Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth

by Maria Edgeworth

  “How people may live and learn, even at my age!” said Bessy.

  The garden was divided into beds — nice pincushions, and hearts, and crescent-shaped beds — for Mary’s flowers. She was not allowed many flowers, because there must be a kitchen garden, with all things useful. A few sweet peas, and one red rose, and one white rose, Amy persuaded Walter to let her just put down; and they took root, and were never the worse for being transplanted at the wrong season. Everything lives in a wonderful way in young people’s gardens, or in young gardens freshly dug and fondly watered.

  Enough about all this. When is the widow to come and to be installed? Oh, no instalment. Walter and “my uncle” objected to instalment, word or deed. There must not be any fuss, they said. Amy looked a little disappointed; for though she was not in the least of an ostentatious disposition, she had a little romance in her imagination. There was a print which had “touched her infant thought.” A print in the “Peruvian Letters” of Zelie — the lovely Zelie being presented by Deterville the Generous with a charming newly-furnished house and garden; and there were the peasant girls doing homage, strewing flowers, and holding up the basket full of fruit to her graceful bending. It was a little too French altogether! And Amy was ashamed when Walter laughed at it and at her. She put the book out of sight, and her fancy out of mind.

  A jaunting car was hired to carry the widow and Mary to their new-old home. And Amy, and Bessy, and mamma, and Walter, set out in the pony carriage very early, that they might be in time to see that all was right, and to give the keys, and possession.

  “My uncle” had something particular to do at home, we suppose, as he could not be persuaded to be of this party, though they assured him there should be no scene: still, he said, he would rather hear it all from them when they came back, than go to see it himself.

  They arrived at Carrolinan Cottage — really a cottage now! “And here is the jaunting car coming up the hill — and the widow and Mary!” cried Bessy. “Oh, look at them, Walter! How delighted they are!”

  “I must go in and try the bell,” said Walter, ever intent upon the business to be done. “Will you try the house-bell, and I will come back and answer if it rings rightly? Now pray no fuss.” Bessy and Amy were mute, and as humbly and simply passive as possible; while all they had done was being seen. It need only be said that the widow was happy beyond expression, and beyond expression happily grateful. “Heaven bless them!” said the widow; and “Heaven bless them!” said Mary. The blessing of the widow and orphan was deep, but not loud; and was felt, though scarce audibly uttered.

  Meanwhile Walter was perplexed with fear of keys not turning in locks when it should come to the push; but on trial, and at push-and-try, and try! — try again a second time, all did turn; even the old and rusty, and the newly-filed, at the first trial turned — all right.

  “All is right, then, and we had better clear off, and leave Mary and mother to settle themselves their own way.”

  Off Walter ran, put his mother and sisters into the carriage, jumped in after them, and off they drove; but just as they passed the gate, they were stopped by Dr Clifford, who had seen the carriage as he was going on his charitable rounds, and who now came to congratulate the young people on having accomplished their good purpose. He assured Walter and his mother of the truth of all he had represented at their last meeting; but also added hopes, from what he had since ventured to say to his gouty, humorsome patient, that all would end agreeably. He had thrown in cooling remedies, sweeteners of the blood, and anti-malevolent specifics, in the timely administration of which he had, in the whole course of his practice, been eminently successful. And what a peculiarly happy line of practice is this! — blessed and blessing beyond all that ambition or money can obtain or can enjoy!

  Walter, as Dr Clifford walked beside the carriage, unthinking of himself, looked at him affectionately and respectfully; and the good doctor felt encouraged to ask a question.—”Has anything been heard of the widow’s son, of whom no news reached this country for so many years?”

  Walter rejoiced in being able to answer satisfactorily. He told of Orlando’s return, and of his present situation, and of all their well-founded hopes for her future. The good doctor’s heart was rejoiced, and his countenance lit up with benevolent sympathy. He had known Orlando when he was quite a child. He had seen that he was a remarkably clever child — a little, not a little conceited; but conceit drops off, or is rubbed off jostling through life; and several little traits of Orlando had come to his knowledge when he was attending boys in the measles at the school to which he had been sent, traits of an ardent and generous disposition.

  We forbear to record them, though they delighted Walter: showing the same disposition in the boy which now appeared in the young man. “And how well worth saving was such a youth, and how well worth restoring to his place in society; and, above all, how well worth making such a one respectable and happy!” exclaimed Dr Clifford, who, with his hand on the carriage door, walked on, he did not know how far, talking of all this, till the sun setting reminded him of an appointment he had in a cabin hard by. Walter shook hands with him most affectionately at parting, and promised that whenever Orlando might come to the country, he should hear of him, and see him, and have the pleasure of finding, as he trusted he should, how well his own judgment had prognosticated.

  At a good rate on the carriage rolled, and at a surprising rate the young ones chattered. What they could find to say continually, even mamma could not conceive. Orlandino or Orlando was, to be sure, an inexhaustible subject; but they passed from this to all manner of nonsense. From grave to gay, from sense to nonsense, there is in childhood and in youth an easy and quick transition, and often the most sensible become the most nonsensical.

  “Oh, Walter! — oh, Amy! Look at that goat with the gray beard and that long train of straw caught in his tail!” cried Bessy.

  “And oh, mamma! dear mamma! Look! To the left look quick.”

  And quick she looked, but saw nothing, yet heard peals of laughter. The heart’s laugh it was, unextinguishable as the laughter of the gods, and to the mother’s ear most pleasant.

  “Youth at the prow, and pleasure at the helm!”

  Can you? — can anybody imagine anything more delightful than a yachting party? Smooth water! soft breeze! streamers flying! music playing! ladies on the bank waving congratulations! and a glorious day! Can you conceive anything more delightful?

  Yes; something more delightful Walter enjoyed this day, when all his hopes were fulfilled, when all his benevolent wishes were accomplished, and he saw Orlando restored to his mother — saw him in her arms!

  But he was too attentive to the feelings of those he obliged, too sincerely sympathising, to intrude on their first meeting; he gave only one look, stayed only one moment. He would not disturb them, even by their sense of gratitude to him and his whole family. He threw upon the table a paper he had received by this morning’s post, then jumped on his pony, and away he cantered to Dr Clifford’s, to fulfil his promise of giving him the earliest notice of Orlando’s arrival.

  The paper laid on the table was the list of debts — all paid — a receipt in full given, and Orlando was at perfect liberty. The year of probation having come to an end, Dr Calton had written to Walter and his uncle to give his full testimony in favour of his protégé and of theirs. Protégé, indeed, he would no longer call him; he now considered him as one standing on his independent merits and well-earned character.

  Dr Calton, remembering the half promise he had made to accompany Orlando on his return to his native place and to his friend Walter, arrived as soon as possible after the comfortable assurance that their beds were ready, and that “there was room, and room enough for them.” An assurance that should always be waited for; as the cautious Scotchman remarked, “However certain you may be of a welcome to your mind, it is well always to make assurance doubly sure, and to be informed by the lady of the house that there is a possibility of room for your body
.”

  The moment they arrived — if we may believe Bessy’s assertion — she knew from the very first sound of Dr Calton’s voice that he was as fond of Orlando now as if he was his son; she knew it from the way in which he spoke as he got out of the carriage, putting the purse into his hand, saying, “You will look to everything.”

  Bessy’s instant deduction from this, that the doctor was “as fond of Orlando as if he was his own son,” might be somewhat hasty and exaggerated; but still there was a little more truth in this than in many takings-for-granted.

  Orlando had conducted himself with such perfect truth and steadiness, that Dr Calton considered him not only as his secretary, a secretary with a ready pen, and an assistant with a clever head, but as a young friend with a most affectionate and grateful heart, on whom he could rely entirely. Of Orlando’s grateful disposition he wisely judged, not by expressions towards himself, but by his manner of speaking of Walter, and by his constant endeavours to do credit to his recommendation. He had therefore determined to ask him to return with him to Scotland, and to offer him a permanent employment and establishment as his assistant.

  All these thoughts and views were in due course communicated by Dr Calton to Walter and to his uncle, after he had been with them a few days. Walter was delighted; it was the very thing he had wished, but hardly hoped; and, to complete his satisfaction, his uncle thought well of the plan. The mature prudence of the Scotch philosopher he saw would be well adapted and useful to guide the hand-over-head impetuosity of this Irish youth. The sort of domestic partnership proposed would be equally advantageous to senior and junior — to the sleeping and to the waking partners. In the intellectual department, also, there would be compensating qualities, constantly keeping all going well.

  “Like a compensating pendulum!” said Walter, in his high spirits hazarding an allusion.

  “Compensating pendulum!” Bessy repeated.

  “Gridiron pendulum!” said Walter, which did not make the matter clearer to Bessy; but she could not expect to have it explained at this moment.

  Dr Calton went on, and summed up what he had to say with, “I approve of him altogether.”

  “Altogether” — a word of which Dr Calton was as fond as was his countryman Dr Smith, who, in his “Theory of Moral Sentiments,” repeats it about a hundred times.

  “Altogether,” repeated Dr Calton, “I like your Orlando so well, that altogether, my dear Walter, I cannot like to return him to you. Of proper remuneration, and all that, we can talk presently; but as to the possibility — feasibility — and expediency of this my plan,” said the doctor, pausing between each word emphatically — possibility — feasibility — and expediency — for he thought he saw doubt, perplexity, and discomfiture in some of their faces. Not in Walter’s: his countenance was expanded with full satisfaction, radiant with joy; and he exclaimed —

  “Oh, the greatest possible happiness for Orlando!”

  “But not for his mother, I apprehend,” said Walter’s mother.

  “And not for Mary,” said Amy and Bessy.

  “And not for his poor uncle perhaps,” said my uncle.

  “His rich uncle does not want him — does not care or know anything about him,” said Walter.

  “Does not yet know anything about him, Walter; but when he does know, he may perhaps care about him.”

  “Perhaps,” said Walter.

  “Not only ‘perhaps,’ but most likely, Walter,” said his uncle, “from the account you heard given of him by Dr Clifford.”

  “But even so?” said Walter deliberatively.

  “And would not you of all things wish that his uncle should be reconciled to him, and to his mother, and to Mary?” said Amy.

  “And would not you wish that he should go to live with his uncle at More-Court, if he asked him?” cried Bessy.

  “Reconciled? Yes, Amy. — Live with him at More-Court? No, no, Bessy!”

  Bessy’s eyes opened wide.—”More-Court! It is a grand place, is it not?”

  “I do not know — I do not care,” said Walter.

  “What can you mean, Walter?” said Amy.

  “I know, uncle, what he means,” said Bessy. “I know, and mamma knows, what Walter means — that he could not leave his mother to live with his uncle, even if he asked him ever so much, or if More-Court be ever so grand a place.”

  “But,” said Amy, “his mother, and Mary, and all might be reconciled with that odd, angry, good-natured old man, and they might all go and live at More-Court all together.”

  “Not very probable,” said her uncle. “I should say impossible.”

  But young feet fearlessly trample upon impossibilities; and not only fearlessly, but triumphantly.

  “Oh, my dear uncle, only believe it, and you will see it will come true; and it will end delightfully! like a fairy tale, with—’So they all lived happily all the rest of their days!’”

  “Easily said, and a fit end for a fairy tale, my dear Bessy,” said her mother; “but not so easily done in real life.”

  “Besides, I do not like the idea of Orlando’s going crawling to that rich uncle for his fortune,” said Walter.

  “But he need not ‘crawl,’” said Amy. “And if he goes to his uncle, it need not be for his riches.”

  “It need not. But it would look very like it, considering the time of his going” —— They were interrupted by a servant coming into the room with a card for Dr Calton — a card of invitation from Dr Clifford, as secretary to a society of benevolent medical men, and well-informed gentlemen of the county, who had held a meeting every month, during the year of famine, for the relief of the poor; and who now continued their meetings for the discussion of many subjects that were useful and necessary for the restoration of industry and order, after the panic and confusion incident on a state of extraordinary distress. In a note accompanying the card, Dr Clifford apologised for thus addressing him, being personally a stranger to Dr Calton, but said that he was well acquainted with his published writings, and had lately seen a manuscript “Essay” of his on the very subject which their committee were now discussing: “Whether it would be prudent, if it were in our power, to re-establish the potato as the national food of Ireland;” and taking a more enlarged view of the subject — inquiring, “What should be deemed the indispensable, and what the essential, conditions of the staple food of a country?”

  Bessy and Amy withdrew their little heads while this was being read. — It was “too difficult” for them; but their attention was recalled by hearing Orlando’s name. Dr Clifford wished that Mr Orlando More should accompany Dr Calton to this meeting. The wish was complied with. Dr Calton took Orlando with him to the meeting; and there he appeared to great advantage, neither too forward nor too backward. Those who did not know his story, never suspected that he had been in any line of life different from that in which he now appeared. Those who were in the secret — as some then present, who had seen him act at Castletown-Bellevue, must have been — gave him the more credit for the perfect propriety of his engaging, unaffected, unassuming manners. He was talked of afterwards, and his story told by the initiated to the uninitiated; and as Dr Clifford had foreseen and expected when he sent the invitation, all this worked round from dinner-table to dinner-table, and from tea-table to tea-table, and from parlour to kitchen, till it reached the lower regions of More-Court, and mounted up again to the old gentleman’s own chamber. He inquired into the circumstances from Dr Clifford: found that the reports were true — that it was his own nephew!

  “Let me see him! let me see him instantly!” he cried in the imperious impatience of a wealthy invalid. “Let me see him instantly, or I shall break my heart! I MUST see my nephew! He is my nephew — he is my brother’s own son. I acknowledged the marriage before — I acknowledge it now. — I must, and will see my brother’s son; but I never will see the widow — I never will receive her — never will be reconciled to her — never shall she enter my door! — But my nephew, my nephew Orlando!”
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  Orlando was sent for. He came, and the old man wept at sight of him — he was so like the brother he had loved and lost.

  Orlando was not prepared for so tender a meeting. His uncle’s acknowledging the marriage, and receiving him so very kindly as his dear brother’s son, his own dear nephew, touched Orlando’s heart. With overflowing emotion he was pouring forth his own “and his mother’s unbounded gratitude,” when the old gentleman stopped him, and exclaimed —

  “Your mother, sir! I have nothing to do with your mother. I wont see her — I wont receive her! I said so before — I say so again — I never, never will be reconciled to your mother! I will provide for her — I will give her a handsome allowance — but upon condition that she never comes near me, that she never interferes with you, and that she gives you up to me completely. You shall be my son — you shall live with me: you know how much I have in my power: I shall make you my heir!”

  As he spoke, he fixed his eyes on Orlando; but something in the changed expression of his countenance so irritated the old man, that he started up in his chair, exclaiming —