One half hour in the day, however, she was sure of being happy — the half hour when her brother Erasmus paid his visit. Of Alfred she saw little, for he was so much engaged with business, that a few minutes now and then were all he could possibly spare from his professional duties. Mr. Temple called. She was surprised to see him, for she thought he had been on his way to the continent; but he told her that difficulties had occurred, chiefly through the manoeuvres of Cunningham Falconer, and that he did not know when there would be an end of these — that Lord Oldborough was glad of the delay at present, because he wanted Mr. Temple’s assistance, as the other secretary had been taken ill, and his lordship had not yet fixed upon a confidential person to supply his place. Of course, in these circumstances, Mr. Temple was so much occupied, that Caroline saw very little of him; and she experienced what thousands have observed, that, however people may wish to meet in great towns, it is frequently impracticable, from small difficulties as to time, distance, and connexions. Of Mr. Gresham, Caroline had hoped that she should see a great deal — her brother Erasmus had long since introduced him to Lady Jane Granville; and, notwithstanding his being a merchant, her ladyship liked him. He was as much disposed as ever to be friendly to the whole Percy family; and the moment he heard of Caroline’s being in town, he hastened to see her, and showed all his former affectionate regard in his countenance and manner. But his time and his thoughts were now engrossed by an affair very near his heart, which he was impatient to bring to a termination. As soon as this should be accomplished, he was to set out for Amsterdam, where the concerns of his late partner, old Mr. Panton, as his correspondents wrote, imperiously demanded his presence.
This affair, which was so near Mr. Gresham’s heart, related to his dear Constance. Alfred had alluded to it in one of his letters, and Erasmus had begun to write the particulars to Rosamond; but he had not at the time leisure to finish the letter, and afterwards burnt it, being uncertain how the romance, as Alfred called it, might end. He therefore thought it prudent to say nothing about it. The whole story was now told to Caroline, and, briefly, was this.
After old Panton’s rage against Dr. Percy, in consequence of the suspicion that his daughter was in love with him; after the strange wig-scene, and the high words that followed, had driven Erasmus from the house, Constance went to her father, and, intent upon doing justice to Erasmus, at whatever hazard to herself, protested that he had not been the cause of her refusal of Lord Roadster. To convince her father of this, she confessed that her heart was not entirely disengaged — no threats, no persuasion, could, however, draw from her the name of the person whom she preferred: she knew that to name him would be only to ruin his fortune — that her father never would consent to her marrying him; nor had the object of her preference ever given her reason to think that he felt any thing more for her than regard and respect. Old Panton, the last man in the world to understand any delicacies, thought her whole confession “nonsense:” the agitation and hesitation with which it was made, and her eagerness to clear Dr. Percy’s credit, and to reinstate him in her father’s favour, conspired to convince the old man that his “own first original opinion was right.” Of this, indeed, he seldom needed any additional circumstances to complete the conviction on any occasion. During the remainder of his life he continued obstinate in his error: “If she likes any body else, why can’t the girl name him? Nonsense — that cursed Dr. Percy is the man, and he never shall be the man.” In this belief old Panton died, and what is of much more consequence, in this belief he made his will. On purpose to exclude Dr. Percy, and in the hope of accomplishing his favourite purpose of ennobling his descendants, he, in due legal form, inserted a clause in his will, stating, “that he bequeathed his whole fortune (save his wife’s dower) to his beloved daughter, upon condition, that within the twelve calendar months next ensuing, after his decease, she, the said Constance, should marry a man not below the rank of the son of a baron. But in case she, the said Constance, should not marry within the said twelve calendar months, or should marry any man below the rank of a baron, then and after the expiration of said twelve calendar months, the said fortune to go to his beloved wife, except an annuity of two hundred pounds a year, to be paid thereout to his daughter Constance.” Mr. Gresham was appointed sole executor to his will. As soon as it was decently possible, after old Panton’s decease, Lord Roadster renewed his suit to Constance, and was civilly but very steadily refused. Many other suitors, coming within the description of persons favoured by the will, presented themselves, but without success. Some making their application to Constance herself, some endeavouring to win her favour through the intercession of her guardian, Mr. Gresham — all in vain. Month after month had passed away, and Mr. Gresham began to be much in dread, and Mrs. Panton, the step-mother, somewhat in hopes, that the twelve calendar months would elapse without the young lady’s having fulfilled the terms prescribed by the will. Mr. Gresham, one morning, took his fair ward apart, and began to talk to her seriously upon the subject. He told her that he thought it impossible she should act from mere perverseness or caprice, especially as, from her childhood upwards, he had never seen in her any symptoms of an obstinate or capricious disposition; therefore he was well convinced that she had some good reason for refusing so many offers seemingly unexceptionable: he was grieved to find that he had not sufficiently won or deserved her confidence, to be trusted with the secret of her heart. Constance, who revered and loved him with the most grateful tenderness, knelt before him; and clasping his hand in hers, while tears Tolled over her blushing cheeks, endeavoured to speak, but could not for some moments. At last, she assured him that delicacy, and the uncertainty in which she was whether she was beloved, were the only causes which had hitherto prevented her from speaking on this subject, even to him, who now stood in the place of her father, and who had ever treated her with more than a father’s kindness.
Mr. Gresham named Erasmus Percy.
“No.”
“Mr. Henry!”
“How was it possible that Mr. Gresham had never thought of him?”
Mr. Gresham had thought of him — had suspected that Mr. Henry’s love for Constance had been the cause of his quitting England — had admired the young man’s honourable silence and resolution — had recalled him from Amsterdam, and he was now in London.
But young Henry, who knew nothing of Mr. Gresham’s favourable disposition towards him, who had only commercial correspondence with him, and knew little of his character, considered him merely as the executor of Mr. Panton, and, with this idea, obeyed his summons home to settle accounts. When they met, he was much surprised by Mr. Gresham’s speaking, not of accounts, but of Constance. When Mr. Gresham told him the terms of Mr. Panton’s will, far from appearing disappointed or dejected, Mr. Henry’s face flushed with hope and joy. He instantly confessed to her guardian that he loved Constance passionately; and that now, when it could not be supposed he had mercenary views; now, when no duty, no honour forbad him, he would try his fate. He spoke with a spirit given by strong passion long repressed, and with a decision of character which his modesty and reserve of manner had, till now, prevented from appearing.
“Did he consider,” Mr. Gresham asked, “what he expected Miss Panton to sacrifice for him?”
“Yes, fortune, not duty — duty he could never have asked her to sacrifice; he could not have esteemed her if she had sacrificed duty. As to the rest,” added he, proudly, “Miss Panton is now to decide between love and fortune.”
“This from the modest Mr. Henry! from whom, till this moment, I never heard a syllable that savoured of presumption!” said Mr. Gresham.
Mr. Henry was silent — and stood with an air of proud determination. Regardless of the surprise and attention with which Mr. Gresham considered him during this silence, he thought for a few moments, and asked, “Sir, when may I see Miss Panton?”
“And would you,” said Mr. Gresham, “if it were in your power, sir, reduce the woman you love from opulence to povert
y — to distress?”
“I have four hundred a year, Miss Panton has two — six hundred a year is not poverty, sir. Distress — the woman I marry shall never know whilst I have life and health. No, sir, this is not romance. Of my perseverance in whatever I undertake, even when least congenial to my habits, you have had proofs. Mr. Gresham, if Miss Panton approves of me, and if love can make her happy, I fear not to assert to you, her guardian, that I will make her happy. If she love me not, or,” added he, his whole countenance changing from the expression of ardent love to that of cold disdain, “or, if love be not in her mind superior to fortune, then I have little to regret. Wealth and honours wait her command. But,” resumed he, “the trial I will make — the hazard I will run. If I am mistaken — if I am presumptuous — the humiliation be mine — the agony all my own: my heart will bear it — or — break!”
“Heroics!” said Mr. Gresham. “Now let me ask—”
“Let me ask, sir — pardon me,” interrupted Mr. Henry—”Let me beg to see Miss Panton.”
“Stay, listen to me, young man—”
“Young gentleman, sir, if you please.”
“Young gentleman, sir, if you please,” repeated Mr. Gresham, mildly; “I can make allowance for all this — you were bred a soldier, jealous of honour — but listen to me: there is one thing I must tell you before you see Miss Panton — though I apprehend it may somewhat mortify you, as it will interfere with your boast of disinterestedness and your vow of poverty — Miss Panton I have from her cradle been in the habit of considering partly as my own — my own child — and, as such, I have left her in my will ten thousand pounds. As she will want this money before my death, if she marries you, I must convert my legacy into a marriage-portion, and you shall not, sir, have love without fortune, whatever your heroics may think of it. Now go to your mistress, and keep my secret.”
Young Henry was evidently more touched by this generosity than by this bounty; and with a gentleness and humility the most feeling he said, “How shall I thank you, sir, for bearing with me as you did?”
“Oh!” said Mr. Gresham, “old as I am, I know what it is to be in love, and can conceive too what it is to fear that a guardian might be cross, and that the executor and the partner of Mr. Panton might act like Mr. Panton himself. Say no more — I understand it all, you see — Go to your Constance.”
Even in the haughtiness and spirit this young man had shown, Mr. Gresham saw the sincerity, strength, and disinterestedness of his affection; and in Mr. Gresham’s estimation these were no trifling merits. We pass over — shall we be forgiven? — the love scenes between Mr. Henry and Constance. In these cases it is well when there is some sober friend to look to the common sense of the thing, and in the midst of the exaltation to do the necessary business of life. Mr. Gresham laid Mr. Panton’s will before counsel learned in the law, took opinions from two different counsel; from Alfred Percy, whose friendship was likely to quicken his attention, and from another barrister of long standing, who, being totally unconnected with the parties might probably give a perfectly unbiassed and dispassionate advice. Both agreed that there was no avoiding the clause in the will; that Miss Panton, if she married a man below the rank of a baron’s son, must give up her fortune to her step-mother at the end of twelve calendar months from the time of her father’s decease; but both barristers gave it as their opinion, that the income during those twelve months belonged to Constance: this was a considerable sum, which, by Mr. Gresham’s advice, was to be vested with the rest of Mr. Henry’s capital in the firm of the house of Panton and Co. In consequence of Mr. Gresham’s earnest recommendation, and of his own excellent conduct and ability, Mr. Henry was from this time joined in the firm, and as one of the partners had a secure income proportioned to his part of the capital, besides a share in the very advantageous speculations in which the house was engaged. Mr. Gresham undertook to supply Mr. Henry’s place at Amsterdam, whither he was under the necessity of going. His house he would leave to Constance during his absence. She had best begin by taking possession of it, and establish herself there, he observed, that she might not have the inconvenience and mortification of being turned out of her own at the end of the year. “And if,” said he, “I should be able, when I return, to make Mr. Henry’s residence with me agreeable to him, I shall hope he will not, while I live, take my Constance quite away from me — I look to her as my chief happiness in life.”
If Rosamond had heard the sigh which closed this speech, and if she had seen the simplicity and delicacy of Mr. Gresham’s generosity on this occasion, she would have reproached herself for refusing him, and would almost have reasoned herself into the belief that she had done very wrong not to marry him; but this belief would only, could only, have lasted till she should see Mr. Temple again: so that, upon the whole, it was best for poor Mr. Gresham that she knew nothing of the matter.
All things being arranged thus in the kindest and most convenient manner by this excellent man, and the day being fixed for the marriage of Constance and Mr. Henry, Caroline was asked to be bride’s-maid, and the honour of Lady Jane Granville’s company was requested. It is inconceivable how much importance Lady Jane attached to the idea of her accepting or refusing this request, and the quantity she talked about it was wonderful! Notwithstanding the habitual theme of her being of no consequence now to any one, of her being utterly forgotten and out of the world, yet she had still a secret, very secret belief, that all she did would be known and commented upon; and she worked herself up to think, also, that the honour to be conferred, or the offence that would be taken in consequence of her decision, would be immortal. Every five minutes for two hours after the first reading of Mr. Gresham’s note, she took it up, laid it down, and argued the matter pro and con to Caroline.
A long and loud knocking at the door came to Caroline’s relief: it was repeated with imperious impatience. “Who is it, my dear? look out of the window, but don’t let yourself be seen.”
Caroline did not know any of the fashionable equipages, which to Lady Jane appeared a great defect in her education: upon this occasion, however, she thought she recollected the livery to be Mrs. Falconer’s.
“Oh! no, my dear, quite impossible — the Falconers have not been near me this age. I will tell you whose livery it is — there is a resemblance, but it is astonishing to me a girl of your sense cannot learn the difference — it is old Lady Brangle’s livery.”
“It might very possibly be so,” Caroline allowed.
The servant however brought in cards and a note from Mrs. Falconer — the note was to announce to Lady Jane Granville the approaching marriage of Miss Falconer with Sir Robert Percy — the day was named, and the honour of Lady Jane Granville’s company was requested at the wedding. Lady Jane knew that this communication was made, not in the least in the kindness, but in the pride of Mrs. Falconer’s heart; and precisely in the same spirit in which it was written Lady Jane thought it incumbent upon her to receive and answer it. Her ladyship was really warm and honest in her friendships, and very grateful to her branch of the Percy family, for the kindness they had shown her in adversity.
“I think it extremely ill-judged and ill-bred of Mrs. Falconer to invite me to this wedding. Does she think I have no feeling? My own near relations and best friends deprived of their birth-right by this Sir Robert Percy — does she conceive it possible that I could go to such a wedding? — No; nor did she wish or expect it; she only wrote from vanity, and I shall answer her with pride, which, at least, is somewhat superior to that mean passion; and I shall go, I am now determined, to Mr. Gresham’s — I do nothing by halves.”
Her ladyship immediately wrote answers to both the invitations. Nothing for months had done her so much good as the exertion, interest, and imaginary self-importance these two notes created. At Mr. Gresham’s on the day of the wedding her ladyship appeared with great dignity, and was satisfied that she had conferred honour and serious obligation. Could she have seen into the minds of all the company, she would h
ave been astonished to find how little she occupied their thoughts. It would be difficult to determine whether it is more for the happiness or misery of man and womankind that politeness should cherish, or truth destroy, these little delusions of self-love.
Presently there appeared in the newspapers a splendid account of the marriage at St. George’s church, Hanover-square, of Sir Robert Percy, of Percy-hall, with Arabella, the eldest daughter of J. Falconer, Esquire: present at the ceremony was a long list of fashionable friends, who, as Lady Jane Granville observed, “would not have cared if the bride had been hanged the next minute.” The happy pair, after partaking of an elegant collation, set out in a barouche and four for Percy-hall, the seat of Sir Robert Percy.
“So!” cried Lady Jane, throwing down the paper, “Mrs. Falconer has accomplished that match at last, and has got one of her daughters well off her hands — the ugly one too. Upon my word, she is amazingly clever. But, after all, the man has a horrid temper, and a very bad character. Now it is over, my dear Caroline, I must tell you, that long ago, before I was so well aware of what sort of a man he was, I had formed the plan of marrying him to you, and so uniting the two branches, and bringing the estate into your family; but we have often reason to rejoice that our best-concerted schemes don’t succeed. I give Mrs. Falconer joy. For worlds I would not have such a man married to any relation or friend of mine — Oh! if I recover my fortune, Caroline, I have hopes for you!”
Her ladyship was interrupted by the arrival of Mr. Gresham, who came to take leave, as he was just setting out for Holland. He was a man who said less and did more for his friends, as Caroline observed, than almost any person she knew. On seeing his gallery of paintings, she had noticed some beautiful miniatures; he now brought all those which she had admired, and begged to leave them with her during his absence, that she might at her leisure copy any of them she liked. He knew she painted in miniature, for he had long ago, when at the Hills, seen her copy of M. de Tourville’s picture of Euphrosyne.
Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth Page 148
