The Newcomes

by William Makepeace Thackeray

When the young catechist yawns over his reverence's discourse, who knows

  but it is the doctor's vanity which is enraged, and not Heaven which is

  offended? It may have been, in the differences which took place between

  her son and her, the good Lady Walham never could comprehend the lad's

  side of the argument; or how his Protestantism against her doctrines

  should exhibit itself on the turf, the gaming-table, or the stage of the

  opera-house; and thus but for the misfortune under which poor Kew now lay

  bleeding, these two loving hearts might have remained through life

  asunder. But by the boy's bedside; in the paroxysms of his fever; in the

  wild talk of his delirium; in the sweet patience and kindness with which

  he received his dear nurse's attentions; the gratefulness with which he

  thanked the servants who waited on him; the fortitude with which he

  suffered the surgeon's dealings with his wounds;--the widowed woman had

  an opportunity to admire with an exquisite thankfulness the generous

  goodness of her son; and in those hours, those sacred hours passed in her

  own chamber, of prayers, fears, hopes, recollections, and passionate

  maternal love, wrestling with fate for her darling's life;--no doubt the

  humbled creature came to acknowledge that her own course regarding him

  had been wrong; and, even more for herself than for him, implored

  forgiveness.

  For some time George Barnes had to send but doubtful and melancholy

  bulletins to Lady Kew and the Newcome family at Baden, who were all

  greatly moved and affected by the accident which had befallen poor Kew.

  Lady Kew broke out in wrath, and indignation. We may be sure the Duchesse

  d'Ivry offered to condole with her upon Kew's mishap the day after the

  news arrived at Baden; and, indeed, came to visit her. The old lady had

  just received other disquieting intelligence. She was just going out, but

  she bade her servant to inform the Duchess that she was never more at

  home to the Duchesse d'Ivry. The message was not delivered properly, or

  the person for whom it was intended did not choose to understand it, for

  presently, as the Countess was hobbling across the walk on her way to her

  daughter's residence, she met the Duchesse d'Ivry, who saluted her with a

  demure curtsey and a commonplace expression of condolence. The Queen of

  Scots was surrounded by the chief part of her court, saving of course MM.

  Castillonnes and Punter absent on service. "We were speaking of this

  deplorable affair," said Madame d'Ivry (which indeed was the truth,

  although she said it). "How we pity you, madame!" Blackball and Loder,

  Cruchecassee and Schlangenbad, assumed sympathetic countenances.

  Trembling on her cane, the old Countess glared out upon Madame d'Ivry. "I

  pray you, madame," she said in French, "never again to address me the

  word. If I had, like you, assassins in my pay, I would have you killed;

  do you hear me?" and she hobbled on her way. The household to which she

  went was in terrible agitation; the kind Lady Anne frightened beyond

  measure, poor Ethel full of dread, and feeling guilty almost as if she

  had been the cause, as indeed she was the occasion, of Kew's misfortune.

  And the family had further cause of alarm from the shock which the news

  had given to Sir Brian. It has been said that he had had illnesses of

  late which caused his friends much anxiety. He had passed two months at

  Aix-la-Chapelle, his physicians dreading a paralytic attack; and Madame

  d'Ivry's party still sauntering on the walk, the men smoking their

  cigars, the women breathing their scandal, now beheld Dr. Finck issuing

  from Lady Anne's apartments, and wearing such a face of anxiety, that the

  Duchesse asked with some emotion, "Had there been a fresh bulletin from

  Kehl?"

  "No, there had been no fresh bulletin from Kehl; but two hours since Sir

  Brian Newcome had had a paralytic seizure."

  "Is he very bad?"

  "No," says Dr. Finck, "he is not very bad."

  "How inconsolable M. Barnes will be!" said the Duchesse, shrugging her

  haggard shoulders. Whereas the fact was that Mr. Barnes retained perfect

  presence of mind under both of the misfortunes which had befallen his

  family. Two days afterwards the Duchesse's husband arrived himself, when

  we may presume that exemplary woman was too much engaged with her own

  affairs to be able to be interested about the doings of other people.

  With the Duke's arrival the court of Mary Queen of Scots was broken up.

  Her Majesty was conducted to Lochleven, where her tyrant soon dismissed

  her very last lady-in-waiting, the confidential Irish secretary, whose

  performance had produced such a fine effect amongst the Newcomes.

  Had poor Sir Brian Newcome's seizure occurred at an earlier period of the

  autumn, his illness no doubt would have kept him for some months confined

  at Baden; but as he was pretty nearly the last of Dr. Von Finck's bath

  patients, and that eminent physician longed to be off to the Residenz, he

  was pronounced in a fit condition for easy travelling in rather a brief

  period after his attack, and it was determined to transport him to

  Mannheim, and thence by water to London and Newcome.

  During all this period of their father's misfortune no sister of charity

  could have been more tender, active, cheerful, and watchful than Miss

  Ethel. She had to wear a kind face, and exhibit no anxiety when

  occasionally the feeble invalid made inquiries regarding poor Kew at

  Baden; to catch the phrases as they came from him; to acquiesce, or not

  to deny, when Sir Brian talked of the marriages--both marriages--taking

  place at Christmas. Sir Brian was especially eager for his daughter's,

  and repeatedly, with his broken words, and smiles, and caresses, which

  were now quite senile, declared that his Ethel would make the prettiest

  countess in England. There came a letter or two from Clive, no doubt, to

  the young nurse in her sick-room. Manly and generous, full of tenderness

  and affection, as those letters surely were, they could give but little

  pleasure to the young lady--indeed, only add to her doubts and pain.

  She had told none of her friends as yet of those last words of Kew's,

  which she interpreted as a farewell on the young nobleman's part. Had she

  told them they were likely would not have understood Kew's meaning as she

  did, and persisted in thinking that the two were reconciled. At any rate,

  whilst he and her father were still lying stricken by the blows which had

  prostrated them both, all questions of love and marriage had been put

  aside. Did she love him? She felt such a kind pity for his misfortune,

  such an admiration for his generous gallantry, such a remorse for her own

  wayward conduct and cruel behaviour towards this most honest, and kindly,

  and affectionate gentleman, that the sum of regard which she could bestow

  upon him might surely be said to amount to love. For such a union as that

  contemplated between them, perhaps for any marriage, no greater degree of

  attachment was necessary as the common cement. Warm friendship and

  thorough esteem and confidence (I do not say that our young lady

  calculated in this matter-of-fact wa
y) are safe properties invested in

  the prudent marriage stock, multiplying and bearing an increasing value

  with every year. Many a young couple of spendthrifts get through their

  capital of passion in the first twelve months, and have no love left for

  the daily demands of after life. O me! for the day when the bank account

  is closed, and the cupboard is empty, and the firm of Damon and Phyllis

  insolvent!

  Miss Newcome, we say, without doubt, did not make her calculations in

  this debtor and creditor fashion; it was only the gentlemen of that

  family who went to Lombard Street. But suppose she thought that regard,

  and esteem, and, affection being sufficient, she could joyfully, and with

  almost all her heart bring such a portion to Lord Kew; that her harshness

  towards him as contrasted with his own generosity, and above all with his

  present pain, infinitely touched her; and suppose she fancied that there

  was another person in the world to whom, did fates permit, she could

  offer not esteem, affection, pity only, but something ten thousand times

  more precious? We are not in the young lady's secrets, but if she has

  some as she sits by her father's chair and bed, who day or night will

  have no other attendant; and, as she busies herself to interpret his

  wants, silently moves on his errands, administers his potions, and

  watches his sleep, thinks of Clive absent and unhappy, of Kew wounded and

  in danger, she must have subject enough of thought and pain. Little

  wonder that her cheeks are pale and her eyes look red; she has her cares

  to endure now in the world, and her burden to bear in it, and somehow she

  feels she is alone, since that day when poor Clive's carriage drove away.

  In a mood of more than ordinary depression and weakness Lady Kew must

  have found her granddaughter, upon one of the few occasions after the

  double mishap when Ethel and her elder were together. Sir Brian's

  illness, as it may be imagined, affected a lady very slightly, who was of

  an age when these calamities occasion but small disquiet, and who, having

  survived her own father, her husband, her son, and witnessed their

  lordships' respective demises with perfect composure, could not

  reasonably be called upon to feel any particular dismay at the probable

  departure from this life of a Lombard Street banker, who happened to be

  her daughter's husband. In fact, not Barnes Newcome himself could await

  that event more philosophically. So, finding Ethel in this melancholy

  mood, Lady Kew thought a drive in the fresh air would be of service to

  her, and Sir Brian happening to be asleep, carried the young girl away in

  her barouche.

  They talked about Lord Kew, of whom the accounts were encouraging, and

  who is mending in spite of his silly mother and her medicines, "and as

  soon as he is able to move we must go and fetch him, my dear," Lady Kew

  graciously said, "before that foolish woman has made a methodist of him.

  He is always led by the woman who is nearest him, and I know one who will

  make of him just the best little husband in England." Before they had

  come to this delicate point the lady and her grandchild had talked Kew's

  character over, the girl, you may be sure, having spoken feelingly and

  eloquently about his kindness and courage, and many admirable qualities.

  She kindled when she heard the report of his behaviour at the

  commencement of the fracas with M. de Castillonnes, his great forbearance

  and good-nature, and his resolution and magnanimity when the moment of

  collision came.

  But when Lady Kew arrived at that period of her discourse in which she

  stated that Kew would make the best little husband in England, poor

  Ethel's eyes filled with tears; we must remember that her high spirit was

  worn down by watching and much varied anxiety, and then she confessed

  that there had been no reconciliation, as all the family fancied, between

  Frank and herself--on the contrary, a parting, which she understood to be

  final; and she owned that her conduct towards her cousin had been most

  captious and cruel, and that she could not expect they should ever again

  come together. Lady Kew, who hated sick-beds and surgeons except for

  herself, who hated her daughter-in-law above all, was greatly annoyed at

  the news which Ethel gave her; made light of if, however, and was quite

  confident that a very few words from her would place matters on their old

  footing, and determined on forthwith setting out for Kehl. She would have

  carried Ethel with her, but that the poor Baronet with cries and moans

  insisted on retaining his nurse, and Ethel's grandmother was left to

  undertake this mission by herself, the girl remaining behind acquiescent,

  not unwilling, owning openly a great regard and esteem for Kew, and the

  wrong which she had done him, feeling secretly a sentiment which she had

  best smother. She had received a letter from that other person, and

  answered it with her mother's cognisance, but about this little affair

  neither Lady Anne nor her daughter happened to say a word to the manager

  of the whole family.

  CHAPTER XXXVIII

  In which Lady Kew leaves his Lordship quite convalescent

  Immediately after Lord Kew's wound, and as it was necessary to apprise

  the Newcome family of the accident which had occurred, the good-natured

  young Kew had himself written a brief note to acquaint his relatives with

  his mishap, and had even taken the precaution to antedate a couple of

  billets to be despatched on future days; kindly forgeries, which told the

  Newcome family and the Countess of Kew, that Lord Kew was progressing

  very favourably, and that his hurt was trifling. The fever had set in,

  and the young patient was lying in great danger, as most of the laggards

  at Baden knew, when his friends there were set at ease by this fallacious

  bulletin. On the third day after the accident, Lady Walham arrived with

  her younger son, to find Lord Kew in the fever which ensued after the

  wound. As the terrible anxiety during the illness had been Lady Walham's,

  so was hers the delight of the recovery. The commander-in-chief of the

  family, the old lady at Baden, showed her sympathy by sending couriers,

  and repeatedly issuing orders to have news of Kew. Sick-beds scared her

  away invariably. When illness befell a member of her family she hastily

  retreated from before the sufferer, showing her agitation of mind,

  however, by excessive ill-humour to all the others within her reach.

  A fortnight passed, a ball had been found and extracted, the fever was

  over, the wound was progressing favourably, the patient advancing towards

  convalescence, and the mother, with her child once more under her wing,

  happier than she had been for seven years past, during which her young

  prodigal had been running the thoughtless career of which he himself was

  weary, and which had occasioned the fond lady such anguish. Those doubts

  which perplex many a thinking man, and, when formed and uttered, give

  many a fond and faithful woman pain so exquisite, had most fortunately

  never crossed Kew's mind. His early impressions were such as his mother

  had left the
m, and he came back to her, as she would have him, as a

  little child; owning his faults with a hearty humble repentance, and with

  a thousand simple confessions, lamenting the errors of his past days. We

  have seen him tired and ashamed of the pleasures which he was pursuing,

  of the companions who surrounded him, of the brawls and dissipations

  which amused him no more; in those hours of danger and doubt, when he had

  lain, with death perhaps before him, making up his account of the vain

  life which probably he would be called upon to surrender, no wonder this

  simple, kindly, modest, and courageous soul thought seriously of the past

  and of the future; and prayed, and resolved, if a future were awarded to

  him, it should make amends for the days gone by; and surely as the mother

  and son read together the beloved assurance of the divine forgiveness,

  and of that joy which angels feel in heaven for a sinner repentant, we

  may fancy in the happy mother's breast a feeling somewhat akin to that

  angelic felicity, a gratitude and joy of all others the loftiest, the

  purest, the keenest. Lady Walham might shrink with terror at the

  Frenchman's name, but her son could forgive him, with all his heart, and

  kiss his mother's hand, and thank him as the best friend of his life.

  During all the days of his illness, Kew had never once mentioned Ethel's

  name, and once or twice as his recovery progressed, when with doubt and

  tremor his mother alluded to it, he turned from the subject as one that

  was disagreeable and painful. Had she thought seriously on certain

  things? Lady Walham asked. Kew thought not, "but those who are bred up as

  you would have them, mother, are often none the better," the humble young

  fellow said. "I believe she is a very good girl. She is very clever, she

  is exceedingly handsome, she is very good to her parents and her brothers

  and sisters; but--" he did not finish the sentence. Perhaps he thought,

  as he told Ethel afterwards, that she would have agreed with Lady Walham

  even worse than with her imperious old grandmother.

  Lady Walham then fell to deplore Sir Brian's condition, accounts of whose

  seizure of course had been despatched to the Kehl party, and to lament

  that a worldly man as he was should have such an affliction, so near the

  grave and so little prepared for it. Here honest Kew, however, held out.

  "Every man for himself, mother," says he. "Sir Brian was bred up very

  strictly, perhaps too strictly as a young man. Don't you know that that

  good Colonel, his elder brother, who seems to me about the most honest

  and good old gentleman I ever met in my life, was driven into rebellion

  and all sorts of wild courses by old Mrs. Newcome's tyranny over him? As

  for Sir Brian, he goes to church every Sunday: has prayers in the family

  every day: I'm sure has led a hundred times better life than I have, poor

  old Sir Brian. I often have thought, mother, that though our side was

  wrong, you could not be altogether right, because I remember how my

  tutor, and Mr. Bonner, and Dr. Laud, when they used to come down to us at

  Kewbury, used to make themselves so unhappy about other people." So the

  widow withdrew her unhappiness about Sir Brian; she was quite glad to

  hope for the best regarding that invalid.

  With some fears yet regarding her son,--for many of the books with which

  the good lady travelled could not be got to interest him; at some he

  would laugh outright,--with fear mixed with the maternal joy that he was

  returned to her, and had quitted his old ways; with keen feminine

  triumph, perhaps, that she had won him back, and happiness at his daily

  mending health, all Lady Walham's hours were passed in thankful and

  delighted occupation. George Barnes kept the Newcomes acquainted with the

  state of his brother's health. The skilful surgeon from Strasbourg

  reported daily better and better of him, and the little family were

  living in great peace and contentment, with one subject of dread,