Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth

by Maria Edgeworth

  Lord Oldborough marked the vacillation and confusion of his countenance, and saw that he was quite unprepared.

  “I hope — Merciful Powers! I trust — I thought your lordship had triumphed over all your enemies, and was firmer in favour and power than ever. What can have occurred?”

  Without making any answer, Lord Oldborough beckoned to the commissioner to approach nearer the window where his lordship was standing, and then suddenly put into his hand the cover with the forged handwriting and seal.

  “What am I to understand by this, my lord?” said the bewildered commissioner, turning it backwards and forwards. “Captain Nuttall! — I never saw the man in my life. May I ask, my lord, what I am to comprehend from this?”

  “I see, sir, that you know nothing of the business.”

  The whole was explained by Lord Oldborough succinctly. The astonishment and horror in the poor commissioner’s countenance and gestures, and still more, the eagerness with which he begged to be permitted to try to discover the authors of this forgery, were sufficient proofs that he had not the slightest suspicion that the guilt could be traced to any of his own family.

  Lord Oldborough’s look, fixed on the commissioner, expressed what it had once before expressed—”Sir, from my soul, I pity you!”

  The commissioner saw this look, and wondered why Lord Oldborough should pity him at a time when all his lordship’s feelings should naturally be for himself.

  “My lord, I would engage we shall discover — we shall trace it.”

  “I believe that I have discovered — that I have traced it,” said Lord Oldborough; and he sighed.

  Now that sigh was more incomprehensible to the commissioner than all the rest, and he stood with his lips open for a moment before he could utter, “Why then resign, my lord?”

  “That is my affair,” said Lord Oldborough. “Let us, if you please, sir, think of yours; for, probably, this is the only time I shall ever more have it in my power to be of the least service to you.”

  “Oh! my lord — my lord, don’t say so!” said the commissioner quite forgetting all his artificial manner, and speaking naturally: “the last time you shall have it in your power! — Oh! my dear lord, don’t say so!”

  “My dear sir, I must — it gives me pain — you see it does.”

  “At such a time as this to think of me instead of yourself! My lord, I never knew you till this moment — so well.”

  “Nor I you, sir,” said Lord Oldborough. “It is the more unfortunate for us both, that our connexion and intercourse must now for ever cease.”

  “Never, never, my lord, if you were to go out of power to-morrow — which Heaven, in its mercy and justice, forbid! I could never forget the goodness — I would never desert — in spite of all interest — I should continue — I hope your lordship would permit me to pay my duty — all intercourse could never cease.”

  Lord Oldborough saw, and almost smiled at the struggle between the courtier and the man — the confusion in the commissioner’s mind between his feelings and his interest. Partly his lordship relieved, and partly he pained Mr. Falconer, by saying, in his firm tone, “I thank you, Mr. Falconer; but all intercourse must cease. After this hour, we meet no more. I beg you, sir, to collect your spirits, and to listen to me calmly. Before this day is at an end, you will understand why all farther intercourse between us would be useless to your interest, and incompatible with my honour. Before many hours are past, a blow will be struck which will go to your heart — for I see you have one — and deprive you of the power of thought. It is my wish to make that blow fall as lightly upon you as possible.”

  “Oh! my lord, your resignation would indeed be a blow I could never recover. The bare apprehension deprives me at this moment of all power of thought; but still I hope—”

  “Hear me, sir, I beg, without interruption: it is my business to think for you. Go immediately to the Duke of Greenwich, make what terms with him you can — make what advantage you can of the secret of my approaching resignation — a secret I now put in your power to communicate to his grace, and which no one yet suspects — I having told it to no one living but to yourself. Go quickly to the duke — time presses — I wish you success — and a better patron than I have been, than my principles would permit me to be. Farewell, Mr. Falconer.”

  The commissioner moved towards the door when Lord Oldborough said “Time presses;” but the commissioner stopped — turned back — could not go: the tears — real tears — rolled down his cheeks — Lord Oldborough went forward, and held out his hand to him — the commissioner kissed it, with the reverence with which he would have kissed his sovereign’s hand; and bowing, he involuntarily backed to the door, as if quitting the presence of majesty.

  “It is a pity that man was bred a mere courtier, and that he is cursed with a family on none of whom there is any dependence,” thought Lord Oldborough, as the door closed upon the commissioner for ever.

  Lord Oldborough delayed an hour purposely, to give Mr. Falconer advantage of the day with the Duke of Greenwich: then ordered his carriage, and drove to — Mrs. Falconer’s.

  Great was her surprise at the minister’s entrance.—”Concerned the commissioner was not at home.”

  “My business is with Mrs. Falconer.”

  “My lord — your lordship — the honour and the pleasure of a visit — Georgiana, my dear.”

  Mrs. Falconer nodded to her daughter, who most unwillingly, and as if dying with curiosity, retired.

  The smile died away upon Mrs. Falconer’s lips as she observed the stern gravity of Lord Oldborough’s countenance. She moved a chair towards his lordship — he stood, and leaning on the back of the chair, paused, as he looked at her.

  “What is to come? — Cunningham, perhaps,” thought Mrs. Falconer; “or perhaps something about John. When will he speak? — I can’t — I must — I am happy to see your lordship looking so well.”

  “Is Mrs. Falconer acquainted with Lady Trant?”

  “Lady Trant — yes, my lord.”

  “Mercy! Is it possible? — No, for her own sake she would not betray me,” thought Mrs. Falconer.

  “Intimately?” said Lord Oldborough.

  “Intimately — that is, as one’s intimate with every body of a certain sort — one visits — but no farther — I can’t say I have the honour—”

  Mrs. Falconer was so distracted by seeing Lord Oldborough searching in his pocket-book for a letter, that in spite of all her presence of mind, she knew not what she said; and all her presence of countenance failed, when Lord Oldborough placed before her eyes the cover directed to Captain Nuttall.

  Can you guess how this came into Lady Trant’s possession, madam?”

  “I protest, my lord,” her voice trembling, in spite of her utmost efforts to command it, “I don’t know — nor can I conceive—”

  “Nor can you conceive by whom it was written, madam?”

  “It appears — it bears a resemblance — some likeness — as far as I recollect — but it is so long since I have seen your lordship’s own hand — and hands are so like — sometimes — and I am so bad a judge — every hand, all fashionable hands, are so like.”

  “And every seal like every seal?” said Lord Oldborough, placing the counterfeit seal before Mrs. Falconer. “I recommend it to you, madam, to waste no farther time in evasion; but to deliver to me the counterpart of this seal, the impression of my private seal, which you had from Lady Frances Arlington.”

  “A mere bread-seal! Her ladyship surely has not said — I really have lost it — if I ever had it — I declare your lordship terrifies me so, by this strange mode—”

  “I recommend it to you once more, madam, and for the last time I earnestly recommend it to you, to deliver up to me that seal, for I have sworn to my belief that it is in your possession; a warrant will in consequence be issued, to seize and search your papers. The purport of my present visit, of which I should gladly have been spared the pain, is to save you, madam, from the public d
isgrace of having a warrant executed. Do not faint, madam, if you can avoid it, nor go into hysterics; for if you do, I must retire, and the warrant must be executed. Your best course is to open that desk, to give me up the seal, to make to me at this instant a full confession of all you know of this transaction. If you do thus, for your husband’s sake, madam, I will, as far as I can consistently with what is due to myself, spare you the shame of an arrest.”

  Mrs. Falconer, with trembling hands, unlocked the desk, and delivered the seal.

  “And a letter which I see in the same hand-writing, madam, if you please.”

  She gave it; and then, unable to support herself longer, sunk upon a sofa: but she neither fainted nor screamed — she was aware of the consequences. Lord Oldborough opened the window to give her air. She was relieved by a burst of tears, and was silent — and nothing was heard but her sobs, which she endeavoured to suppress in vain. She was more relieved on looking up by one glance at Lord Oldborough’s countenance, where she saw compassion working strongly.

  But before she could take any advantage of it, the expression was changed, the feeling was controlled: he was conscious of its weakness — he recollected what public justice, and justice to his own character, required — he recollected all the treachery, the criminality, of which she had been guilty.

  “Madam, you are not now in a condition, I see, to explain yourself farther — I will relieve you from my presence: my reproaches you will never hear; but I shall expect from you, before one hour, such an avowal in writing of this whole transaction, as may, with the written confession of Lady Trant, afford the proofs which are due to my sovereign, and to the public, of my integrity.”

  Mrs. Falconer bowed her head, covered her face, clasped her hands in agony: as Lord Oldborough retired, she sprang up, followed to throw herself at his feet, yet without knowing what she could say.

  “The commissioner is innocent! — If you forsake him, he is undone — all, all of us, utterly ruined! Oh! Georgiana! Georgiana! where are you? speak for me!”

  Georgiana was in an inner apartment, trying on a new robe à la Georgienne.

  “Whatever you may wish farther to say to me, madam,” said Lord Oldborough, disengaging himself from her, and passing decidedly on, before Georgiana appeared, “you will put in writing, and let me have within this hour — or never.”

  Within that hour, Commissioner Falconer brought, for Lord Oldborough, the paper his wife had drawn up, but which he was obliged to deliver to Mr. Temple; for Lord Oldborough had so ordered, and his lordship persevered in refusing to see him more. Mrs. Falconer’s paper was worded with all the art and address of which she was mistress, and all the pathos she could command — Lord Oldborough looked only for facts — these he marked with his pencil, and observed where they corroborated and where they differed from Lady Trant’s confession, which Mr. Temple had been charged to obtain during his lordship’s visit to Mrs. Falconer. The greater part of the night Lord Oldborough and Mr. Alfred Percy were employed arranging these documents, so as to put the proofs in the clearest and shortest form, to be laid before his majesty the succeeding day.

  It appeared that Mrs. Falconer had been first tempted to these practices by the distress for money into which extravagant entertainments, or, as she stated, the expenses incident to her situation — expenses which far exceeded her income — had led her. It was supposed, from her having kept open house at times for the minister, that she and the commissioner had great influence; she had been applied to — presents had been offered, and she had long withstood. But at length, Lady Trant acting in concert with her, they had been supplied with information by a clerk in one of the offices, a relation of Lady Trant, who was a vain, incautious youth, and, it seems, did not know the use made of his indiscretion: he told what promotions he heard spoken of — what commissions were making out. The ladies prophesied, and their prophecies being accomplished, they gained credit. For some time they kept themselves behind the scenes — and many, applying to A.B., and dealing with they did not know whom, paid for promotions which would have come unpaid for; others paid, and were never promoted, and wrote letters of reproach — Captain Nuttall was among these, and he it was, who, finding himself duped, first stirred in the business; and by means of an active member of opposition, to whom he made known his secret grievance, brought the whole to light.

  The proofs arranged (and Lord Oldborough never slept till they were perfected), he reposed tranquilly. The next day, asking an audience of his majesty, he simply laid the papers on his majesty’s table, observing that he had been so fortunate as to succeed in tracing the forgery, and that he trusted these papers contained all the necessary proofs.

  His lordship bowed and retired instantly, leaving his majesty to examine the papers alone.

  The resolution to resign his ministerial station had long been forming in Lord Oldborough’s mind. It was not a resolution taken suddenly in pride or pique, but after reflection, and upon strong reasons. It was a measure which he had long been revolving in his secret thoughts. During the enthusiasm of political life, the proverbial warnings against the vanity of ambition, and the danger of dependence on the favour of princes, had passed on his ear but as a schoolboy’s lesson: a phrase “to point a moral, or adorn a tale.” He was not a reading man, and the maxims of books he disregarded or disbelieved; but in the observations he made for himself he trusted: the lessons he drew from life were never lost upon him, and he acted in consequence of that which he believed, with a decision, vigour, and invariability, seldom found even among philosophers. Of late years he had, in real life, seen striking instances of the treachery of courtiers, and had felt some symptoms of insecurity in the smile of princes. Fortune had been favourable to him — she was fickle — he determined to quit her before she should change. Ambition, it is true, had tempted him — he had risen to her highest pinnacle: he would not be hurled from high — he would descend voluntarily, and with dignity. Lord Oldborough’s habits of thought were as different as possible from those of a metaphysician: he had reflected less upon the course of his own mind than upon almost any other subject; but he knew human nature practically; disquisitions on habit, passion, or the sovereign good, were unread by him, nor, in the course of his life, had he ever formed a system, moral or prudential; but the same penetration, the same longanimity, which enabled him to govern the affairs of a great nation, gave him, when his attention turned towards himself, a foresight for his own happiness. In the meridian of life, he had cherished ambition, as the only passion that could supply him with motive strong enough to call great powers into great action. But of late years he had felt something, not only of the waywardness of fortune, but of the approaches of age — not in his mind, but in his health, which had suffered by his exertions. The attacks of hereditary gout had become more violent and more frequent. If he lived, these would, probably, at seasons, often incapacitate him from his arduous ministerial duties: much, that he did well, must be ill done by deputy. He had ever reprobated the practice of leaving the business of the nation to be done by clerks and underlings in office. Yet to this the minister, however able, however honest, must come at last, if he persist in engrossing business and power beyond what an individual can wield. Love for his country, a sense of his own honour, integrity, and consistency, here combined to determine this great minister to retire while it was yet time — to secure, at once, the dignity and happiness of the evening of life. The day had been devoted to good and high purposes — that was enough — he could now, self-satisfied and full of honour, bid adieu to ambition. This resolution, once formed, was fixed. In vain even his sovereign endeavoured to dissuade him from carrying it into execution.

  When the king had examined the papers which Lord Oldborough had laid before him, his majesty sent for his lordship again, and the moment the minister entered the cabinet, his majesty expressed his perfect satisfaction in seeing that his lordship had, with so little trouble, and with his usual ability, got to the bottom of this affair.


  What was to be done next? The Duke of Greenwich was to be summoned. His grace was in astonishment when he saw the papers which contained Lord Oldborough’s complete vindication, and the crimination of Mrs. Falconer. Through the whole, as he read on, his grace had but one idea, viz. “Commissioner Falconer has deceived me with false intelligence of the intended resignation.” Not one word was said by Lord Oldborough to give his grace hope of that event — till the member of opposition by whom the forged letters had been produced — till all those who knew or had heard any thing of the transaction were clearly and fully apprised of the truth. After this was established, and that all saw Lord Oldborough clear and bright in honour, and, at least apparently, as firm in power as he had ever been, to the astonishment of his sovereign his lordship begged permission to resign.

  Whatever might have been the effect of misrepresentation, to lower Lord Oldborough’s favour, at the moment when he spoke of retiring, his king recollected all his past services — all that must, in future, be hazarded and lost in parting with such a minister — so eminent in abilities, of such tried integrity, of such fidelity, such attachment to his person, such a zealous supporter of royalty, such a favourite with his people, so successful as well as so able a minister! Never was he so much valued as at this moment. All his sovereign’s early attachment returned in full strength and warmth.

  “No, my lord, you must not — you will not leave me.”

  These simple words, spoken with the warmth of the heart, touched Lord Oldborough more than can be told. It was difficult to resist them, especially when he saw tears in the eyes of the monarch whom he loved.

  But his resolution was taken. He thanked his majesty, not with the common-place thanks of courtiers, but with his whole heart and soul he thanked his majesty for this gracious condescension — this testimony of approbation — these proofs of sensibility to his attachment, which paid — overpaid him, in a moment, for the labours of a life. The recollection of them would be the glory, the solace of his age — could never leave his memory while life lasted — would, he thought, be present to him, if he should retain his senses, in his dying moment. But he was, in the midst of this strong feeling, firm to the resolution his reason had taken. He humbly represented, that he had waited for a favourable time when the affairs of the country were in a prosperous train, when there were few difficulties to embarrass those whom his majesty might name to succeed to his place at the head of administration: there were many who were ambitious of that station — zeal, talents, and the activity of youth were at his majesty’s command. For himself, he found it necessary for his health and happiness to retire from public business; and to resign the arduous trust with which he had been honoured.