Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth

by Maria Edgeworth

  “I do not know, cousin Milly, what you call the world; but I think that he knows more of Mrs. Stokes than I do; and I shall trust to his opinion, for I never knew him speak ill of any body without having good reason for it. Besides, it is my duty to obey my father.”

  “Duty! La! Gracious me! She talks as if she was a baby in leading-strings,” cried Miss Milly, laughing; but she was mortified at observing that Marvel did not join, as she had expected, in the laugh: so she added, in a scornful tone, “Perhaps I’m in the wrong box; and that Mr. Marvel is one of them that admires pretty babes in leading-strings.”

  “I am one of those that admire a good daughter, I confess,” said Marvel; “and,” said he, lowering his voice, “that love her too.”

  Miss Milly coloured with anger, and Lucy with an emotion that she had never felt before. As they returned home, they met Mr. Harrison, and the moment Marvel espied him he quitted the ladies.

  “I’ve something to say to you, Mr. Harrison. I should be glad to speak a few words to you in private, if you please,” cried he, seizing his arm, and leading him down a by-lane.

  Mr. Harrison was all attention; but Marvel began to gather primroses, instead of speaking.

  “Well,” said Mr. Harrison, “did you bring me here to see you gather primroses?”

  After smelling the flowers twenty times, and placing them in twenty different forms, Marvel at last threw them on the bank, and, with a sudden effort, exclaimed, “You have a daughter, Mr. James Harrison.”

  “I know I have; and I thank God for it.”

  “So you have reason to do; for a more lovely girl and a better, in my opinion, never existed.”

  “One must not praise one’s own, or I should agree with you,” said the proud father.

  Again there was silence. And again Marvel picked up his primroses.

  “In short,” said he, “Mr. Harrison, would you like me for a son-in-law?”

  “Would Lucy like you for a husband? I must know that first,” said the good father.

  “That is what I do not know,” replied Marvel; “but, if I was to ask her, she would ask you, I am sure, whether you would like me for a son-in-law.”

  “At this rate, we shall never get forwards,” said Harrison. “Go you back to Miss Milly, and send my Lucy here to me.”

  We shall not tell how Lucy picked up the flowers, which had been her lover’s grand resource; nor how often she blushed upon the occasion: she acknowledged that she thought Mr. Marvel very agreeable, but that she was afraid to marry a person who had so little steadiness. That she had heard of a great number of schemes, undertaken by him, which had failed; or which he had given up as hastily as he had begun them. “Besides,” said she, “may be he might change his mind about me as well as about other things; for I’ve heard from my cousin Milly — I’ve heard — that — he was in love, not very long since, with an actress in York. Do you think this is all true?”

  “Yes, I know it is all true,” said Mr. Harrison, “for he told me so himself. He is an honest, open-hearted young man; but I think as you do, child, that we cannot be sure of his steadiness.”

  When Marvel heard from Mr. Harrison the result of this conversation, he was inspired with the strongest desire to convince Lucy that he was capable of perseverance. To the astonishment of all who knew him, or who thought that they knew him, he settled steadily to business; and, for a whole twelvemonth, no one heard him speak of any new scheme. At the end of this time he renewed his proposal to Lucy; saying that he hoped she would now have some dependence upon his constancy to her, since she had seen the power she had over his mind. Lucy was artless and affectionate, as well as prudent: now that her only real objection to the match was lessened, she did not torment him, to try her power; but acknowledged her attachment to him, and they were married.

  Sir Plantagenet Mowbray’s agent was much astonished that Lucy did not prefer him, because he was a much richer man than Pierce Marvel; and Miss Milly Harrison was also astonished that Mr. Marvel did not prefer her to such a country girl as Lucy, especially when she had a thousand pounds more to her fortune. But, notwithstanding all this astonishment, Marvel and his wife were perfectly happy.

  It was now the fifth year after old Mr. Pearson’s death. Wright was at this time the richest of the three nephews; for the money that he had laid out in draining Holland fen began to bring him in twenty per cent. As to Marvel, he had exchanged some of his finest acres for the warren of silver sprigs, the common full of thistles, and the marsh full of reeds: he had lost many guineas by his sheep and their jackets, and many more by his ill-fenced plantations: so that counting all the losses from the failure of his schemes and the waste of his time, he was a thousand pounds poorer than when he first came into possession of Clover-hill.

  Goodenough was not, according to the most accurate calculations, one shilling richer or poorer than when he first began the world. “Slow and sure,” said his friends: “fair and softly goes far in a day. What he has he’ll hold fast; that’s more than Marvel ever did, and may be more than Wright will do in the end. He dabbles a little in experiments, as he calls them: this he has learned from his friend Marvel; and this will come to no good.”

  About this time there was some appearance of a scarcity in England; and many farmers set an unusual quantity of potatoes, in hopes that they would bear a high price the ensuing season. Goodenough, who feared and hated every thing that was called a speculation, declared that, for his part, he would not set a drill more than he used to do. What had always done for him and his should do for him still. With this resolution, he began to set his potatoes: Marvel said to him, whilst he was at work, “Cousin Goodenough, I would advise you not to set the shoots that are at the bottom of these potatoes; for, if you do, they won’t be good for any thing. This is a secret I learned last harvest home, from one of my Irish haymakers. I made the experiment last year, and found the poor fellow was quite right. I have given him a guinea for his information; and it will be worth a great deal more to me and my neighbours.”

  “May be so,” said Goodenough; “but I shall set my own potatoes my own way, I thank you, cousin Marvel; for I take it the old way’s best, and I’ll never follow any other.”

  Marvel saw that it was in vain to attempt to convince Goodenough: therefore he left him to his old ways. The consequence was, that Goodenongh and his family ate the worst potatoes in the whole country this year; and Marvel cleared above two hundred pounds by twenty acres of potatoes, set according to his friend the Irishman’s directions.

  This was the first speculation of Marvel’s which succeeded; because it was the first which had been begun with prudence, and pursued with steadiness. His information, in the first instance, was good: it came from a person who had actually tried the experiment, and who had seen it made by others; and when he was convinced of the fact, he applied his knowledge at the proper time, boldly extended his experiment, and succeeded. This success raised him in the opinion even of his enemies. His friend, Wright, heartily rejoiced at it; but Goodenough sneered, and said to Wright, “What Marvel has gained this year he’ll lose by some scheme the next. I dare to say, now, he has some new scheme or another brewing in his brains at this very moment. Ay — look, here he comes, with two bits of rags in his hand. — Now for it!”

  Marvel came up to them with great eagerness in his looks; and showing two freshly-dyed patterns of cloth, said, “Which of these two blues is the brightest?”

  “That in your left hand,” said Wright; “it is a beautiful blue.”

  “Marvel rubbed his hands with an air of triumph; but restraining his joy, he addressed himself to Wright in a composed voice.

  “My dear Wright, I have many obligations to you; and, if I have any good fortune, you shall be the first to share it with me. As for you, cousin Goodenough, I don’t bear malice against you for laughing at me and my herons’ feathers, and my silver sprigs, and my sheep’s jackets, and my thistles: shake hands, man; you shall have a share in our scheme, if you plea
se.”

  “I don’t please to have no share at all in none of your schemes, cousin Marvel: I thank you kindly,” said Goodenough.

  “Had not you better hear what it is, before you decide against it?” said Wright.

  Marvel explained himself further: “Some time ago,” said he, “I was with my father-in-law, who was dyeing some cloth with woad. I observed that one corner of the cloth was of much brighter blue than any of the rest; and upon examining what could be the cause of this, I found that the corner of the cloth had fallen upon the ground, as it was taken out of the dyeing vat, and had trailed through a mixture of colours, which I had accidentally spilled on the floor. I carefully recollected of what this mixture was composed: I found that woad was the principal ingredient; the other —— is a secret. I have repeated my experiments several times, and I find that they have always succeeded: I was determined not to speak of my discovery till I was sure of the facts. Now I’m sure of them, my father-in-law tells me that he and his brother at York could ensure to me an advantageous sale for as much blue cloth as I can prepare; and he advised me to take out a patent for the dye.”

  Goodenough had not patience to listen any longer, but exclaimed:

  “Join in a patent! that’s more than I would do, I’m sure, cousin Marvel; so don’t think to take me in: I’ll end as I began, without having any thing to do with any of your new-fangled schemes — Good morning to you.”

  “I hope, Wright,” said Marvel, proudly, “that you do not suspect me of any design to take you in; and that you will have some confidence in this scheme, when you find that my experiments have been accurately tried.”

  Wright assured Marvel that he had the utmost confidence in his integrity; and that he would carefully go over with him any experiments he chose to show him. “I do not want to worm your secret from you,” said he; “but we must make ourselves sure of success before we go to take out a patent, which will be an expensive business.”

  “You are exactly the sort of man I should wish to have for my partner,” cried Marvel, “for you have all the coolness and prudence that I want.”

  “And you have all the quickness and ingenuity that I want,” replied Wright; “so, between us, we should indeed, as you say, make good partners.”

  A partnership was soon established between Wright and Marvel. The woad apparatus, which belonged to Wright’s father-in-law, was given up to the creditors to pay the debts; but none of these creditors understood the management of it, or were willing to engage in it, lest they should ruin themselves. Marvel prevailed upon Wright to keep it in his own hands: and the creditors, who had been well satisfied by his wife’s conduct towards them, and who had great confidence in his character for prudence, relinquished their claims upon the property, and trusted to Wright’s promise, that they should be gradually paid by instalments.

  “See what it is to have chosen a good wife,” said Wright. “Good character is often better than good fortune.”

  The wife returned the husband’s compliment; but we must pass over such unfashionable conversation, and proceed with our story.

  The reader may recollect our mentioning a little boy, who carried a message from Wright to Miss Banks the day that he called upon her, on his return from York. She had been very good to this boy, and he was of a grateful temper. After he left her father’s service, he was hired by a gentleman, who lived near Spalding, and for some time she had heard nothing of him: but, about a year after she was married, his master paid a visit in Lincolnshire, and the lad early one morning came to see his “old young mistress.” He came so very early that none of the family were stirring, except Marvel, who had risen by daybreak to finish some repairs that he was making in the woad apparatus. He recognized the boy the moment he saw him, and welcomed him with his usual good-nature.

  “Ah, sir!” said the lad, “I be’s glad to see things going on here again. I be’s main glad to hear how young mistress is happy! But I must be back afore my own present master be’s up; so will you be pleased to give my sarvice and duty, and here’s a little sort of a tea-chest for her, that I made with the help of a fellow-sarvant of mine. If so be she’ll think well of taking it, I should be very proud: it has a lock and key and all.”

  Marvel was astonished at the workmanship of this tea-chest; and when he expressed his admiration, the boy said, “Oh, sir! all the difficultest parts were done by my fellow-sarvant, who is more handy like than I am, ten to one, though he is a Frenchman. He was one of them French prisoners, and is a curious man. He would have liked of all things to have come here along with me this morning, to get a sight of what’s going on here; because that they have woad mills and the like in his own country, he says; but then he would not come spying without leave, being a civil honest man.”

  Marvel told the boy that his fellow-servant should be heartily welcome to satisfy his curiosity; and the next morning the Frenchman came. He was a native of Languedoc, where woad is cultivated: he had been engaged in the manufacture of it, and Marvel soon found, by his conversation, that he was a well-informed, intelligent man. He told Marvel that there were many natives of Languedoc, at this time, prisoners in England, who understood the business as well as he did, and would be glad to be employed, or to sell their knowledge at a reasonable price. Marvel was not too proud to learn, even from a Frenchman. With Wright’s consent, he employed several of these workmen; and he carried, by their means, the manufacture of woad to a high pitch of perfection. How success changes the opinion of men! The Lincolnshire farmers, who had formerly sneered at Marvel as a genius and a projector, began to look up to him as to a very wise and knowing man, when they saw this manufactory continue to thrive; and those who had blamed Wright, for entering into partnership with him, now changed their minds. Neither of them could have done separately what they both effected by their union.

  At the end of the ten years, Goodenough was precisely where he was when he began; neither richer nor poorer; neither wiser nor happier; all that he had added to his stock was a cross wife and two cross children. He, to the very last moment, persisted in the belief that he should be the richest of the three, and that Wright and Marvel would finish by being bankrupts. He was in unutterable astonishment, when, upon the appointed day, they produced their account-books to Mr. Constantine, the executor, and it was found that they were many thousand pounds better in the world than himself.

  “Now, gentlemen,” said Mr. Constantine, “to which of you am I to give your uncle’s legacy? I must know which of the partners has the greatest share in the manufactory.”

  “Wright has the greatest share,” cried Marvel; “for without his prudence I should have been ruined.”

  “Marvel has the greatest share,” cried Wright: “for without his ingenuity I should never have succeeded in the business, nor indeed should I have undertaken it.”

  “Then, gentlemen, you must divide the legacy between you,” said Mr. Constantine, “and I give you joy of your happy partnership. What can be more advantageous than a partnership between prudence and justice on the one side, and generosity and abilities on the other?”

  June, 1800.

  THE LIMERICK GLOVES.

  CHAPTER I.

  It was Sunday morning, and a fine day in autumn; the bells of Hereford cathedral rang, and all the world smartly dressed were flocking to church.

  “Mrs. Hill! Mrs. Hill! — Phoebe! Phoebe! There’s the cathedral bell, I say, and neither of you ready for church, and I a verger;” cried Mr. Hill, the tanner, as he stood at the bottom of his own staircase. “I’m ready, papa,” replied Phoebe; and down she came, looking so clean, so fresh, and so gay, that her stern father’s brows unbent, and he could only say to her, as she was drawing on a new pair of gloves, “Child, you ought to have had those gloves on before this time of day.”

  “Before this time of day!” cried Mrs. Hill, who was now coming down stairs completely equipped, “before this time of day! she should know better, I say, than to put on those gloves at all: more especially w
hen going to the cathedral.”

  “The gloves are very good gloves, as far as I see,” replied Mr. Hill. “But no matter now. It is more fitting that we should be in proper time in our pew, to set an example, as becomes us, than to stand here talking of gloves and nonsense.”

  He offered his wife and daughter each an arm, and set out for the cathedral; but Phoebe was too busy in drawing on her new gloves, and her mother was too angry at the sight of them, to accept of Mr. Hill’s courtesy: “What I say is always nonsense, I know, Mr. Hill,” resumed the matron: “but I can see as far into a millstone as other folks. Was it not I that first gave you a hint of what became of the great dog, that we lost out of our tan-yard last winter? And was it not I who first took notice to you, Mr. Hill, verger as you are, of the hole under the foundation of the cathedral? Was it not, I ask you, Mr. Hill?” “But, my dear Mrs. Hill, what has all this to do with Phoebe’s gloves?”

  “Are you blind, Mr. Hill? Don’t you see that they are Limerick gloves?”

  “What of that?” said Mr. Hill; still preserving his composure, as it was his custom to do as long as he could, when he saw his wife was ruffled.

  “What of that, Mr. Hill! why don’t you know that Limerick is in Ireland, Mr. Hill?”

  “With all my heart, my dear.”

  “Yes, and with all your heart, I suppose, Mr, Hill, you would see our cathedral blown up, some fair day or other, and your own daughter married to the person that did it; and you a verger, Mr. Hill.”

  “God forbid!” cried Mr. Hill; and he stopped short and settled his wig. Presently recovering himself, he added, “But, Mrs. Hill, the cathedral is not yet blown up; and our Phoebe is not yet married.”

  “No: but what of that, Mr. Hill? Forewarned is forearmed, as I told you before your dog was gone; but you would not believe me, and you see how it turned out in that case; and so it will in this case, you’ll see, Mr. Hill.”

  “But you puzzle and frighten me out of my wits, Mrs. Hill,” said the verger, again settling his wig. “In that case and in this case! I can’t understand a syllable of what you’ve been saying to me this half hour. In plain English, what is there the matter about Phoebe’s gloves?”