Book: Marriage

S >> Susan Edmonstone Ferrier >> Marriage




Douglas's attempts to soothe his high-born bride were not more
successful than those of the driver: in vain he made use of every
endearing epithet and tender expression, and recalled the time when she
used to declare that she could dwell with him in a desert; her only
replies were bitter reproaches and upbraidings for his treachery and
deceit, mingled with floods of tears, and interrupted by hysterical
sobs. Provoked at her folly, yet softened by her extreme distress,
Douglas was in the utmost state of perplexity--now ready to give way to
a paroxysm of rage; then yielding to the natural goodness of his heart,
he sought to soothe her into composure; and, at length, with much
difficulty succeeded in changing her passionate indignation into silent
dejection.

That no fresh objects of horror or disgust might appear to disturb this
calm, the blinds were pulled down, and in this state they reached
Glenfern Castle. But there the friendly veil was necessarily with drawn,
and the first object that presented itself to the highbred Englishwoman
was an old man clad in a short tartan coat and striped woollen
night-cap, with blear eyes and shaking hands, who vainly strove to open
the carriage door.

Douglas soon extricated himself, and assisted his lady to alight; then
accosting the venerable domestic as "Old Donald," asked him if he
recollected him.

"Weel that, weel that, Maister Hairy, and ye're welcome hame; and ye tu,
bonny sir" [1] (addressing Lady Juliana, who was calling to her
footman to follow her with the mackaw); then, tottering before them, he
led the way, while her Ladyship followed, leaning on her husband, her
squirrel on her other arm, preceded by her dogs, barking with all their
might, and attended by the mackaw, screaming with all his strength; and
in this state was the Lady Juliana ushered into the drawing-room of
Glenfern Castle!

[1] The Highlanders use this term of respect indifferently to
both sexes.






CHAPTER III.

"What can be worse,
Than to dwell here!"

_Paradise Lost._

IT was a long, narrow, low-roofed room, with a number of small windows,
that admitted feeble lights in every possible direction. The scanty
furniture bore every appearance of having been constructed at the same
time as the edifice; and the friendship thus early formed still seemed
to subsist, as the high-backed worked chairs adhered most pertinaciously
to the gray walls, on which hung, in narrow black frames, some of the
venerable ancestors of the Douglas family. A fire, which appeared to
have been newly kindled, was beginning to burn, but, previous to showing
itself in flame, had chosen to vent itself in smoke, with which
the room was completely filled, and the open windows seemed to produce
no other effect than that of admitting the rain and wind.

At the entrance of the stranger a flock of females rushed forward to meet
them. Douglas good humouredly submitted to be hugged by three long-chinned
spinsters, whom he recognised as his aunts; and warmly saluted five awkward
purple girls he guessed to be his sisters; while Lady Julian stood the image
of despair, and, scarcely conscious, admitted in silence the civilities of
her new relations; till, at length, sinking into a chair, she endeavoured
to conceal her agitation by calling to the dogs and caressing her mackaw.

The Laird, who had been hastily summoned from his farming operations,
now entered. He was good looking old man, with something the air of a
gentleman, in spite of the inelegance of his dress, his rough manner,
and provincial accent. After warmly welcoming his son, he advanced to
his beautiful daughter-in-law, and, taking her in his arms, bestowed a
loud and hearty kiss on each cheek; then, observing the paleness of her
complexion, and the tears that swam in her eyes, "What! not frightened
for our Hieland hills, my leddy? Come, cheer up-trust me, ye'll find as
warm hearts among them as ony ye ha'e left in your fine English
_policies_"--shaking her delicate fingers in his hard muscular gripe as
he spoke.

The tears, which had with difficulty been hitherto suppressed, now burst
in torrents from the eyes of the high-bred beauty, as she leant her
cheek against the back of a chair, and gave way to the anguish which
mocked control.

To the loud, anxious inquiries, and oppressive kindness of her homely
relatives, she made no reply; but, stretching out her hands to her
husband sobbed,

"Take, oh, take me from this place!"

Mortified, ashamed, and provoked, at a behavior so childish and absurd,
Douglas could only stammer out something about Lady Juliana having been
frightened and fatigued; and, requesting to be shown to their apartment,
he supported her almost lifeless to it, while his aunts followed, all
three prescribing different remedies in a breath.

"For heaven's sake, take them from me!" faintly articulated Lady
Juliana, as she shrank from the many hands that were alternately applied
to her pulse and forehead.

After repeated entreaties and plausible excuses from Douglas, his aunts
at length consented to withdraw, and he then exerted all the rhetoric he
was master of to reconcile his bride to the situation love and necessity
had thrown her into. But in vain he employed reasoning, caresses, and
threats; the only answers he could extort were tears and entreaties to
be taken from a place where she declared she felt it impossible to
exist.

"If you wish my death, Harry," said she, in a voice almost inarticulate
from excess of weeping, "oh! kill me quickly, and do not leave me to
linger out my days, and perish at last with misery here."

"For heaven's sake, tell me what you would have me do," said her
husband, softened to pity by her extreme distress, "and I swear that in
everything possible I will comply with your wishes."

"Oh, fly then, stop the horses, and let us return immediately. Do run,
dearest Harry, or they will be gone; and we shall never get away from
this odious place."

"Where would you go?" asked he, with affected calmness.

"Oh, anywhere; no matter where, so as we do but get away from hence: we
can be at no loss."

"None in the world," interrupted Douglas, with a bitter smile, "as long
as there is a prison to receive us. See," continued he, throwing a few
shillings down on the table, "there is every sixpence I possess in the
world, so help me heaven!"

Lady Juliana stood aghast.

At that instant the English Abigail burst into the room, and in a voice
choking with passion, she requested her discharge, that she might return
with the driver who had brought them there.

"A pretty way of travelling, to be sure, it will be," continued she, "to
go bumping behind a dirty chaise-driver; but better to be shook to a
jelly altogether than stay amongst such a set of _Oaten-toads."_ [1]

[1] Hottentots.

"What do you mean?" inquired Douglas, as soon as the voluble Abigail
allowed him an opportunity of asking.

"Why, my meaning, sir, is to leave this here place immediately; not that
I have any objections either to my Lady or you, sir; but, to be sure, it
was a sad day for me that I engaged myself to her Ladyship. Little did I
think that a lady of distinction would coming to such a poor pitiful
place as this. I am sure I thought I should ha' swooned when I was
showed the hole where I was to sleep."

At the bare idea of this indignity to her person the fury of the
incensed fair one blazed forth with such strength as to choke her
utterance.

Amazement had hitherto kept Lady Juliana silent; for to such scenes she
was a stranger. Born in an elevated rank, reared in state, accustomed to
the most obsequious attention, and never approached but with the respect
due rather to a _divinity_ than to a mortal, the strain of vulgar
insolence that now assailed her was no less new to her ears than
shocking to her feelings. With a voice and look that awed the woman in
to obedience, she commanded her to quit her presence for ever; and then,
no longer able to suppress the motions of insulted pride, wounded
vanity, and indignant disappointment, she gave way to a violent fit of
hysterics.

In the utmost perplexity the unfortunate husband by turns cursed the
hour that had given him such a wife; now tried to soothe her into
composure; but at length, seriously alarmed at the increasing attack, he
called loudly for assistance.

In a moment the three aunts and the five sisters all rushed together
into the room, full of wonder, exclamation, and inquiry. Many were the
remedies that were tried and the experiments that were suggested; and at
length the violence of passion exhausted itself, and a faint sob or deep
sigh succeeded the hysteric scream.

Douglas now attempted to account for the behaviour of his noble spouse
by ascribing it to the fatigue she had lately undergone, joined to
distress of mind at her father's unrelenting severity towards her.

"Oh, the amiable creature!" interrupted the unsuspecting spinsters,
almost stifling her with their caresses as they spoke: "Welcome, a
thousand times welcome, to Glenfern Castle," said Miss Jacky, who was
esteemed by much the most sensible woman, as well as the greatest orator
in the whole parish; "nothing shall be wanting, dearest Lady Juliana, to
compensate for a parent's rigour, and make you happy and comfortable.
Consider this as your future home! My sisters and myself will be as
mothers to you; and see these charming young creatures," dragging
forward two tall frightened girls, with sandy hair and great purple
arms; "thank Providence for having blest you with such sisters!" "Don't,
speak too much, Jacky, to our dear niece at present," said Miss Grizzy;
"I think one of Lady Maclaughlan's composing draughts would be the best
thing for her."

"Composing draughts at this time of day!" cried Miss Nicky; "I
should think a little good broth a much wiser thing. There are some
excellent family broth making below, and I'll desire Tibby to bring a
few."

"Will you take a little soup, love?" asked Douglas. His lady assented;
and Miss Nicky vanished, but quickly re-entered, followed by Tibby,
carrying a huge bowl of coarse broth, swimming with leeks, greens, and
grease. Lady Juliana attempted to taste it; but her delicate palate
revolted at the homely fare; and she gave up the attempt, in spite of
Miss Nicky's earnest entreaties to take a few more of these excellent
family broth.

"I should think," said Henry, as he vainly attempted to stir it round,
"that a little wine would be more to the purpose than this stuff."

The aunts looked at each other; and, withdrawing to a corner, a
whispering consultation took place, in which Lady Maclaughlan's opinion,
"birch, balm, currant, heating, cooling, running risks," etc. etc.,
transpired. At length the question was carried; and some tolerable
sherry and a piece of very substantial _shortbread _were produced.

It was now voted by Miss Jacky, and carried _nem. con._ that her Ladyship
ought to take a little repose till the hour of dinner.

"And don't trouble to dress," continued the considerate aunt, "for we
are not very dressy here; and we are to be quite a charming family
party, nobody but ourselves; and," turning to her nephew, "your brother
and his wife. She is a most superior woman, though she has rather too
many of her English prejudices yet to be all we could wish; but I have
no doubt, when she has lived a little longer amongst us, she will just
become one of ourselves."

"I forget who she was," said Douglas.

"A grand-daughter of Sir Duncan Malcolm's, a very old family of the
--------- blood, and nearly allied to the present Earl. And here they
come," exclaimed she, on hearing the sound of a carriage; and all rushed
out to receive them.

"Let us have a glimpse of this scion from a noble stock," said Lady
Juliana, mimicking the accent of the poor spinsters, as she rose and ran
to the window.

"Good heavens, Henry! do come and behold this equipage;" and she
laughed with childish glee as she pointed to a plain, old-fashioned
whisky, with a large top. A tall handsome young man now alighted, and
lifted out a female figure, so enveloped in a cloak that eyes less
penetrating than Lady Juliana's could not, at a single glance, have
discovered her to be a "frightful quiz."

"Only conceive the effect of this dashing equipage in Bond Street!"
continued she, redoubling her mirth at the bright idea; then suddenly
stopping, and sighing--

"Ah, my pretty _vis-a-vis!_ I remember the first time I saw you,
Henry, I was in it at a review;" and she sighed still deeper.

"True; I was then aid-de-camp to your handsome lover, the Duke of
L----------."

"Perhaps I might think him handsome now. People's tastes alter according
to circumstances."

"Yours must have undergone a wonderful revolution, if you can find
charms in a hunchback of fifty three."

"He is not a hunchback," returned her Ladyship warmly; "only a little
high shouldered; but at any rate he has the most beautiful place and the
finest house in England."

Douglas saw the storm gathering on the brow of his capricious wife, and
clasping her in his arms, "Are you indeed so changed, my Julia, that you
have forgot the time when you used to declare you would prefer a desert
with your Henry to a throne with another."

"No, certainly, not changed; but--I--I did not very well know then
what a desert was; or, at least, I had formed rather a different idea of
it."

"What was your idea of a desert?" said her husband, laughing. "Do tell
me, love."

"Oh! I had fancied it a beautiful place, full of roses and myrtles, and
smooth green turf, and murmuring rivulets, and, though very retired, not
absolutely out of the world; where one could occasionally see one's
friends, and give _dejeunes et fetes champetres_."

"Well, perhaps the time may come, Juliana, when we may realise your
Elysian deserts; but at present, you know, I am wholly dependent on my
father. I hope to prevail on him to do something for me; and that our
stay here will be short; as, you may be sure, the moment I can, I will
take you hence. I am sensible it is not a situation for you; but for my
sake, dearest Juliana, bear with it for a while, without betraying your
disgust. Will you do this, darling?" and he kissed away the sullen tear
that hung on her cheek.

"You know, love, there's nothing in the world I wouldn't do for you,"
replied she, as she played with her squirrel; "and as you promise our
stay shall be short, if I don't die of the horrors I shall certainly try
to make the agreeable. Oh! my cherub!" flying to her pug, who came
barking into the room "where have you been, and where's my darling
Psyche, and sweet mackaw? Do, Harry, go and see after the darlings."

"I must go and see my brother and his wife first. Will you come, love?"

"Oh, not now; I don't feel equal to the encounter; besides, I must dress.
But what shall I do? Since that vile woman's gone I can't dress myself.
I never did such a thing in my life, and I am sure it's impossible that
I can," almost weeping at the hardships she was doomed to experience in
making her own toilet.

"Shall I be your Abigail?" asked her husband, smiling at the distress;
"me thinks it would be no difficult task to deck my Julia."

"Dear Harry, will you really dress me? Oh! That will be delightful! I
shall die with laughing at your awkwardness;" and her beautiful eyes
sparkled with childish delight at the idea.

"In the meantime," said Douglas, "I'll send someone to unpack your
things; and after I have shook hands with Archie, and been introduced to
my new sister, I shall enter on my office."

"Now do, pray, make haste; for I die to see your great hands tying
strings and sticking pins."

Delighted with her gaiety and good humour, he left her caressing her
favourites; and finding rather a scarcity of female attendance, he
despatched two of his sisters to assist his helpless beauty in her
arrangements.






CHAPTER IV.

And ever against eating cares,
Lap me in soft Lydian airs."

_L'Allegro._

WHEN Douglas returned he found the floor strewed with dresses of every
description, his sisters on their knees before a great trunk they were
busied in unpacking, and his Lady in her wrapper, with her hair about
her ears, still amusing herself with her pets.

"See how good your sisters are," said she, pointing to the poor girls,
whose inflamed faces bore testimony to their labours. "I declare I am
quite sorry to see them take so much trouble," yawning as she leant back
in her chair; "is it not quite shocking, Tommy? 'kissing her squirrel.'"
Oh! pray, Henry, do tell me what I am to put on; for I protest I don't
know. Favolle always used to choose for me; and so did that odious
Martin, for she had an exquisite taste."

"Not so exquisite as your own, I am sure; so for once choose for
yourself," replied the good-humoured husband; "and pray make haste, for
my father waits dinner."

Betwixt scolding, laughing, and blundering, the dress was at length
completed; and Lady Juliana, in all the pomp of dress and pride of
beauty, descended, leaning on her husband's arm.

On entering the drawing-room, which was now in a more comfortable
state, Douglas led her to a lady who was sitting by the fire: and,
placing her hand within that of the stranger, "Juliana, my love," said
he, "this is a sister whom you have not yet seen, a with whom I am sure
you will gladly make acquaintance."

The stranger received her noble sister with graceful ease; and, with a
sweet smile and pleasing accent, expressed herself happy in the
introduction. Lady Juliana was surprised and somewhat disconcerted. She
had arranged her plans, and made up her mind to be _condescending;_ she
had resolved to enchant by her sweetness, dazzle by her brilliancy, and
overpower by her affability. But there was a simple dignity in the air
and address of the lady, before which even high-bred affectation sank
abashed. Before she found a reply to the courteous yet respectful
salutation of her sister-in-law Douglas introduced his brother; and the
old gentleman, impatient at any farther delay, taking Lady Juliana by
the hand, pulled, rather than led her into the dining-room.

Even Lady Juliana contrived to make a meal of the roast mutton and
moorfowl; for the Laird piqued himself on the breed of his sheep, and
his son was to good a sportsman to allow his friends to want for game.

"I think my darling Tommy would relish this grouse very much," observed
Lady Juliana, as she secured the last remaining wing for her favourite."
Bring him here!" turning to the tall, dashing lackey who stood behind
her chair, and whose handsome livery and well-dressed hair formed a
striking contrast to old Donald's tartan jacket and bob-wig.

"Come hither, my sweetest cherubs," extending her arms towards the
charming trio, as they entered, barking, and chattering, and flying to
their mistress. A scene of noise and nonsense ensued.

Douglas remained silent, mortified and provoked at the weakness of his
wife, which not even the silver tones of her voice or the elegance of
her manners could longer conceal from him. But still there was a charm
in her very folly, to the eye of love, which had not yet wholly lost its
power.

After the table was cleared, observing that he was still silent and
abstracted, Lady Juliana turned to her husband, and, laying her hand on
his shoulder, "You are not well, love!" said she, looking up in his
face, and shaking back the redundant ringlets that shaded her own.

"Perfectly so," replied her husband, with a sigh.

"What? Dull? Then I must sing to enliven you."

And, leaning her head on his shoulder, she warbled a verse of the
beautiful little Venetian air, _La Biondina in Gondoletta._ Then
suddenly stopping, and fixing her eyes on Mrs. Douglas, "I beg pardon,
perhaps you don't like music; perhaps my singing's a bore."

"You pay us a bad compliment in saying so," said her sister-in-law,
smiling; "and the only atonement you can make for such an injurious
doubt is to proceed."

"Does anybody sing here?" asked she, without noticing this request. "Do,
somebody, sing me a song."

"Oh! we all sing, and dance too," said one, of the old young ladies;
"and after tea we will show you some of our Scotch steps; but in the
meantime Mrs. Douglas will favour us with her song."

Mrs. Douglas assented good-humouredly, though aware that it would be
rather a nice point to please all parties in the choice of a song. The
Laird reckoned all foreign music--_i.e._ everything that was not
Scotch--an outrage upon his ears; and Mrs. Douglas had too much taste to
murder Scotch songs with her English accent. She therefore compromised
the matter as well as she could by selecting a Highland ditty clothed in
her own native tongue; and sang with much pathos and simplicity the
lamented Leyden's "Fall of Macgregor:"

"In the vale of Glenorehy the night breeze was sighing
O'er the tomb where the ancient Macgregors are lying;
Green are their graves by their soft murmuring river,
But the name of Macgregor has perished for ever.

"On a red stream of light, by his gray mountains glancing,
Soon I beheld a dim spirit advancing;
Slow o'er the heath of the dead was its motion,
Like the shadow of mist o'er the foam of the ocean.

"Like the sound of a stream through the still evening dying,--
Stranger! who treads where Macgregor is lying?
Darest thou to walk, unappall'd and firm-hearted,
'Mid the shadowy steps of the mighty departed?

"See! round thee the caves of the dead are disclosing
The shades that have long been in silence reposing;
Thro' their forms dimly twinkles the moon-beam descending,
As upon thee their red eyes of wrath they are bending.

"Our gray stones of fame though the heath-blossom cover,
Round the fields of our battles our spirits still hover;
Where we oft saw the streams running red from the mountains;
But dark are our forms by our blue native fountains.

"For our fame melts away like the foam of the river,
Like the last yellow leaves on the oak-boughs that shiver:
The name is unknown of our fathers so gallant;
And our blood beats no more in the breasts of the valiant.

"The hunter of red deer now ceases to number
The lonely gray stones on the field of our slumber.--
Fly, stranger! and let not thine eye be reverted.
Why should'st thou see that our fame is departed?"

"Pray, do you play on the harp," asked the volatile lady, scarcely
waiting till the first stanza was ended; "and, _apropos,_ have you a
good harp here?"

"We've a very sweet spinnet," said Miss Jacky, "which, in my opinion, is
a far superior instrument: and Bella will give us a tune upon it. Bella,
my dear, let Lady Juliana hear how well you can play."

Bella, blushing like a peony rose, retired to a corner of the room,
where stood the spinnet; and with great, heavy, trembling hands, began
to belabour the unfortunate instrument, while the aunts beat time, and
encouraged her to proceed with exclamations of admiration and applause.

"You have done very well, Bella," said Mrs. Douglas, seeing her
preparing to _execute_ another piece, and pitying the poor girl, as well
as her auditors. Then whispering Miss Jacky that Lady Juliana looked
fatigued, they arose to quit the room.

"Give me your arm, love, to the drawing-room," said her Ladyship
languidly. "And now, pray, don't be long away," continued she, as he
placed her on the sofa, and returned to the gentlemen.






CHAPTER V.

"You have displaced the mirth, broke the good meeting,
With most admired disorder."

_Macbeth._

THE interval, which seemed of endless duration to the hapless Lady
Juliana, was passed by the aunts in giving sage counsel as to the course
of life to be pursued by married ladies. Worsted stockings and quilted
petticoats were insisted upon as indispensable articles of dress; while
it was plainly insinuated that it was utterly impossible any child could
be healthy whose mother had not confined her wishes to barley broth and
oatmeal porridge.

"Only look at thae young lambs," said Miss Grizzy, pointing to the five
great girls; "see what pickters of health they are! I'm sure I hope, my
dear niece, your children will be just the same--only boys, for we are
sadly in want of boys. It's melancholy to think we have not a boy among
us, and that a fine auntient race like ours should be dying away for
want of male heirs." And the tears streamed down the cheeks of the good
spinster as she spoke.

The entrance of the gentlemen put a stop to the conversation.

Flying to her husband, Lady Juliana began to whisper, in very audible
tones, her inquires, whether he had yet got any money--when they were to
go away, etc. etc.

"Does your Ladyship choose any tea?" asked Miss Nicky, as she
disseminated the little cups of coarse black liquid.

"Tea! oh no, I never drink tea. I'll take some coffee though; and Psyche
doats on a dish of tea." And she tendered the beverage that had been
intended for herself to her favourite.

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