“Cut me off with what you will,” said Goodenough, sullenly, “not a farthing of my money shall ever be lent to one that has a project for every day in the year. Get into what difficulties you may, I will never join you in any bond, I promise you. It is enough for me to take care of myself.”
“Don’t flatter yourself that I am getting into any difficulties,” replied Marvel. “I wanted the hundred guineas only to pay for a horse; and the friend who sold him to me will wait my convenience.”
“The friend” said Wright; “do you mean that man who rode home with you from Spalding? — I advise you not to make a friend of him, for he is a notorious jockey.” “He will not take me in, though,” said Marvel; “I am as sharp as he is, and he sees that: so we understand one another very well. To my certain knowledge, a hundred and twenty guineas could be had to-morrow for the horse I bought from him; yet he let me have him for a hundred.”
“And how can a man of your sense, cousin Marvel,” said Wright, “believe that a person, who never saw you till within these three days, would be so much your friend as to make you a present of twenty guineas?”
“A present!”
“Yes; if he lets you have a horse for a hundred, which you can sell for a hundred and twenty, does not he make you a present of twenty guineas?”
“Well, but I can tell you the reason for all that: he wants me to enter into a scheme with him, for breeding horses on the common here: and so he would not, at first setting out, stand to higgle with me for the price of a horse.”
“And would you for twenty guineas, cousin Marvel, run the hazard of joining in any scheme with a man of his character? Pray inquire in the country and in York, where you are going, what sort of a character this man bears. Take my advice, pay him for his horse, and have nothing more to do with him.”
“But I have not the ready cash to pay him for his horse, that’s one thing,” said Marvel.
“Let that be no difficulty,” replied Wright; “for I have a hundred guineas here, just brought home from Partney fair, and they are heartily at your service.”
Goodenough twitched Wright’s elbow three times as he uttered these words: but Wright finished his sentence, and put the money into Marvel’s hands immediately upon his promising to pay for the horse, break off all connexion with his friend the jockey, if he should find upon inquiry that he was not a person of good character, and at all events to suspend any treaty with him till after his return from York.
“Whilst you are gone,” said Wright, “I will make inquiries about the profit of breeding of horses on the commons. I have an acquaintance, a sensible old man, who has kept accounts of what he has done in that way himself; and he will show us his accounts, from which we shall be able to judge.”
CHAPTER II.
Wright heard nothing more of him for about a fortnight; he then received the following letter:
“DEAR COUSIN WRIGHT,
“It is a very great pity that you could not be persuaded to come along with me to York races, where I have seen more of life, and of the world, in a week, than ever I did in all my life before. — York is a surprising fine town; and has a handsome cathedral, and assembly-room: but I am not in the humour, just now, to describe them: so I shall proceed to what is much better worth thinking of.
“You must know, cousin Wright, that I am in love, and never was I so happy or so miserable in my days. If I was not a farmer there would be some hopes for me; but, to be sure, it is not to be expected that such a lady as she is should think of a mere country booby; in which light, indeed, she was pleased to say, as I heard from good authority, she did not consider me; though my manners wanted polish. These were her own words. I shall spare nothing to please her, if possible, and am not wholly without hope, though I have a powerful rival; no less a person than the eldest son and heir of Sir Plantagenet Mowbray, Bart. But her virtue will never, I am persuaded, suffer her to listen to such addresses as his. Now mine are honourable, and pure as her soul; the purity of which no one could doubt, who had seen her last night, as I did, in the character of the Fair Penitent. She was universally admired: and another night sung and danced like an angel. But I can give you no idea of her by pen and ink; so I beseech you to come and see her, and give your advice to me candidly, for I have the highest opinion of your judgment and good-nature.
“I find you were quite right about that scoundrel who rode with me from Spalding! He has arrested me for a hundred guineas; and is, without exception, the shabbiest dog I ever met with: but I am out of his clutches, and have better friends. I will tell you the whole story when we meet, and pay you your hundred with many thanks. Pray set out as soon as you receive this, for every moment is an age to me: and I won’t declare myself, more than I have done, if possible, till you come; for I have a great opinion of your judgment; yet hope you won’t put on your severe face, nor be prejudiced against her, because of her being on the stage. Leave such illiberality to cousin Goodenough: it would be quite beneath you! Pray bring with you that volume of old plays that is at the top of my bed, under the bag of thistles; or in the basket of reeds that I was making; or in the out-house, where I keep the goose-quills and feathers. I don’t find my memory so clear, since my head is so full of this charming Alicia Barton. Pray make no delay, as you value the peace of mind of your
“Affectionate cousin and friend,
“PIERCE MARVEL.
“P. S. Mr. Barton, her brother, is the most generous of men, and the cleverest. He is not averse to the match. Sir Plantagenet Mowbray’s son and heir, who is as insolent as his father, may find that a Lincolnshire farmer is not a person to be despised. I have thoughts of selling my farm of Clover-hill, and of going into another way of life; for which, as Mr. Barton said, and Alicia hinted, nay, as I am inclined to believe too, I am much better suited than for farming. Of this more when we meet. Pray set out as soon as you receive this. Alicia has dark eyes, and yet a fair complexion. I am sure you will like her.”
Far from feeling sure that he should like Miss Alicia Barton, Wright was so much alarmed for his cousin, on the perusal of this letter, that he resolved to set out immediately for York, lest the sale of Clover-hill should be concluded before his arrival. A new project and a new love were, indeed, powerful temptations to one of Marvel’s character.
As Goodenough was plodding at his accustomed pace in his morning’s work, he met Wright on horseback, who asked him if he had any commissions that he could execute in York, whither he was going.
“None, thank Heaven!” said Goodenough. “So I see it is as I always knew it would be! Marvel is ‘ticing you into his own ways, and will make you just such another as his self. Ay, you must go to York races! Well, so much the better for me. Much pleasure to you at the races.”
“I am not going to the races; I am going to do Marvel a service.”
“Charity begins at home: that’s my maxim,” replied Goodenough.
“It is quite fitting that charity should begin at home,” said Wright; “but then it should not end at home; for those that help nobody will find none to help them in time of need.”
“Those that help nobody will not be so apt to come to need,” replied Goodenough. “But yonder’s my men standing idle. If I but turn my head, that’s the way of them. Good morrow to you, cousin Wright; I can’t stand argufying here about charity, which won’t plough my ground, nor bring me a jot nearer to the ten thousand pounds’ legacy: so good morrow to you. My service to cousin Marvel.”
Goodenough proceeded to his men, who were in truth standing idle, as it was their custom to do when their master’s eye was not, as they thought, upon them; for he kept them so hard at work, when he was present, that not a labouring man in the country would hire himself to Goodenough, when he could get employment elsewhere. Goodenough’s partizans, however, observed that he got his money’s worth out of every man he employed; and that this was the way to grow rich. The question, said they, is not which of the three nephews will be the best beloved, but which will be the
richest at the end of ten years; and, on this ground, who can dispute that Goodenough’s maxim is the best, “Charity begins at home?” Wright’s friends looked rather alarmed when they heard of this journey to York; and Marvel’s advocates, though they put a good face upon the matter, heartily wished him safe home.
Upon Wright’s arrival in York, he found it no easy matter to discover his cousin Marvel; for he had forgotten to date his letter, and no direction was given to inn or lodging: at last, after inquiring at all the public-houses without success, Wright bethought himself of asking where Miss Alicia Barton, the actress, lodged; for there he would probably meet her lover. Mr. Harrison, an eminent dyer, to whom he applied for information, very civilly offered to show him to the house. Wright had gained this dyer’s good opinion by the punctuality with which he had, for three years past, supplied him, at the day and hour appointed, with the quantity of woad for which he had agreed. Punctuality never fails to gain the good opinion of men of business.
As the dyer walked with Wright to Miss Barton’s lodgings, they entered into conversation about her; and Wright asked what character she bore. “I know nothing of her character for my own share,” said Harrison, “not being in that line of business; but I think I could put you into a way of seeing her in her true colours, whatever they may be; for she is very intimate with a milliner, whom my wife (though not with my good-will entirely) visits. In return for which, I shall be glad that you will do my business along with your own; and let me know if any thing is going wrong.”
The dyer introduced Wright to the milliner as a gentleman farmer, who wanted to take home with him a fashionable cap and bonnet, or two, for some ladies in Lincolnshire. The milliner ordered down some dusty bandboxes, which she protested and vowed were just arrived from London with the newest fashions; and, whilst she was displaying these, Wright talked of the races, and the players, and Miss Alicia Barton.
“Is she as handsome as they say? I have a huge cur’osity to see her,” said Wright, feigning more rusticity of manner and more simplicity than was natural to him. “I have, truly, a woundy cur’osity to see her, I’ve heard so much of her, even down in Lincolnshire.”
“If you go to see the play, sir, you can’t fail to have your curiosity gratified, for Miss Barton plays to-night — (Jenny! reach me a play-bill) — for her own benefit, and appears in her very best character, the Romp.”
“The Romp! — Odds! Is that her best character? Why, now, to my notion, bad’s the best, if that be the best of her characters. The Romp! — Odds so! What would our grandmothers say to that?”
“Oh, sir, times are changed, as well as fashions, since our grandmothers’ days,” said the milliner. “Put up this bonnet for the gentleman, Jenny. — I am sure I don’t pretend to say any thing in favour of the times, whatever I may of the fashions. But, as to fashion, to be sure no one can be more fashionable, here in York, than Miss Barton. All our gentlemen are dying for her.”
“Odds my life, I’ll keep out of her way! And yet I’ve a huge cur’osity to set my eyes upon her. Pray, now, could I any way get to the sight or speech of her in a room, or so? for seeing a woman on the stage is one thing, and seeing her off, as I take it, is another.”
“I take it so too, sir. Jenny, put up the cap for the gentleman, and make out a bill.”
“No, no; the bonnet’s all I want, which I’ll pay for on the nail.”
Wright took out a long purse full of guineas: then put it up again, and opened a pocket-book full of bank-notes. The milliner’s respect for him obviously increased. “Jenny! Do run and see who’s within there. Miss Barton was trying on her dress, I think, half an hour ago: may be she’ll pass through this way, and the gentleman may have a sight of her, since it weighs so much upon his mind. Let me put up the cap too, sir: it’s quite the fashion, you may assure the Lincolnshire ladies. — Oh! here’s Miss Barton.”
Miss Barton made her appearance, with all her most bewitching smiles and graces. Without seeming to notice Wright, she seated herself in a charming attitude; and, leaning pensively on the counter, addressed her conversation to her friend, the milliner: but, at every convenient pause, she cast an inquiring glance at Wright, who stood with his long purse of guineas in his hand, and his open pocket-book of bank-notes before him, as if he had been so much astonished by the lady’s appearance, that he could not recover his recollection. Now, Wright was a remarkably well-shaped handsome man, and Miss Barton was in reality as much struck by his appearance as he feigned to be by hers. No forbidding reserve condemned him to silence; and, as if inspired by the hope of pleasing, he soon grew talkative.
“This is the most rare town, this, your town of York.” said he: “I do not well know how I shall ever be able to get myself out of it: so many fine sights, my eyes be quite dazzled!” “And pray, sir, which of all the fine sights do you like the best?” said the milliner.
“Oh! the ladies be the finest of all the fine sights: and I know who I think the finest lady I ever beheld — but will never tell — never.”
“Never, sir?” said the milliner, whilst Miss Barton modestly cast down her eyes. “Never’s a bold word, sir. I’ve a notion you’ll live to break that rash resolution.”
Miss Barton sighed, and involuntarily looked at the glass.
“Why, where’s the use,” pursued Wright, “of being laughed at? Where’s the sense of being scoffed at, as a man might be, that would go for to pay a compliment, not well knowing how, to a lady that is used to have court made to her by the first gentlemen in all York?”
“Those that think they don’t know how to pay a compliment often pay the best to my fancy,” said the milliner. “What says Miss Barton?”
Miss Barton sighed and blushed, or looked as if she meant to blush; and then, raising her well-practised eyes, exclaimed, with theatrical tones and gestures:
“Ye sacred pow’rs, whose gracious providence
Is watchful for our good, guard me from men,
From their deceitful tongues, their vows and flatteries;
Still let me pass neglected by their eyes:
Let my bloom wither and my form decay,
That none may think it worth their while to ruin me,
And fatal love may never be my bane.”
Scarcely had she concluded her speech, when Pierce Marvel came breathless into the shop. Wright was standing so as to be completely hidden by the door: and Marvel, not seeing his friend, addressed himself, as soon as he had breath, to his mistress. — The lady’s manner changed, and Wright had an opportunity of seeing and admiring her powers of acting. To Marvel, she was coy and disdainful.
“I expect my friend and relation in town every hour,” said he to her in a low voice; “and then I shall be able to settle with your brother about the sale of Clover-hill. You half promised that you would walk with me this morning.” “Not without my brother: excuse me, sir,” said the coy lady, withdrawing with the dignity of a princess. “When your friend arrives, for whose advice I presume you wait, you will be able to decide your heart. Mine cannot be influenced by base lucre, or mercenary considerations — Unhand me, sir.”
“I will run immediately to the inn, to see whether my friend is come,” cried Marvel. “Believe me, I am as much above mercenary considerations as yourself; but I have promised not to conclude upon the sale till he comes, and he would take it ill to be sent for, and then to be made a fool of. — I’ll run to the Green Man again immediately, to see if he is come.”
Marvel darted out of the shop. Wright, during this parley, which lasted but a few seconds, had kept himself snug in his hiding-place, and appeared to the milliner to be wholly absorbed in casting up his bill, in which there was a shilling wrong. He came from behind the door as soon as Marvel departed; and, saying that he would call for his purchases in an hour’s time, left the milliner’s, took a hackney coach, and drove to the Green Man, where he was now sure of meeting his cousin.
“Thank Heaven! you are come at last,” cried Marvel, the moment he saw
him. “Thank Heaven! you are come! do not let us lose a moment. If you are not tired, if you are not hungry, come along with me, and I’ll introduce you to my charming Alicia Barton.”
“I am both tired and hungry,” replied Wright: “so let us have a hot beef-steak, and let me sit down and rest myself.”
It was the utmost stretch of Marvel’s patience to wait for the beef-steak; and he could scarcely conceive how any one could prefer eating it to seeing his charming Alicia. He did not eat a morsel himself, but walked up and down the room with quick steps.
“Oh! my dear Wright,” cried he, “it is a sign you’ve never seen her, or you would eat a little faster.”
“Does every body eat fast, who has seen Miss Barton?” said Wright; “then to be sure I should; for I have seen her within this half hour.”
“Seen her! Seen Alicia! Seen her within this half hour! That’s impossible. — How could you see her? Where could you see her?” “I saw her in your company,” rejoined Wright, coolly.
“In my company! How could that be, without my seeing you? — You are making a jest of me.”
“Not at all; only take care that you do not make a jest of yourself. I assure you that I say nothing but truth: I’ve seen you and your Miss Barton this very morning: nay, I’ll tell you what you said to her; you told her that you could not sell Clover-hill till I came to town.”
Marvel stared, and stood in silent astonishment.
“Ay,” continued Wright, “you see by this how many things may pass before a man’s eyes and ears, when he is in love, without his seeing or hearing them. Why, man, I was in the milliner’s shop just now, standing in the corner behind the door; but you could see nothing but your charming Miss Barton.”
Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth Page 413
