[The Country Landscape near Lord Ardville's House and Park. The Strange Man appears at a distance. Enter Davis & Dawson.]
Davis.
There he is! There!—Now if you'll
do me this little piece of service—
Dawson.
To be sure I will; for though it
goes against me to say it of myself, you may walk from one end of England to
t'other before you'll find a man that will go beyond me for doing a good turn.
Davis.
Well, then, as Mrs. Innis sets such
store by fortune-telling that she'll hardly look at me now she's heard of this
young Gentleman if you'll only get the fellow to make out it was I all the time
he meant—
Dawson.
You?—what, for the young Gentleman,
He! He!
Davis.
No, no, I don't say that—but only
that he—that is, that he did not mean any body! That's all. So then he must
begin all over again—so then he may make it appear—you see—that she has
no real, true sweetheart—but me.
Dawson.
And do you think that in your conscience
Mr. Davis?
Davis.
Think it? I know it.
Dawson.
What? never another?
Davis.
Never another worth having.
Dawson.
How I hate to hear a man brag of
himself so! I could not talk at such a rate for all the World; though I am just
as certain as that I stand here, that there is not a person living would make
her so good a husband as I should. [aside.]
Davis.
I think I see her in that next field.
I'll go and keep her off, till you can give the Conjuror his cue; and then,
you shall march one way, & I another, and when she comes home, we shall
see how the spell has worked.
Dawson.
I'll call him directly.
Davis.
And mind! you must not name me;
for that i'n't the way; you must only teach him to let her make me out by description,
saying that I am so,—& so,—& so,—& such like; & what's
most natural for her to guess me by. Now—don't set me off to a disadvantage,
Mr. Dawson!
Dawson.
I should scorn it. I'll say every
thing that's genteelest.
Davis.
You'll make me out cleverly, then,
will you? like a friend?
Dawson.
I'll say nothing but what's handsome.
Davis.
I depend upon you. [Exit.]
Dawson.
Now that such an old Goose
as that can think of such a young Chick as Mrs. Innis! Such a conceit of himself
is what I can't forgive. To be sure I am not a school boy myself—but
then, I dress in such a style—& have such a smartness, & all
that, about me—that if Mrs. Innis does not give me the preference, she
must put her eyes in her pocket. However, it's not a bad thought about the
Fortune-teller. I'll make him lend me a hand. He may be of some use to me;
but as to poor Davis, it could answer no end, for she'll never think of such
a common man as that. Here! You sir!
[Enter the Strange Man.]
How came you to talk to that young woman at our house about young Gentlemen?
Strange Man.
Please your honour, it's what they
all likes to hear.
Dawson.
Well she's coming this way now;
so, do you see, stop her, & tell her, 'twas all a mistake. Tell her it's
a Gentleman much more comely & likely than those that are younger, and one
that's very agreeable, & affable, & clever, &—do you hear?—look!
one that dresses very handsome, & wears powder in his hair—she'll be sure
that i'n't old Davis! [aside.] And knows how to take snuff—do you
see?—and to poke his hands into his bosom—do you mind?—or to stuff them
into his pockets,—do you take me?
Strange Man.
Ay, ay, I takes your honour, I warrants
me. I'll mark you out as like as two pots of ale one to t'other.
Dawson.
Will you? there, then. [Gives him money.] You are
sure you take notice? The height?—the air?—the features?—the Coat?—
& all that?—[turning about.]
Strange Man.
Ay, ay, I sees well enough.
Dawson.
I believe this is the very first
time in my life I ever spoke a good word for myself; but a low fellow, like
that, could not know how to describe any thing of a Gentleman of his own accord
—& if ever there was one that was not born one,—I must needs say I think
I am he! [Exit.]
Strange Man.
Does a b'lieve I'll sarve un, a'ter drubbing me out of the house so this morning?
A may go to old Nick first. Ecod, now I've touch'd the ready, (41)
I'll have a bit of fun of my own.
[Enter Innis.]
Innis.
O, there's the fortune-teller. Now
I'll try to get out of him who the young Gentleman is; for that it's either
Mr. Mordaunt or Mr. Valentine, is quite plain—unless, indeed, it's Sir Archy
Fineer. [taking out her purse.] I must cross his hand, (42)
as they call it, first, I suppose.
[Enter Davis.]
Davis.
I can stand safe enough behind these
trees, & watch how she looks, when she discovers, by what's said that it's
only her own old Davis all the time. [places himself behind a group of trees.]
[Enter Dawson.]
Dawson.
I can't persuade myself
to go away, till I know if the fortune-teller will speak handsomely enough
to let her find out it's me. I sha'n't be observed by the side of this hedge.
[places himself on the opposite side.]
Innis.
Mr. Fortune-teller! should you like
to see another little bit of silver?
Stange Man.
Mayhap I mought.
Innis.
There, then. Now tell me something
of this young Gentleman that's to come after me.
Dawson. [aside.]
Now for it!
Davis. [aside.]
What will he begin with, I wonder!
Innis.
Pray... What is his name?
Strange Man.
What his father's was afore un.
Dawson. [aside.]
Right! right! I'm glad he don't
name names.
Davis. [aside.]
Very well, that! a good come off.
Innis.
Pho, pho,—if you won't tell me
his name, then, tell me his nature. Describe him by signs, and let me find him
out.
Dawson. [aside.]
Now let's hear!
Davis. [aside.]
I hope Mr. Dawson's tutored him
to make me out cleverly.
Innis.
In
the first place, what kind of a head piece (43) has he? Is he sensible?
Strange Man.
Ay.—a wont munch dry bread—when
a can get meat to it.
Dawson. [aside.]
Is that all?
Davis. [aside.]
That's a cold compliment!
Innis.
Is he a brave fellow? has he courage?
Strange Man.
Why yes,—a won't take a pull o'
the nose—without making a wry Face.
Dawson. [aside.]
What does he mean by that?
Davis. [aside.]
I don't see much good this will
do me.
Innis.
Is he agreeable?
Strange Man.
A be:—a never gives a cross word
—to himself.
Dawson. [aside.]
I can't make out what he's after!
Davis. [aside.]
I don't over-much relish this!
Innis.
Well, and what sort of a Face has
he?
Strange Man.
A
pure cheap one.
Innis.
A
cheap one?
Strange Man.
Ay; one that will hide dirt, and
save soap; pretty nigh black of itself.
Dawson. [aside.]
D-l take the fellow, he can't have
looked at me.
Davis. [aside.]
Black? Why I was never thought blacker
than my neighbours!
Innis.
And what are his Eyes?
Strange Man.
Very loving ones.
Innis.
Loving ones?
Strange Man.
Ay; they like hugely to star (44)
one at t'other.
Innis.
Why—what—does he squint?
Strange Man.
Belike a does.
Dawson. [aside.]
Squint! what a scoundrel!
Davis. [aside.]
Squint! Well, I never knew it before!
Innis.
And what kind of a nose has he?
Strange Man.
The true Pug.
Innis.
Why he's a nasty fright, then?
Dawson. [aside.]
A pug nose! what a rasca!l If I
don't believe I've as handsome a nose as ever a man in England!
Davis. [aside.]
My nose a pug? I believe he would
be glad to have as good a one! where did he get that into his head?
Innis.
And how does he dress?
Dawson. [aside.]
Now, then, now!
Strange Man.
Very vartuosly.
Innis.
Virtuously? How so?
Strange Man.
Icod, in what not a Christian beside
would touch with a pair of tongs.
Dawson. [aside.]
This is the top of all!—If I don't
drub him!—
Davis. [aside.]
This is no better than downright
back-biting.
Innis.
You give me such a bad account,
that I'll ask but one more question; what kind of figure has he?
Strange Man.
Squat.
Innis.
Why then it can neither be Mr. Mordaunt,
nor Mr. Valentine, nor Sir Archy Fineer neither!
Dawson. [aside.]
Squat? I can bear it no longer.
I question if, in the king's whole dominions, there's a properer figure!
Davis [aside.].
Squat? I can't keep my place!—
How a friend could give such a picture of me—
[They come softly from their hiding places, till both stop at the same moment, & seize an arm of the Strange Man.]
Dawson.
You're a cheat and a rogue!
Davis.
Who put you upon saying I had a
pug nose?
Dawson.
What do you mean by calling me squat?
—and saying I squint?
Davis.
You? What have you to do with it?
Strange Man.
Sauce for a Goose, is sauce for
a Gander, your Honours. But it was only a bit of a joke.
Innis.
O lud! has it all been a joke? And
will the young Gentleman come all one?
Strange Man.
Ay, ay.—If a don't let it alone!
(45) [aside.]
Davis [quitting the Strange
Man, & going to the side of Innis.].
But I hope, Mrs. Innis,—
Dawson [quitting him also, &
going to her other side.].
But I think, Mrs. Innis—
Innis.
Don't hope, Mr. Davis—except that
my good luck may prove true!—And don't think, Mr. Dawson—except of how glad
it ought to make you: & then, if you are good old men, & the young Gentleman
appears,—perhaps I may let you both stand behind my chair at my wedding dinner.
[Exit.]
Davis.
Well, Mr. Dawson, I am much obliged
to you, however, for saying every thing so handsome of me!
Dawson.
The fellow did not utter a word
I bid him.
Davis.
Yes, yes, it was all of the genteelest
sort!
Dawson.
Come hither, fellow, and let me
get you tossed in a blanket this moment.
Strange Man.
I wonder you don't! [walks sturdily
off.]
Dawson.
That rogue is no more of a fortune-teller
than I am. He has none of the manner of it.
Davis.
I'll go after Mrs. Innis, &
tell her about the Ghost; if anything will bring her round, 'twill be the fright
of that. This fellow has set her up so on high, that I sha'n't, else, get a
kind word from her these six Years—at least, not this day or two. [Exit.]
Dawson.
Now I can't follow him, to make my own part good with her, for fear of my
lord's wanting me. 'Tis the plague of my life, that all the rest of the servants
are such a parcel of blockheads; for though 'tis always my nature to under-value
myself, I must be stark blind not to see that I am the only person in the
whole house who can be called really clever. [Exit.]
Scene 2
[A dressing Room. Mordaunt walking up & down. Enter Miss Exbury.]
Miss Exbury.
O Brother Mordaunt!
Mordaunt.
What?
Miss Exbury.
How cruel is all this!
Mordaunt.
Is any thing the matter?
Miss Exbury.
The matter? Good Heaven! are we
not all undone?
Mordaunt.
What, you think the country rather amusing? (46)
Miss Exbury.
O Brother! is this all the apology
you make for bringing us to such a miserable place?
Mordaunt.
Why what does it signify?
Miss Exbury.
What signify? To vegetate in this
pitiful hovel? to have no better drawing room than this half furnished old chamber?
Not to know how to put any thing on—
Mordaunt.
Nobody'll see you.
Miss Exbury.
And do you think that a consolation?
To be shut up from all amusements? not to know what any body does? not to see
what any body wears? never to meet with any of ones friends—
Mordaunt.
You'll miss very few people.
Miss Exbury.
You are always so easy about ones
misfortunes! Do you know where Valentine is? My Father has seemed more unhappy
at his so abruptly forsaking us than at all the rest.
Mordaunt.
Why what does he want with him?
Miss Exbury.
I believe he depended upon him for
every thing. I am sadly afraid, Brother Mordaunt, he means to speak to you a
little severely.
Mordaunt.
I think that likely enough.
Miss Exbury.
But how will your philosophy sustain
hearing that Hilaria, at last, has consented to become Lady Ardville?
Mordaunt.
Lady Ardville? That's rather awkward,
faith.
Miss Exbury.
Awkward? Is that all you have to
say to such shocking intelligence? Why, if our expectations are over from my
uncle, who'll think of us any more? We shall be entirely forgotten. Besides,
how foolish it will make us look!
Mordaunt.
Not a soul will observe us.
Miss Exbury.
Only conceive her going about every where, in jewels & nabob muslins,
(47) while I may be making
pastry in a yard wide cotton, and you & Valentine be clipping Hedges in
Carter's frocks! (48)
Mordaunt.
I sha'n't give my direction to a
creature.
Miss Exbury.
La, Brother, if nobody see you,
you care for nothing.
Mordaunt.
Why what is there to care for?
Miss Exbury.
Well, I wonder, at least; you don't
care about your own waistcoat, for I never saw you in such an ugly thing before.
Mordaunt [starting].
Ugly? What, my waistcoat?
Miss Exbury.
And Sir Archy Fineer had on the
most beautiful one in the World.
Mordaunt [eagerly].
Had he? Do you know who's make it
is?
Miss Exbury.
Did not you remark it?
Mordaunt.
He had not taken off his great coat
when I saw him. But—what sort of cut?
Miss Exbury.
I'm sure I don't know, but 'twas
amazingly pretty; & yours—pardon me,—is the greatest fright I ever beheld.
I dare say Sir Archy would not be seen in it for a thousand pounds.
Mordaunt.
Do you think so? I'll throw it to
the dogs directly [walks up & down, disturbed, looking at his waistcoat.].
Miss Exbury [to herself].
Now how my Uncle can be so cruel
—when my heart is so deeply engaged—as not to let me know, all this time,
what Sir Archy has said about the settlement, & about the pin money!
[Enter Innis.]
Innis.
I beg pardon—I thought my young
lady was with you, ma'am. Now if it's Mr. Mordaunt, I'll watch well, and find
him out. [aside.]
Miss Exbury.
No, Mrs. Innis. But what is the
matter? You look fluttered.
Innis.
Any body would be fluttered, I believe,
ma'am!—I only just went out a little way, at my young lady's desire, to see
if there were any pretty walks near the House, and, just as I came back, I was
joined by Mr. Davis, and he says—he says—
Miss Exbury.
What does he say?
Innis.
Don't be frightened, ma'am!—
Miss Exbury.
At what?
Innis.
Why he says—but, now, pray don't
mind it!
Miss Exbury.
Do tell what you mean?
Innis.
Why he says, ma'am—that we're
all come to a haunted house!
Miss Exbury.
How ridiculous!
Mordaunt.
So you don't think Sir Archy would
wear this waistcoat?
Miss Exbury.
Now I protest you dwell more upon
that foolish waistcoat, than upon bringing us all into this barbarous disgrace!
But pray, Mrs. Innis, have you heard the news about your young lady?
Innis [simpering].
Y..e..s, ma'am—Mr. Davis was told
it by Sir Archy himself, as he went away; so we had just a little chat about
it, together. No, I don't think it's Mr. Mordaunt. He has not a bit the look
of a lover. I dare say it's Mr. Valentine. [aside. Exit.]
[Mordaunt walks apart.]
Miss Exbury [to herself].
The settlement can't be very bad,
I think. Let's see; he has four thousand a year; & he'll have two thousand
more when his mother dies—& she is very sickly. And if his sister does
not marry, there's ten thousand to return to him at her death—& she looks
very consumptive. And if his younger Brother should die without Children, there's
another five thousand—& he was in a very bad way last spring. O, it will
certainly do! I feel my regard for him encrease every moment.—Besides, his
uncle is so rich—& so fond of him—& every body thinks him in a decline
—
[Enter Davis.]
Davis [to Mordaunt].
My lord desires, sir,—
Miss Exbury.
O Davis, do tell us something of
all this quantity of news. What is it Sir Archy said to you? And what is this
story about a Ghost? And does my Father know any thing yet of Valentine?
Davis.
I am no great believer in Ghost
stories myself, ma'am; but I was told, by the servants at Lord Ardville's, that
no less than seventy or eighty had been seen about this House & the grounds,
six of which once appeared to old Mr. Litchburn—at least, one did.
Miss Exbury.
How disagreable!
Mordaunt.
Why you're not so simple as to believe
it?
Miss Exbury.
O dear, no!—And... what did Sir
Archy say?
Davis.
That he was just (49) going to fetch
my lord Ardville to his intended Bride Miss Dalton.
Miss Exbury.
And does my Father know this new
misfortune?
Davis.
Yes, madam; I thought it my duty
to tell my lord immediately.
Mordaunt.
An awkward business enough, that.
Davis.
He was surprised, &, certainly,
a good deal concerned; but lauk! you might have taken him for a Merry Andrew,
—or a Punch, (50) in comparison to what he was about t'other thing.
Miss Exbury.
What other thing, Davis?
Davis.
Mr. Valentine's going so sudenly
to London.
Miss Exbury.
To London?
Davis.
We found, at last, he had left word
with Mr. Dawson, that he should tell my lord he was sorry he could not attend
him, but he was obliged to go to town.
Miss Exbury.
And without even taking leave! O
fie, Valentine!
Mordaunt.
What's the use of taking leave?
Davis.
I never saw my poor lord so much
hurt before. I thought I heard his heart-strings crack as I looked at him. And
his face turned all blue that is, a sort of a blue green. But he has ordered
me, sir, to request you would not be out of the way, for he wishes to speak
with you, as soon as he has settled some business he has now at hand. (51)
Mordaunt.
So I expected.
Davis.
Unless you prefer its being to-morrow
morning.
Mordaunt.
O yes; by all means I prefer to-morrow
morning.
Miss Exbury.
Are you not frightened, Brother?
Mordaunt.
About the ghost?
Miss Exbury.
No; about this interview with my
Father?
Mordaunt.
What should I be frightened at?
Do you think he will whip me?
Miss Exbury.
I do, indeed! though not with a
rod of birch!
Mordaunt.
Well, give me a call, Davis, when
he is ready, lest I should forget it, & be out of the way.
Davis.
Yes, sir. And I'd give
a good five hundred pounds to prove you were not my dear lord's son- a month's
wages, at least. [aside. Exit.]
Miss Exbury.
Forget it? would that be possible,
when you know what dreadful things he must have to say to you?
Mordaunt.
Nobody'll hear them.
Miss Exbury.
O Brother!—But what can I put
on, now, if Sir Archy comes to night? I have nothing ready.
Mordaunt.
Keep your chamber, then. [yawning.]
[Enter Innis.]
Innis.
O ma'am!—my young lady's walked
out—and I have such a thing to tell her!
Miss Exbury.
What? what? Mrs. Innis?
Mordaunt.
Ay, how many more Ghosts have you
conjured up?
Innis.
O Sir, don't joke! for it's all
true! I have just heard all the whole particulars.
Miss Exbury.
What nonsence!
Innis.
I'm sure, ma'am, I wish it were
nonsence with all my heart,—but it's a lady, ma'am!
Mordaunt.
A lady? O, then, nonsence, certainly,
is out of the question!
Innis.
Yes, sir, a lady, that died in the
very house we are now in!
Miss Exbury.
How shocking!
Mordaunt.
What, you imagined people in this
house lived for ever, did you?
Innis.
And she's been seen walking in the
very same cloaths she wore alive!
Miss Exbury.
How horrid!
Mordaunt.
You think, perhaps, she ought to
have set you some new Fashion?
Innis.
And there's been such a screeching
heard since, between whiles, through the key-holes—
Mordaunt.
Every time the wind blew, I suppose?
But you look pale sister? I really suspect you are afraid?
Miss Exbury.
I?—no;—I should like to see
a Ghost of all things. I only wish Sir Archy would call, for this is just a
story to divert him.
Innis.
I'm sure, ma'am, I'm glad you don't
mind it, for nobody so much as passes by the door, now, but o' tip toe.
Miss Exbury.
What door, Mrs. Innis?
Innis.
Why that door, ma'am—There!—
Miss Exbury.
What do you mean? That's my apartment.
Innis.
It's the Ghost's room, ma'am! [whispering.]
Miss Exbury.
The Ghost's room?
Innis.
Yes, ma'am, it's there the Ghost
appears.
Miss Exbury.
How absurd! And where have you heard
all this?
Innis.
Mr. Dawson, ma'am, came over just
now from Lord Ardville's & he told it all himself, for he knows it from
old Mr. Litchburn.
Miss Exbury.
How silly! Send me the house keeper,
however. I'll desire her to put a stop to such rumours.
Innis.
She's been gone this hour &
more, ma'am; for when she found we were crowded so bad, she gave us out all
the things she had in her care, and went away, before any of us knew of the
house being haunted, except Mr. Davis; and he was unpacking for my lord till
after she was gone.
Miss Exbury.
I hope you don't suppose I care
about this idle tale, Brother Mordaunt,—but yet—I think—I was thinking
—suppose you were to occupy that room,—& so let me have yours?—Will
you, Brother?
Mordaunt.
What, you are afraid of being taken
for the Ghost yourself, are you? Well, let's see what condition it's in.
Innis.
O lud, sir! You won't go there alone?
Mordaunt.
Why not? What would you have me
fear? A puff of wind? Or the flutter of a moth? Or a fly caught in some old
cobweb? [goes in.]
Miss Exbury.
Mrs. Innis, come hither! [whispers] Don't think me frightened, for all this only makes me laugh—but I shall find some other room to sleep in; only take no notice of it;—& fetch out all my things yourself, unknown to any body.
Innis.
I? good lud, ma'am, how can you
think to ask me such a thing?
Miss Exbury [peeping through
the door].
Well, Brother?
Mordaunt [re-entering].
No; it's worse accoutred
than my own. It won't do for me.
Miss Exbury.
O, it does not matter.
Mordaunt.
But, pray, what's that closet locked
for?
Innis.
O sir, I hope you did not meddle
with that closet?
Mordaunt.
Why? Is it bewitched?
Innis.
It's there the Ghost is, Sir!
Mordaunt.
Let's have a look at it, then.
Innis.
O no, sir! stop! stop!—When the
housekeeper agreed with Mr. Davis about the house, she said he could not have
the use of that closet on account of something particular. She owned to that
herself! but Mr. Davis, knowing nothing, then, about the Ghost, asked no questions.
And now, she has taken the key away with her.
Mordaunt.
Well, then, Mrs. Innis, since the
Ghost is locked up, you've nothing to fear.
Innis.
La, sir, a Ghost is not like to
such a person as I!
Mordaunt.
That I'll be sworn!
Innis.
I never heard to the contrary but
what it could come as well through a key-hole as through an open door.
Mordaunt.
I wish Lord Ardville would have
lent me a Horse. I don't know how to get on with the afternoon.
Miss Exbury.
O, if you were to ride out, Brother,
I dare say you would meet with thousands of your acquaintance—all so curious
& inquisitive!
Mordaunt.
My acquaintances? O the d—l—I
won't be seen by a soul.—What shall I do?—Can't you help me, Mrs. Innis?
Have you found out nothing in these parts good for the spleen? No Wake? no Pig-race?
(52) no fortune telling? no—
Innis.
Fortune telling?—O yes, sir! There's
a fortune-teller who keeps walking all about so, one can't stir but one meets
him.
Mordaunt.
Is there so? I think I'll try what
that will do for me.
Miss Exbury.
Sure, Brother, you won't go out,
now Papa may want to speak to you.
Mordaunt.
O, ay, true! I did not recollect
that. I'll take a nap, I think, then. [Exit.]
Innis [to herself].
No, no; it's not Mr. Mordaunt. A
snow ball, or a lump of Ice, is just as like a lover as he is. It must be Mr.
Valentine. That's sure.
Miss Exbury.
Come, Mrs. Innis, quick!—help
out my things.
Innis.
Lud, ma'am!
Miss Exbury.
Make haste! make haste!
Innis.
Why then, ma'am, will you go in
first?—
Miss Exbury.
Pho, pho—how can you be so silly?
Innis.
And just give a little peep through
the key-hole of that closet, to see if you can see any thing?
Miss Exbury.
I? No, indeed!—I don't like to
take so much trouble.
Innis [looking in].
Dear ma'am—I do think I hear something
moving!
Miss Exbury.
Where?—where?—
Innis.
In that corner—yonder—Do pray,
ma'am, step & see if it's any thing.
Miss Exbury.
Not I, indeed! I have no such silly
curiosity. [retreating.] Go in, Mrs. Innis.
Innis.
O dear ma'am, what alone?
Miss Exbury.
Why you'll soon be back, you know.
Innis.
O dear, I could not for never so
much!
Miss Exbury.
Pho, pho; I'm close behind you—
go in, I say.
Innis.
O dear me!—[peeping in] Ah!
Miss Exbury.
What's the matter?—Do you hear
any thing?
Innis.
I thought I did, I'm sure!—such
an odd sort of rustling!—something just like I don't know what!
Miss Exbury.
Nonsence! Come, let's go in, and
bring away the things together.
[They go in. A loud screaming is heard from the inner Room. Re-enter Miss Exbury, running, & holding up her hands.]
How frightful! How horrid! [Exit.]
[Re-enter Innis, who stumbles in passing the door.]
Innis.
O ma'am!—O stay, stay for me!
—The Ghost is at my heels!
A Voice Within.
Innis!
Innis.
O, it knows me!—O mercy!—[kneels.]
Voice Within.
Innis!
Innis.
O! it calls me!—I'm dead! [falls
on her Face.]
[Enter Valentine, softly.]
Valentine.
What is all this? Why do you lie
there?
Innis.
No offence, I hope!—I dare not
lift up my head!—no offence, I hope!
Valentine.
Offence? I am all amazement!
Innis [fearfully looking up].
La! if it is not just like to the
shade of Mr. Valentine!
Valentine.
The shade?
Innis.
Lud! it's the very sound of his
voice!
Valentine.
The sound? What do you mean?
Innis.
Good la! in his very cloaths!
Valentine.
In my very cloaths?—would you
have me in yours?
Innis.
I can't believe my eyes! A'n't you
the Ghost, then, sir?
Valentine.
A Ghost?—No, I thank you!
Innis [rising].
What! are you the right real Mr.
Valentine all this time? How glad I am! I thought as much as could be you were
the Ghost!
Valentine.
My dear Innis! what folly is this?
Innis.
Folly, sir? why then what did you
come out of that Ghost's place for?
Valentine.
Ghost's place?—Are you crazy?
Innis.
I'm sure, sir, I don't know what
I am: and your sister is worse.—Perhaps he has only hid himself here on purpose
to speak to me! I'm all in a quake! [aside.]
Davis [without].
Mrs. Innis!
Innis.
Hark!—somebody calls!—If that
should be the right Ghost!
Davis [without].
Innis! Mrs. Innis!
Innis.
No; it's only Mr. Davis.
Valentine [fastening the door].
No one must enter.
Innis.
La, Sir, what do you mean? Don't
fright me!—O yes! it's Mr. Valentine! it's Mr. Valentine! [aside.]
Valentine.
Move softly. No one must know I
am here.
Innis.
La, Sir, don't lock me in with only
you & the Ghost!—Yes! he's going to speak! [aside.]
Davis [without].
Mrs. Innis! can't you slip out?
Innis.
Yes, Mr. Davis, only—
Valentine.
Don't answer! don't utter a word!
stay till I am concealed.
Davis [without].
Mrs. Innis, I say!—The Door is
fastened!
Valentine [in a hurried manner].
My
dear Innis, the most urgent necessity impels my present conduct. It must not
be known I am here. I intended only to speak to my sister;—but my enquiries
can be answered by yourself. [A great clamour at the door, and call of
Mrs. Innis, Mrs. Innis.] Get rid of these people as quickly as possible,
without any explanation; and then let me see you one minute alone; and if
you would ensure me your firm, unalterable friend for life—utter not my
name! I shall be bound to you for-ever! [puts a purse into her hand, &
glides into the inner room.]
Innis.
I am all in such a twitter, I might
be knocked down with a feather!—Bound to me for-ever! Yes! it's Mr. Valentine
is the man! How those fortune-telling people do know every thing! But I won't
let Mr. Davis into the secret, till I am sure he means honourable. What a generous
Gentleman he is! A firm friend's a very good thing indeed! [looking at her
purse, & putting it up. A clamour again at the door. She opens it. ]
[Enter Davis.]
Davis [stopping at the door].
My
dear Mrs. Innis!—what has been the matter? I am in such a sweat!—You know
I don't believe in Ghosts—but if this lady really walks—Are you quite
sure you are alone?—[looking cautiously round as he advances.]
Innis.
I don't know what I am, indeed,
Mr. Davis.
Davis [in a low voice].
Have
you seen any thing?
Innis.
Yes, I have Mr. Davis!
Davis.
Good lauk! then it's true!—And
pray—is it vanished away?—or do you see something now, invisible?
Innis.
I must not tell, Mr. Davis!
Davis.
What a thing that ever I should
have taken such a house as this! But I never supposed it was for ourselves.
The Groom, & both the new maids came up with me, to try to get you out;
but they jumped so, as soon as the door began opening, that they all tumbled
down stairs. We were sure there was a voice!
Innis.
That there was, indeed, Mr. Davis!
Davis.
Good lauk!—This is come upon me
as a judgement, for my scoffing at poor Mr. Litchburn so for his fears!—which
I will never do any more;—no, not if I should catch him again, as I did this
morning, bowing to Lord Ardville's shadow, for fear the substance should turn
round, and see him standing up, like a Man!—Miss Exbury is so frightened!
She wanted my lord to come; but he said he must not be disturbed till he had
finished his Letters. She asked Mr. Mordaunt, too; but he said he was sleepy,
and must take his nap first: and your young lady, Miss Dalton, is not returned
from her walk yet.
Innis.
You must not stay, Mr. Davis!
Davis.
Why not?
Innis.
I can't tell! [Shaking her head.]
Davis.
But why?
Innis.
Because I don't know, Mr. Davis!
But you must not stay!
Davis.
Surely you are not bound over to
secrecy?
Innis.
Yes, I am, Mr. Davis.
Davis.
That's surprising indeed!—But
how came you to fasten the door?
Innis.
It was not I fastened the door,
Mr. Davis!
Davis.
Good lauk! why—did the Ghost lock
you up with it?
Innis.
You must not ask, Mr. Davis!
Davis.
Why you won't stay to be all alone
with it again?—Why do you shake your head?—Do you motion me away?—What
do you put your finger on your lips for?—Must not you speak?—Good lauk!
—Tell me, at least, you don't think any more about what the Fortune-teller
said of a young Gentleman?
Innis [hiding a laugh].
N... o, not much!—but if you don't
make haste, Mr. Davis—presently you'll see something appear!
Davis.
O lord! [hurries out.]
Innis.
I never thought to have so much
courage, I'm sure. But Mr. Valentine's such a generous Gentleman—one would
do any thing for a firm friend!—[calls softly at the door.] Mr. Valentine!
—Not think of the Fortune-teller? O to be sure! why I think of nothing else.
[Enter Valentine.]
Valentine.
You oblige me for-ever, my dear
Innis. I will not detain you two minutes. I have only to ask—I have only a
small enquiry—a single word—
Innis.
It's all coming out now! [aside.]
Valentine.
In the haste with which I quitted
my uncle's house this morning, I left some papers behind me of so much consequence,
that I was forced to ride ten miles back for them: and, upon re-entering the
hall, I heard—I was told—Dawson said—that your young lady—that my Uncle
Ardville—but I can never, never believe it!—
Innis.
Poor Gentleman! he has been crossed
in his first love-but he sha'n't be in his second! I was afraid it would vex
you, sir. [aside.]
Valentine.
How?—Is it true?—Perdition!
—
Innis.
Sir!
Valentine.
May all that is most horrible—
Innis.
You fright me, sir!
Valentine.
Do I?—I frighten myself!—but
I have been surprised—I have no right, however—yet, in such an exquisite
machine, can a mercenary Soul be lodged? Can sordid depravity lurk in such a
guise?—Innis, is it not possible there may yet be some mistake?
Innis.
I am afraid there is, sir!—I'm
sure I can't tell what to think, between one thing & t'other!
Valentine.
I perplex you—but no more.—Yet,
you can be no stranger—
Innis.
So it i'n't him, at last!—But
it don't signify, for I dare say it's Sir Archy Fineer [aside.]—Why
no, sir, we're none of us no great strangers to your liking to my young lady.
Valentine.
I have been a fool—and my folly
meets its merited reward. Mrs. Innis, good evening to you. You will not mention
—but that I cannot expect—I send, however, no felicitations,—I am not so
false!—It were profanation to congratulate her upon (53) such nuptials!
Innis.
Pray, sir, don't speak so loud,
for fear they'll come to see if the Ghost's doing me a mischief!
Valentine.
Ghost?—I talk wildly, indeed—
But you'll excuse me. Good Evening.
Innis.
Stay, sir, one bit of a minute,
and just let me ask if you're sure you locked the door of the closet when you
come out of it?
Valentine.
What closet?
Innis.
The Ghost's closet, sir.
Valentine.
What absurdity is this! I came out
of no closet.
Innis.
No? what, don't you know nothing
about the Ghost, then?
Valentine.
I came through the Garden, and up
some back stairs, which were shewn me by Mr. Litchburn, whom I knew to have
been a frequent visitor of the former inhabitants of this House.
Innis.
Good la! why then you can't tell
what may be in that closet all this time no more than I can?
Valentine.
I conjure you, Innis, that my appearing
here this evening, may not reach the ears of my Father. That is all I require
from you. To every thing else I am wholly indifferent.—O Heartless Hilaria!
—[Exit by the inner door.]
Innis.
'Tis Sir Archy Fineer, as sure as
a Gun!—Poor Mr. Valentine! 'tis none of him. And he's so sorrowful, I could
almost find in my heart to give him back his Purse. And so I will, too, for
I shall have plenty, now, from Sir Archy. Mr. Valentine!—Mr. Valentine !—
[calling softly.]—And yet, he's so unhappy, he won't know how to
spend it. 'Twill be pity to throw it away, without nobody's enjoyment from it.
—I'll run, for he's coming back! [Exit.]
[Re-enter Valentine, cautiously.]
Valentine.
Mrs. Innis!—Mrs. Innis!—Did
you call?—I am sorry she's gone. She will certainly repeat my ravings to Hilaria,
who may suppose me only hurt lest my Uncle, for her sake, should disinherit
us. Intolerable!—I must see her, & explain myself. I will watch for her
here, and take my last farewell. A choice so obviously mercenary renders her
unworthy even of regret. Had I sought to beguile her into poverty for the gratification
of my own passion—she had done well to plead our want of fortune: but no;
competence was ours, if moderation bounded our desires. It is to the vanities,
not the comforts of life that she aspires. She is the slave of Fashion—&
I, a plain, but feeling man, am happy to have escaped her.—Happy, said I?
—O! heartless Hilaria! [Exit, as before.]
[Enter Hilaria.]
Hilaria.
Miss Exbury?—where can she be
gone? I am glad, however, she is not here, that I may enjoy, a little longer,
the delicious calm with which this charming walk has tranquilised my spirits.
That lane was so romantic—those meadows were so beautiful—that pretty simple
Cottage—those interesting children—And is this the retired residence, this
the country life I have so much dreaded? What a fool I have been! I have judged
it by stately dwellings, where luxury satiates the very wishes, and a superfluity
of domestics makes even the use of our limbs unnecessary. But this view of Nature
in its wild variety, this intercourse with Cottagers, this charm of rural Liberty
—I never even dreamt of it, till this my first stroll in paths unknown to equipage.
Heaven keep me from repentance!—I think I hear some sound in that next room
—Miss Exbury! [looking in.]—Heavens!—a man?—Ah!—Valentine!
—I die!—
[Enter Valentine.]
Valentine.
Pardon, madam, this uncalled, unauthorised
intrusion. The fear of misrepresentation—you look alarmed?
Hilaria.
I—I—I—no, I am not—only
—a little astonished.
Valentine.
You tremble? You cannot imagine
I had the presumption to mean to utter a reproach?
Hilaria.
No;—I only imagined—that is,
I thought—that—that—you were returned to town.
Valentine.
I am going, madam, immediately.
Be not impatient of this little minute.
Hilaria.
Did I say I was impatient?—But
I have been so extremely—so inexpressibly—Lord Exbury, I would say, has
been so much surprised at missing you so suddenly—but surprised is no word
—disappointed—afflicted—
Valentine.
My honoured Father!—Ah, Miss Dalton,
deign an instant, all occupied as you are with gayer subjects, & newer views,
to speak to me of my Father!
Hilaria.
Could he help being hurt that you
deserted him?
Valentine.
Deserted him? Heavens! is it so
he interprets my non-appearance ? Does he so completely give me up ? Deem me
an alien to his blood, & undeserving it should flow in my veins?—And you
—have you thought so too?—Tell, tell me!
Hilaria.
I don't know what to tell you! I
can recollect nothing; I hardly know if I am awake!—
Valentine.
How I came hither, which, perhaps,
thus amazes you, Mrs. Innis can relate;—why I came—I had better forget myself!
—some step approaches—I must begone. You will have the goodness to avoid
mentioning that I have been here. Circumstances the most cruel force me from
the sight of my Father, whom I can fly—but never deceive. Adieu, madam,—
adieu! [going.]
Hilaria [gently].
Valentine!
Valentine [returning].
Hilaria!
Davis [from the outer door].
May I make bold to ask if Miss Dalton
be in that room?
Valentine [retreating].
How barbarous!
Hilaria [running to the door].
Fly! I will keep them all without,
till you are safe. [She goes out, pulling the door after her.]
Valentine.
How kind in her cruelty! And is
such a creature made for so base a prostitution of all faith, all sincerity?
ah! she wants thought more than heart! She is plunging into a gulph of which
she sees not the depth. What if I try—though hopeless, alas, for myself!—
to rescue her from such false vows? such worthless ambition? such contemptible
motives of choice? Litchburn can easily let me sleep at his house to night,
and conduct me hither, by that private entrance, to-morrow morning. I will make
the attempt. Yes! ere I see thee consigned to age, to avarice & to regret,
I will probe thee, Hilaria, till I pierce thee to the soul! [Exit through
the inner room.]
[Re-enter Hilaria, slowly; Davis peeping behind her.]
Hilaria [looking into the inner
room].
He is quite gone!—quite!—what
a terrible encounter! O Valentine! where, now, are my tranquilised spirits?
Innis [at the door].
Ma'am!—ma'am!—may I come in?
Hilaria.
Yes.
[Enter Innis.]
Innis.
I've been so frightened for you,
ma'am! Mr. Davis said he was sure he heard a voice; & I was so afeard to
venture, not knowing if it were the real Ghost itself, or only Mr. Valentine.
Hilaria.
Mr. Valentine?—What made you think
of Mr. Valentine?
Innis.
Why, ma'am, since you've been gone
—
[Enter Davis.]
Davis.
My lord Ardville, & Sir Archy
Fineer, ma'am.
Hilaria.
Good Heaven!
Innis [aside].
Sir Archy Fineer! O lud! I dare
say the Fortune-teller has set him upon coming!
Davis.
Shall I shew his lordship up here,
ma'am?
Hilaria.
Not for the world!
Davis.
Am I to say you will come down,
ma'am?
Hilaria.
Not for the universe!
Davis.
What am I to do, ma'am?
Hilaria.
Nothing.
Davis.
His lordship is standing in the
little passage, ma'am.
Hilaria.
Then why don't you tell Lord Exbury?
Davis [aside].
If I don't think the Ghost has turned
her head! [Exit, looking amazed.]
Innis.
La, ma'am,—
Hilaria [disturbed].
Don't talk to me! [Innis
retires to a distance.] What a situation am I in! O Valentine! what
a conflict have you once more raised in my Breast! O Love! O powerful Love!
—O Fashion!—hateful Fashion!
[Enter Sir Archy Fineer.]
Sir Archy.
My dear Miss Dalton, what strange
mistake is this? Davis says you desired Lord Ardville might be shewn to his
Brother; have you forgotten their quarrel?
Hilaria [with affected ease].
Yes, I hate to think of quarrels.
Besides, if he can't see his Brother, what brings him to his house?
Sir Archy.
Your own appointment.
Hilaria.
But so late? I am just asleep.
Sir Archy.
My dear cousin! at eight o'clock?
Hilaria.
O, all your watches go wrong. I
am quite drowsy. [yawning.]
Sir Archy.
Amazing! What am I to say to him?
Hilaria.
What you will.
Sir Archy.
And what is he to think?
Hilaria.
What he pleases.
Sir Archy.
And what will the family—what
will the world report?
Hilaria.
What it likes.
Sir Archy.
If you are so very easy, cousin,
pardon me if I bring him up stairs, to hear his answer from yourself. [going.]
Hilaria.
O cruel! O horrid!—Dear Sir Archy!
spare me but now—and to-morrow arrange what you will.
Sir Archy.
To that condition I agree. I will
tell him you are suddenly indisposed, but invite him to breakfast with you to-morrow
morning: and, that no time may be lost, I shall charge him to write himself
to his Lawyer to night—before he is—[mocking her] drowsy! [Exit.]
Hilaria.
O no! O stop, barbarian!—he's
gone!—
Innis.
I don't know what to make of it
yet. He hardly gave me a look. [aside.]—Pray, ma'am,—
Hilaria.
Don't say a word to me!—Don't
follow me about!—What a wretched barter have I made! my whole self, my free
existence, for wealth & vanity thus encumbered! How my heart throbs &
sinks alternately!—Alas! that I should scarcely suspect I had one, till the
instant of selling for-ever its dearest natural rights! [Exit.]
Innis.
Well, if ever—sending off one's
lover in such a manner as that, when he's a lord! I shan't send off mine so,
if he proves a true one, though he's only a Baronight. (54) Nor I had not need,
for if she goes on at this rate, I may look long enough before I get such another
firm friend as this! [taking out her purse.] O lud!—Sir Archy!—
Now then!—Now for it! [putting it up again.]
[Enter Sir Archy Fineer.]
Sir Archy.
In good truth, my fair cousin—
How? Gone? Mrs. Innis, which way is your young lady?
Innis.
He'll out with it now! (55) [aside.]
She went to her own room, I fancy, sir.
Sir Archy.
Tell her—
Innis.
I dare not, Sir!
Sir Archy.
Dare not what?
Innis.
Tell her about—I am sure, sir,
I don't know myself, yet!—but only she ordered me not to follow her quite
premterring. (56)
Sir Archy.
No matter; I must speak to her.
Go and say so, I beg, sweet Mrs. Innis.
Innis.
Yes, sir. He's a mighty pretty spoken
man, for a Gentleman. But I wonder he should send me away, when he might as
easily open his mind to me. Love makes us sad fools! [aside. Exit.]
Sir Archy.
If my noble old innamorato be again
denied, the Game is lost. I strongly suspect some secret hankering after that
romantic Boy Valentine.
[Re-enter Innis.]
Innis.
Sir, my young lady's sent me back
quite out of sorts. She says she's laid down with a bad head-ache, and can't
see a single soul till tomorrow morning, at no rate.
Sir Archy.
So! so! so! she's qualmish. [aside.]
I must have a little talk with her. What time does she usually rise, Mrs. Innis?
Innis.
Very early, since we have been in
the country, sir. Perhaps he wants to speak to me before she is stirring! [aside.]
Sir Archy.
How can I contrive to be the first
person she sees in the morning? Have you never a spare room?
Innis.
Dear Sir, no! not so much as a closet.
They are all crammed full—[pointing, and lowering her voice] except
just that one that the Ghost's got.
Sir Archy.
The Ghost? Do you believe in Ghosts,
Mrs. Innis?
Innis.
O no, sir! only it's a little shocking,
you know, sir, hearing of such things.
Sir Archy.
And what room is this haunted one?
Innis.
Nobody's, sir. Miss Exbury has ordered
the bed to be moved to where Mr. Valentine was to have been, and all her cloaths
to be carried away, for fear of something's coming out of that closet in the
night.—Not that she believes at all in Ghosts. Only it's a little horrid,
you know, being so near, in case of any things happening.
Sir Archy.
If it's unoccupied, it will just
do for me. [entering the inner room.]
Innis.
How adventuresome he is!
Sir Archy [returning].
It's a mighty good chamber. I can
pass the night admirably upon that sopha. For I shall probably quit my lord
Ardville too late to make it worth while to undress, as I wish to rise so early.
—You have no room for my servant?
Innis.
Not a corner Cupboard, if he were
no bigger than a slop bason! But what will you do if any thing should appear?
Sir Archy.
Dance a rigadoon with it to your
apartment.
Innis.
Oh!—
Sir Archy.
Well, call me in the morning, the
instant your lady is awake, and I will keep the Ghost to myself. I will step
and ask leave of Lord Exbury—though he will wish me at the very devil for
my interference—but a man of spirit is wished there so often, 'tis no great
matter. [aside.] You won't fail me, pretty Innis? [putting money
into her hand.] [Exit.]
Innis.
Yes, yes! he has a mind to speak to me by myself in the morning! 'Tis as plain
as can be! That's a dear Fortune-teller!—though if he don't mean honourable,
I'll sooner take up with old Mr. Davis. These marrying times with young ladies
are very gay.—They bring one in a heap of firm Friends! [Exit, looking
at the two Purses.]
END OF ACT III
