says she gave a note to Mr. Palmer to repay the money in six months, which I am sure she cannot do."
"I wonder he would take a note from mamma."
"I do not, for, although he is a generous man, he is a regular man; and I have heard him say, more than once, that Lady Sarah Butterlip had taught him a lesson, as to lending money, that would last him his life in the way by which she cheated his friend, Mrs. Clare, of Canterbury. And it always struck me, and often very painfully, that in his own mind he was ​comparing Lady Anne Granard and Lady Sarah Butterlip as being alike; both were high-born, both married private gentlemen, both were extravagant, and were left poorly provided, as widows with daughters, and both assisted by their brothers. Here, thank God, the resemblance ceases, and will, I trust, never be renewed, save to say that both are very fine women, mamma being the younger."
"I know nothing of Lady Sarah Butterlip; I have never seen her."
"How should you, my dear, marrying so soon, and leaving England immediately. I saw her at Rotheles Castle, and, like all the rest of the world, was perfectly fascinated by the beauty of her features and the graces of her manners, though one was marked by time, and the other tinged by affectation."
"But what does she do that is wrong? in money matters, I mean?"
"What does she not do? She runs into debt to every body, and pays nobody; borrows money without a chance for repayment;"*********
"My dear Mary, nobody living shall dare to compare my mother with such a woman as that; it is frightful to think of any human being, much less any woman of rank, stooping to such baseness. Depend upon it, her faults have been greatly exaggerated; she is the victim of scandal."
"I fear not, to this I can speak, for Mr. Palmer ​told us, i. e., Louisa, Mrs. Gooch, and me, she formed an acquaintance with a Mrs. Clare, his friend, a good-natured, benevolent, elderly lady, somewhat eccentric in manners, but of fine taste, extensive reading, and such unbounded kindness, that she would have been ruined if a kind friend had not guarded her from herself. Lady Sarah, during this friend's absence, discovered that Mrs. Clare had been receiving rents one day, and actually at the time had about seven hundred pounds in her pocket: she immediately made up a very pitiable story, which the loan of seven hundred pounds would relieve, and which could be soon gratefully repaid. Mrs. Clare produced the seven hundred pounds, and was overwhelmed with thanks, Lady Sarah hastening away on the instant, on which Mrs. Clare wrote to her, saying, 'that in her hurry she had forgotten to give the necessary acknowledgment.' What do you think Lady Sarah did?"
"What could she do, but return, and give the proper papers?"
"No such thing; she wrote a fine flummery letter, saying 'she knew her dear Mrs. Clare intended to present her with the money, therefore, she would never offend her generosity by offering legal acknowledgment for her gift, which she accepted in the same kind spirit in which it was offered.'"
"And what did Mrs. Clare do, then?"
She protested against the conclusion, so did her friend, declaring that such a gift was beyond her ​means, and would be a source of positive inconvenience; the result of which was, that they were treated with contempt. You may well look aghast, Isabella, but I tell you the tale as told to me by the truly good and upright."
"Well, dear Mary, then my reply is, that at any hazard mamma must be relieved, lest she should be tempted to do any one of the many wrong things you have mentioned. I would rather send her all the money we have; nay, I would sell the trinkets Glentworth has given me, at the risk of his anger, in preference to any disgraceful circumstance occurring to her, much less her consenting to any: but how can we manage it? what can we do?"
"We can only write to Louisa, and promise indemnity to Charles."
"Charles does not like his wife's mother, and has, indeed, no reason; Louisa is like ourselves; she will feel that, let Lady Anne's faults be what they may, she is her mother, and may in her distress say more than she ought; we must not, as they say in the East, 'throw the apple of contention into the dwelling of matrimony.'"
Count Riccardini entered whilst they were concerting ways and means to help their mother, and the kind inquiries he made as to their apparent discomfort, soon drew them to disclose all that was necessary of Helen's letter. He took a warm interest in it, for he well knew how frequently in days of old Mr. Granard ​had been driven into difficulties when he had a fine income, and he could readily conceive how likely it was that, with her present small one, Lady Anne should be embarrassed. The riches of the English, and their habits of expense, made her present situation extremely pitiable in his eyes, and he seemed to ponder the matter with as much anxiety as the daughters; at length he said:—
"It is not an easy thing for an Italian to move with the rapidity of an Englishman; he may resolve when he has investigated, but he is lazy; nevertheless, I leave Leghorn on Saturday, you shall see, and go straight through France, take one little rest at Paris, go thence to Dieppe, and cross to Brighton."
"My dear count, you astonish me."
"I visit Lady Anne, I find out soon if she is distress, and I advance two or three hundreds of pounds, to save the ruin of your law. I take present, if you please, but you must not use your husband money for save Lady Anne, nor must you be disgrace in this country, and who can say how long poor Glentwortn may find it necessary to travel, or that he shall not sent to you for part of the money he left with you—nothing can be more likely."
Isabella felt alarmed at an alternative she had not considered, and saw clearly that no possible plan for relieving her mother, at once effectually and wisely, could be offered of any comparative utility with this, and since it had been the full intention of the Count ​to accompany them on their return, it could not make any great difference to him, whilst to them it was of incalculable advantage. They considered that the Count, from his close affinity with the family, had a right to advise their mother, which neither her children nor her sons-in-law could pretend to, and that, remembering the fortune their aunt brought him, and the accumulations their father might be said to have presented him with, no delicacy on their part need to interfere with his evidently generous intentions. Isabella so well knew the high opinion Glentworth entertained of him, and the deep regard he felt for him, that she was certain whatever he did would be perfectly approved by her husband.
From the time poor Riccardini had engaged his courier, and taken his passage to Marseilles, he became extremely melancholy, and required all the active kindness of both his nieces to support his spirits. Doubtless his heart often addressed his dear, his beautiful, and noble country, saying, "With all thy faults I love thee still," and even to leave the hallowed dust of his wife and daughter was afflictive; but Isabella well knew, from what Margarita had told her, it was far better he should depart, since nothing could be more probable, when he was no longer prevented by domestic ties, than that he should join some party of those who sought to overturn Austrian usurpation, and by that means consign himself to a turbulent ​state of existence, or a hopeless imprisonment, during that period when he ought to be surrounded by a host of friends, and an honoured guest among those "who sit at good men's feasts."