Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth

by Maria Edgeworth

  CHAPTER XX.

  In several successive letters of Alfred to his brother, the progress of his attachment to Miss Leicester is described. Instead of paying a visit of a few days to her uncle, it appears that she stayed at the vicarage during the whole of Alfred’s vacation. Her mother died, and, contrary to the expectation I of some of her admirers, Miss Leicester was left in possession of only a moderate fortune. She showed much dignity under these adverse circumstances, with a charming mixture of spirit and gentleness of disposition. The change in her expectations, which deprived her of some of her fashionable admirers, showed I her the superior sincerity and steadiness of Alfred’s sentiments. No promises were given on either side; but it appears, that Alfred was permitted to live and labour upon hope. He returned to London more eager than ever to pursue his profession.

  We trust that our readers will be fully satisfied with this abridgment of the affair, and will be more inclined to sympathize with Alfred, and to wish well to his attachment, than if they had been fatigued with a volume of his love-letters, and with those endless repetitions of the same sentiments with which most lovers’ letters abound.

  Let us now go on to the affairs of Erasmus Percy.

  Mr. Panton, provoked by his daughter’s coldness towards Lord Roadster, had begun shrewdly to suspect that the lady must be in love with some other person. His young physician was the only man on whom he could fix his suspicions. Constance seemed to be on a more confidential footing with him than with any of the visitors who frequented his house; she had spoken of him in terms of high approbation, and had not contradicted her father when he had, purposely to try her, pronounced Dr. Percy to be the handsomest young fellow he knew. While these suspicions were secretly gaining strength in the father’s mind, a circumstance occurred which confirmed them at once, and caused them to burst forth with uncontrolled violence of expression.

  Dr. Percy was called in to prescribe for a sick lawyer, and from this lawyer’s conversation he learnt that Lord Runnymede was a ruined man, and that his son Lord Roadster’s extravagance had been the cause of his ruin. Erasmus determined to put Mr. Panton upon his guard, and thus, if possible, to prevent the amiable Constance from becoming a victim to her father’s absurd ambition. With this view he went to Mr. Panton’s. The old gentleman was gone to dine with his club. Mrs. Panton, in her elegant language, desired he would leave his business with her. When he had explained the purport of his visit, after a variety of vulgar exclamations denoting surprise and horror, and after paying many compliments to her own sagacity, all which appeared incompatible with her astonishment, Mrs. Panton expressed much gratitude to Erasmus, mixed with suppressed satisfaction, and significant nods which he could not quite comprehend. Her gratitude was interrupted, and the whole train of her ideas changed, by the entrance of a milliner with new caps and artificial flowers. She, however, retained sufficient recollection of what had passed, to call after Erasmus when he had taken his leave, and to insist upon his coming to her party that evening. This he declined. Then she said he must dine with her next day, for let him be never so busy, he must dine somewhere, and as good dine with somebody as with nobody — in short, she would take no denial. The next day Erasmus was received with ungracious oddity of manner by old Panton — the only person in the drawing-room when he arrived. Erasmus was so much struck with the gloom of his countenance, that he asked whether Mr. Panton felt himself ill. Panton bared his wrist, and held out his hand to Erasmus to feel his pulse — then withdrawing his hand, he exclaimed, “Nonsense! I’m as well as any man in England. Pray, now, Doctor Percy, why don’t you get a wig?”—”Why should I, sir, when I have hair?” said Erasmus, laughing.—”Pshaw! doctor, what signifies laughing when I am serious! — Why, sir, in my youth every decent physician wore a wig, and I have no notion of a good physician without a wig — particularly a young one. Sir, many people have a great objection to a young physician for many reasons. And take my advice in time, Doctor Percy — a wig, a proper wig, not one of your modern natural scratches, but a decent powdered doctor’s bob, would make you look ten years older at one slap, and trust me you’d get into practice fast enough then, and be sent for by many a sober family, that would never think of letting you within their doors without the wig; for, sir, you are too young and too handsome for a physician — Hey! what say you to the wig?” concluded Panton, in a tone of such serious, yet comical impatience, that Erasmus found it difficult to restrain a smile, whilst he answered that he really did not think his charms were so dangerous that it was necessary to disguise them by a wig; that as to his youth, it was an objection which every day would tend to lessen; and that he trusted he might obtain the credit of being a good physician if he could cure people of their diseases; and they would feel it to be a matter of indifference whether they were restored to health by a doctor in a wig or without one.

  “Indifference!” cried Panton, starting upright in his chair with passion. “I don’t know what you call a matter of indifference, sir; I can tell you its no matter of indifference to me — If you mean me; for say that with God’s mercy you carried me through, what then, if you are doing your best to break my heart after all—”

  Mr. Panton stopped short, for at this instant Constance came into the room, and her father’s look of angry suspicion, and her blush, immediately explained to Erasmus what had the moment before appeared to him unintelligible. He felt provoked with himself for colouring in his turn, and being embarrassed without any reason, but he recovered his presence of mind directly, when Constance, with a dignified ingenuous modesty of manner, advanced towards him, notwithstanding her father’s forbidding look, and with a sweet, yet firm voice, thanked him for his yesterday’s friendly visit to her mother.

  “I wonder you a’n’t ashamed of yourself, girl!” cried old Panton, choking with passion.

  “And I’m sure I wonder you a’n’t ashamed of yourself, Mr. Panton, if you come to that,” cried Mrs. Panton, “exposing of your family affairs this way by your unseasonable passions, when one has asked people to dinner too.”

  “Dinner or no dinner,” cried old Panton, and he must have been strangely transported beyond himself when he made that exclamation, “dinner or no dinner, Mrs. Panton, I will speak my mind, and be master in my own house! So, Doctor Percy, if you please, we’ll leave the ladies, and talk over our matters our own way, in my own room here within.”

  Dr. Percy willingly acceded to this proposal. Old Panton waddled as fast as he could to show the way through the antechamber, whilst Mrs. Panton called after him, “Don’t expose yourself no more than you can help, my dear!” And as Erasmus passed her, she whispered, “Never mind him, doctor — stand by yourself — I’ll stand by you, and we’ll stand by you — won’t we, Constance? — see her colour!”—”We have reason to be grateful to Dr. Percy,” said Constance, gravely, with an air of offended modesty; “and I hope,” added she, with softened sweetness of tone, as she looked at him, and saw his feelings in his countenance, “I hope Doctor Percy is assured of my gratitude, and of my perfect esteem.”

  “Come! what the devil?” cried old Panton, “I thought you were close behind me.”

  “Now, doctor,” cried he, as soon as he had fairly got Erasmus into his closet, and shut the door, “now, doctor, I suppose you see I am not a man to be imposed upon?”

  “Nor, if you were, am I a man to impose upon you, sir,” said Erasmus. “If I understand you rightly, Mr. Panton, you suspect me of some designs upon your daughter? I have none.”

  “And you won’t have the assurance to deny that you are in love with her?”

  “I am not in love with Miss Panton, sir: she has charms and virtues which might create the strongest attachment in the heart of any man of feeling and discernment who could permit himself to think of her; but I am not in a situation in which I could, with honour, seek to win her affections, and, fortunately for me, this reflection has probably preserved my heart from danger. If I felt any thing like love for your daughter, sir, you may be as
sured that I should not, at this instant, be in your house.”

  “A mighty fine speech, sir! and well delivered, for aught I know. You are a scholar, and can speak sentences; but that won’t impose on me, a plain man that has eyes. Why — tell me! — didn’t I see you within these two minutes blushing up to the eyes, both of you, at one another? Don’t I know when I see men and women in love — tell me! Mrs. Panton — fudge! — And did not I see behind my back, just now, the women conjuring with you? — And aren’t you colouring over head and ears with conscience this very instant? — Tell me!”

  Erasmus in vain asserted his own and the young lady’s innocence, and maintained that blushing was no proof of guilt — he even adverted to the possibility of a man’s blushing for others instead of himself.

  “Blush for me as much as you please, if it’s me you allude to,” cried the coarse father; “but when my daughter’s at stake, I make no bones of speaking plain, and cutting the matter short in the beginning — for we all know what love is when it comes to a head. Marrow-bones! don’t I know that there must be some reason why that headstrong girl won’t think of my Lord Runnymede’s son and heir, and such a looking youth, title and all, as my Lord Roadster! And you are the cause, sir; and I thank you for opening my eyes to it, as you did by your information to Mrs. Panton yesterday, in my absence.”

  Erasmus protested with such an air of truth as would have convinced any person capable of being convinced, that, in giving that information, he had been actuated solely by a desire to save Miss Panton from a ruinous match, by honest regard for her and all her family.

  “Ruinous! — You are wrong, sir — I know better — I know best — I saw my Lord Runnymede himself this very morning — a little temporary want of cash only from the estate’s being tied up, as they sometimes tie estates, which all noble families is subject to — Tell me! don’t I know the bottom of these things? for though I haven’t been used to land, I know all about it. And at worst, my Lord Roadster, my son-in-law that is to be, is not chargeable with a penny of his father’s debts. So your informer is wrong, sir, every way, and no lawyer, sir, for I have an attorney at my back — and your information’s all wrong, and you had no need to interfere.”

  Erasmus felt and acknowledged the imprudence of his interference, but hoped it might be forgiven in favour of the motive — and he looked so honestly glad to hear that his information was all wrong, that old Panton at the moment believed in his integrity, and said, stretching out his hand towards him, “Well, well, no harm done — then it’s all as it should be, and we may ring for dinner — But,” recurring again to his favourite idea, “you’ll get the wig, doctor?”

  “Excuse me,” said Erasmus, laughing, “your confidence in me cannot depend upon a wig.”

  “It can, sir, and it does,” cried Panton, turning again with all his anger revived. “Excuse you! No, sir, I won’t; for the wig’s my test, and I told Mrs. Panton so last night — the wig’s my test of your uprightness in this matter, sir; and I fairly tell you, that if you refuse this, all the words you can string don’t signify a button with me.”

  “And by what right, sir, do you speak to me in this manner?” cried Erasmus, proudly, for he lost all sense of the ludicrous in indignation at the insolent doubt of his integrity, which, after all the assurances he had given, these last words from Mr. Panton implied: “By what right, sir, do you speak to me in this manner? — And what reason can you have to expect that I should submit to any tests to convince you of the truth of my assertions?”

  “Right! Reason!” cried Panton. “Why, doctor, don’t you know that I’m your patron?”

  “My patron!” repeated Erasmus, in a tone which would have expressed much to the mind of any man of sense or feeling, but which conveyed no idea to the gross apprehension of old Panton except that Dr. Percy was ignorant of the fact.

  “Your patron — yes, doctor — why, don’t you know, that ever since you set me upon my legs I have been going up and down the city puffing — that is, I mean, recommending you to all my friends? and you see you’re of consequence — getting into fine practice for so young a man. And it stands to reason that when one takes a young man by the hand, one has a right to expect one’s advice should be followed; and as to the wig, I don’t make it a test — you’ve an objection to a test — but, as I’ve mentioned it to Mrs. Panton, I must make it a point, and you know I am not a man to go back. And you’ll consider that if you disoblige me, you can’t expect that I should continue my friendship, and protection, and patronage, and all that.”

  “Be assured, sir, I expect nothing from you,” said Erasmus, “and desire nothing: I have the happiness and honour to belong to a profession, in which, if a man merits confidence, he will succeed, without requiring any man’s patronage.” — Much less the patronage of such a one as you! Erasmus would have said, but that he commanded his indignation, or, perhaps, it was extinguished by contempt.

  A servant now came to announce that the company was arrived, and dinner was waiting. In very bad humour, Mr. Panton, nevertheless, ate an excellent dinner, growling over every thing as he devoured it. Constance seemed much grieved by her father’s unseasonable fit of rudeness and obstinacy; with sweetness of temper and filial duty she bore with his humour, and concealed it as far as she could from observation. Mrs. Panton was displeased with this, and once went so far as to whisper to Erasmus that her step-daughter wanted spirit sadly, but that he ought never to mind that, but to take a broad hint, and keep his ground. Erasmus, who, with great simplicity and an upright character, had quick observation and tact, perceived pretty nearly what was going on in the family. He saw that the step-mother, under an air of frank and coarse good-nature, was cunning and interested; that she wished to encourage the daughter to open war with the father, knowing that nothing could incense him so much as Constance’s thinking of a poor physician instead of accepting of an earl’s son; Mrs. Panton wished then to fan to a flame the spark which she was confident existed in his daughter’s heart. Erasmus, who was not apt to fancy that ladies liked him, endeavoured to relieve Constance from the agonizing apprehension which he saw she felt of his being misled by her mother’s hints: he appeared sometimes not to hear, and at other times not to understand, what Mrs. Panton whispered; and at last talked so loud across the table to Mr. Henry, about letters from Godfrey, and the officers of all the regiments in or out of England, that no other subject could be introduced, and no other voice could be heard. As soon as he decently could, after dinner, Dr. Percy took his leave, heartily glad to escape from his awkward situation, and from the patronage of Mr. Panton. Erasmus was mistaken, however, in supposing that Mr. Panton could do him no harm. It is true that he could not deny that Dr. Percy had restored him to health, and the opinion, which had spread in the city, of Dr. Percy’s skill, was not, and could not, be diminished by Mr. Panton’s railing against him; but when he hinted that the young physician had practised upon his daughter’s heart, all the rich citizens who had daughters to watch began to consider him as a dangerous person, and resolved never to call him in, except in some desperate case. Mrs. Panton’s gossiping confidences did more harm than her husband’s loud complaints; and the very eagerness which poor Constance showed to vindicate Dr. Percy, and to declare the truth, served only to confirm the sagaciously-nodding mothers and overwise fathers in their own opinions. Mr. Henry said and did what he could for Erasmus; but what could be done by a young man shut up all day in a counting-house? or who would listen to any thing that was said by a youth without station or name? Mr. Gresham unluckily was at this time at his country-seat. Poor Erasmus found his practice in the city decline as rapidly as it had risen, and he began a little to doubt the truth of that noble sentiment which he had so proudly expressed. He was comforted, however, by letters from his father, who strongly approved his conduct, and who maintained that truth would at last prevail, and that the prejudice which had been raised against him would, in time, be turned to his advantage.

  It happened that,
while old Panton, in his present ludicrous fit of obstinacy, was caballing against our young physician with all his might in the city, the remote consequences of his absurdities were operating in Dr. Percy’s favour at the west end of the town. Our readers may recollect having heard of a footman, whom Mr. Panton turned away for laughing at his perversity. Erasmus had at the time pleaded in the poor fellow’s favour, and had, afterwards, when the servant was out of place, in distress, and ill, humanely attended him, and cured a child of his, who had inflamed eyes. This man was now in the service of a rich and very fine lady, who lived in Grosvenor-square — Lady Spilsbury. Her ladyship had several sickly children — children rendered sickly by their mother’s overweening and injudicious care. Alarmed successively by every fashionable medical terror of the day, she dosed her children with every specific which was publicly advertised or privately recommended. No creatures of their age had taken such quantities of Ching’s lozenges, Godbold’s elixir, or Dixon’s antibilious pills. The consequence was, that the dangers, which had at first been imaginary, became real: these little victims of domestic medicine never had a day’s health: they looked, and were, more dead than alive. Still the mother, in the midst of hourly alarms, was in admiration of her own medical skill, which she said had actually preserved, in spite of nature, children of such sickly constitutions. In consequence of this conviction, she redoubled her vigilance, and the most trivial accident was magnified into a symptom of the greatest importance.