Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth

by Maria Edgeworth

  Frankland’s children, shocked at the idea of their father’s going into an almshouse, eagerly offered to join together the money they had earned, and to pay the rent of the cottage in which he now lived; but Frankland knew that, if he took this money, his children would themselves be in distress. He answered with tears in his eyes,

  “My dear children, I thank you all for your goodness; but I cannot accept of your offer. Since I am no longer able to support myself, I will not, from false pride, be the ruin of my children. I will not be a burden to them; and I prefer living upon public charity to accepting of the ostentatious liberality of any one rich man. I am come to a resolution, which nothing shall induce me to break. I am determined to live in the Monmouth almshouse — nay, hear me, my children, patiently — to live in the Monmouth almshouse for one year; and during that time I will not see any of you, unless I am sick. I lay my commands upon you not to attempt to see me till this day twelvemonth. If at that time you are all together able to maintain me, without hurting yourselves, I will most willingly accept of your bounty for the rest of my days.”

  His children assured him they should be able to earn money sufficient to maintain him, without injury to themselves, long before the end of the year; and they besought him to permit them to do so as soon as it was in their power; but he continued firm in his resolution, and made them solemnly promise they would obey his commands, and not even attempt to see him during the ensuing year. He then took leave of them in a most affectionate manner, saying, “I know, my dearest children, I have now given you the strongest possible motive for industry and good conduct. This day twelvemonth we shall meet again; and I hope it will be as joyful a meeting as this is a sorrowful parting.” His children, with some difficulty, obtained permission to accompany him to his new abode.

  The almshouses at Monmouth are far superior to common institutions of this kind; they are remarkably neat and comfortable little dwellings, and form a row of pretty cottages, behind each of which there is a garden full of gooseberries, currants, and a variety of useful vegetables. These the old men cultivate themselves. The houses are fitted up conveniently; and each individual is provided with every thing that he wants in his own habitation: so that there is no opportunity or temptation for those petty disputes about property which often occur in charitable institutions that are not prudently conducted. Poor people who have their goods in common must necessarily become quarrelsome.

  “You see,” said old Frankland, pointing to the shining row of pewter on the clean shelf over the fire-place in his little kitchen; “you see I want for nothing here. I am not much to be pitied.”

  His children stood silent and dejected, whilst he dressed himself in the uniform belonging to the almshouse. Before they parted, they all agreed to meet at this place that day twelvemonth, and to bring with them the earnings of the year; they had hopes that thus, by their united efforts, a sum might be obtained sufficient to place their father once more in a state of independence. With these hopes they separated, and returned to their masters and mistresses.

  CHAPTER IV.

  Patty went to Mrs. Crumpe’s to get her clothes which she had left there, and to receive some months’ wages, which were still due for her services. After what had passed, she had no idea that Mrs. Crumpe would wish she should stay with her; and she had heard of another place in Monmouth, which she believed would suit her in every respect.

  The first person she saw, when she arrived at the house of her late mistress, was Martha, who, with a hypocritical length of face, said to her, “Sad news! sad news, Mrs. Patty! The passion my lady was thrown into, by your going away so sudden, was of terrible detriment to her. That very night she had a stroke of the palsy, and has scarce spoke since.”

  “Don’t take it to heart, it is none of your fault: don’t take it to heart, dear Patty,” said Betty, the housemaid, who was fond of Patty. “What could you do but go to your brother? Here, drink this water, and don’t blame yourself at all about the matter. Mistress had a stroke sixteen months ago, afore ever you came into the house; and I dare say she’d have had this last whether you had stayed or gone.”

  Here they were interrupted by the violent ringing of Mrs. Crumpe’s bell. They were in the room next to her; and, as she heard voices louder than usual, she was impatient to know what was going on. Patty heard Mrs. Martha answer, as she opened her lady’s door, “’Tis only Patty Frankland, ma’am, who is come for her clothes and her wages.”

  “And she is very sorry to hear you have been so ill; very sorry,” said Betty, following to the door.

  “Bid her come in,” said Mrs. Crumpe, in a voice more distinct than she had ever been heard to speak in since the day of her illness.

  “What! are you sorry for me, child?” said Mrs. Crumpe, fixing her eyes upon Patty’s. Patty made no answer; but it was plain how much she was shocked.

  “Ay, I see you are sorry for me,” said her mistress. “And so am I for you,” added she, stretching out her hand, and taking hold of Patty’s black gown. “You shall have a finer stuff than this for mourning for me. But I know that is not what you are thinking of; and that’s the reason I have more value for you than for all the rest of them put together. Stay with me, stay with me, to nurse me; you nurse me to my mind. You cannot leave me in the way I am in now, when I ask you to stay.”

  Patty could not without inhumanity refuse; she stayed with Mrs. Crumpe, who grew so dotingly fond of her, that she could scarcely bear to have her a moment out of sight. She would take neither food nor medicines but from Patty’s hand; and she would not speak, except in answer to Patty’s questions. The fatigue and confinement she was now forced to undergo were enough to hurt the constitution of any one who had not very strong health. Patty bore them with the greatest patience and good humour; indeed, the consciousness that she was doing right supported her in exertions which would otherwise have been beyond her power.

  She had still more difficult trials to go through: Mrs. Martha was jealous of her favour with her lady, and often threw out hints that some people had much more luck, and more cunning too, than other people; but that some people might perhaps be disappointed at last in their ends.

  Patty went on her own straight way, without minding these insinuations at first; but she was soon forced to attend to them. Mrs. Crumpe’s relations received intelligence from Mrs. Martha, that her lady was growing worse and worse every hour; and that she was quite shut up under the dominion of an artful servant-girl, who had gained such power over her that there was no knowing what the consequence might be. Mrs. Crumpe’s relations were much alarmed by this story: they knew she had made a will in their favour some years before this time, and they dreaded that Patty should prevail upon her to alter it, and should get possession herself of the fortune. They were particularly struck with this idea, because an instance of undue power, acquired by a favourite servant-maid over her doting mistress, happened about this period to be mentioned in an account of a trial in the newspapers of the day. Mrs. Crumpe’s nearest relations were two grand-nephews. The eldest was Mr. Josiah Crumpe, a merchant who was settled at Liverpool; the youngest was that ensign Bloomington, whom we formerly mentioned. He had been intended for a merchant, but he would never settle to business; and at last ran away from the counting-house where he had been placed, and went into the army. He was an idle, extravagant young man: his great-aunt was by fits very angry with him, or very fond of him. Sometimes she would supply him with money; at others, she would forbid him her presence, and declare he should never see another shilling of hers. This had been her latest determination; but ensign Bloomington thought he could easily get into favour again, and he resolved to force himself into the house. Mrs. Crumpe positively refused to see him: the day after this refusal he returned with a reinforcement, for which Patty was not in the least prepared: he was accompanied by Miss Sally Bettesworth, in a regimental riding-habit. Jessy had been the original object of this gentleman’s gallantry; but she met with a new and richer lover, and of cour
se jilted him. Sally, who was in haste to be married, took undisguised pains to fix the ensign; and she thought she was sure of him. But to proceed with our story.

  Patty was told that a lady and gentleman desired to see her in the parlour: she was scarcely in the room when Sally began in a voice capable of intimidating the most courageous of scolds, “Fine doings! Fine doings, here! You think you have the game in your own hands, I warrant, my Lady Paramount; but I’m not one to be bullied, you know of old.”

  “Nor am I one to be bullied, I hope,” replied Patty, in a modest but firm voice. “Will you be pleased to let me know, in a quiet way, what are your commands with me, or my lady?”

  “This gentleman here must see your lady, as you call her. To let you into a bit of a secret, this gentleman and I is soon to be one; so no wonder I stir in this affair, and I never stir for nothing; so it is as well for you to do it with fair words as foul. Without more preambling, please to show this gentleman into his aunt’s room, which sure he has the best right to see of any one in this world; and if you prevent it in any species, I’ll have the law of you; and I take this respectable woman,” looking at Mrs. Martha, who came in with a salver of cakes and wine, “I take this here respectable gentlewoman to be my witness, if you choose to refuse my husband (that is to be) admittance to his true and lawful nearest relation upon earth. Only say the doors are locked, and that you won’t let him in; that’s all we ask of you, Mrs. Patty Paramount. Only say that afore this here witness.”

  “Indeed, I shall say no such thing, ma’am,” replied Patty; “for it is not in the least my wish to prevent the gentleman from seeing my mistress. It was she herself who refused to let him in; and I think, if he forces himself into the room, she will be apt to be very much displeased: but I shall not hinder him, if he chooses to try. There are the stairs, and my lady’s room is the first on the right hand. Only, sir, before you go up, let me caution you, lest you should startle her so as to be the death of her. The least surprise or fright might bring on another stroke in an instant.”

  Ensign Bloomington and Saucy Sally now looked at one another, as if at a loss how to proceed: they retired to a window to consult; and whilst they were whispering, a coach drove up to the door. It was full of Mrs. Crumpe’s relations, who came post-haste from Monmouth, in consequence of the alarm given by Mrs. Martha. Mr. Josiah Crumpe was not in the coach: he had been written for, but was not yet arrived from Liverpool.

  Now, it must be observed, this coach-full of relations were all enemies to ensign Bloomington; and the moment they put their heads out of the carriage-window, and saw him standing in the parlour, their surprise and indignation were too great for coherent utterance. With all the rashness of prejudice, they decided that he had bribed Patty to let him in and to exclude them. Possessed with this idea, they hurried out of the coach, passed by poor Patty who was standing in the hall, and beckoned to Mrs. Martha, who showed them into the drawing-room, and remained shut up with them there for some minutes. “She is playing us false,” cried Saucy Sally, rushing out of the parlour. “I told you not to depend on that Martha; nor on nobody but me: I said I’d force a way for you up to the room, and so I have; and now you have not the spirit to take your advantage. They’ll get in all of them before you; and then where will you be, and what will you be?”

  Mrs. Crumpe’s bell rang violently, and Patty ran up stairs to her room. “I have been ringing for you, Patty, this quarter of an hour! What is all the disturbance I hear below?”

  “Your relations, ma’am, who wish to see you. I hope you won’t refuse to see them, for they are very anxious.”

  “Very anxious to have me dead and buried. Not one of them cares a groat for me. I have made my will, tell them; and they will see that in time. I will not see one of them.”

  By this time, they were all at the bedchamber door, struggling which party should enter first. Saucy Sally’s loud voice was heard, maintaining her right to be there, as wife elect to ensign Bloomington.

  “Tell them the first who enters this room shall never see a shilling of my money,” cried Mrs. Crumpe.

  Patty opened the door; the disputants were instantly silent. “Be pleased, before you come in, to hearken to what my mistress says. Ma’am, will you say whatever you think proper yourself,” said Patty; “for it is too hard for me to be suspected of putting words into your mouth, and keeping your friends from the sight of you.”

  “The first of them who comes into this room,” cried Mrs. Crumpe, raising her feeble voice to the highest pitch she was able, “the first who enters this room shall never see a shilling of my money; and so on to the next, and the next, and the next. I’ll see none of you.”

  No one ventured to enter. Their infinite solicitude to see how poor Mrs. Crumpe found herself to-day suddenly vanished. The two parties adjourned to the parlour and the drawing-room; and there was nothing in which they agreed, except in abusing Patty. They called for pen, ink, and paper, and each wrote what they wished to say. Their notes were carried up by Patty herself; for Mrs. Martha would not run the risk of losing her own legacy to oblige any of them, though she had been bribed by all. With much difficulty, Mrs. Crumpe was prevailed upon to look at the notes; at last she exclaimed, “Let them all come up! all; this moment tell them, all!”

  They were in the room instantly; all, except Saucy Sally: ensign Bloomington persuaded her it was for the best that she should not appear. Patty was retiring, as soon as she had shown them in; but her mistress called to her, and bade her take a key, which she held in her hand, and unlock an escritoir that was in the room. She did so.

  “Give me that parcel, which is tied up with red tape, and sealed with three seals,” said Mrs. Crumpe.

  All eyes were immediately fixed upon it, for it was her will.

  She broke the seals deliberately, untied the red string, opened the huge sheet of parchment, and without saying one syllable tore it down the middle; then tore the pieces again, and again, till they were so small that the writing could not be read. The spectators looked upon one another in dismay.

  “Ay! you may all look as you please,” cried Mrs. Crumpe. “I’m alive, and in my sound senses still; my money’s my own; my property’s my own; I’ll do what I please with it. You were all handsomely provided for in this will; but you could not wait for your legacies till I was under ground. No! you must come hovering over me, like so many ravens. It is not time yet! It is not time yet! The breath is not yet out of my body; and when it is, you shall none of you be the better for it, I promise you. My money’s my own; my property’s my own; I’ll make a new will to-morrow. Good bye to you all. I’ve told you my mind.”

  Not the most abject humiliations, not the most artful caresses, not the most taunting reproaches, from any of the company, could extort another word from Mrs. Crumpe. Her disappointed and incensed relations were at last obliged to leave the house; though not without venting their rage upon Patty, whom they believed to be the secret cause of all that had happened. After they had left the house, she went up to a garret, where she thought no one would see her or hear her, sat down on an old bedstead, and burst into tears. She had been much shocked by the scenes that had just passed, and her heart wanted this relief.

  “Oh!” thought she, “it is plain enough that it is not riches which make people happy. Here is this poor lady, with heaps of money and fine clothes, without any one in this whole world to love or care for her, but all wishing her dead; worried by her own relations, and abused by them, almost in her hearing, upon her death-bed! Oh! my poor brother! How different it was with you!”

  Patty’s reflections were here interrupted by the entrance of Martha, who came and sat down on the bedstead beside her, and, with a great deal of hypocritical kindness in her manner, began to talk of what had passed; blaming Mrs. Crumpe’s relations for being so hard-hearted and inconsiderate as to force business upon her when she was in such a state. “Indeed, they have no one to thank but themselves, for the new turn things have taken. I hear my mistres
s has torn her will to atoms, and is going to make a new one! To be sure, you, Mrs. Patty, will be handsomely provided for in this, as is, I am sure, becoming; and I hope, if you have an opportunity, as for certain you will, you won’t forget to speak a good word for me!”

  Patty, who was disgusted by this interested and deceitful address, answered, she had nothing to do with her mistress’s will; and that her mistress was the best judge of what should be done with her own money, which she did not covet.

  Mrs. Martha was not mistaken in her opinion that Patty would be handsomely remembered in this new will. Mrs. Crumpe the next morning said to Patty, as she was giving her some medicine, “It is for your interest, child, that I should get through this day, at least; for if I live a few hours longer, you will be the richest single woman in Monmouthshire. I’ll show them that all my money’s my own; and that I can do what I please with my own. Go yourself to Monmouth, child (as soon as you have plaited my cap), and bring me the attorney your brother lives with, to draw my new will. Don’t say one word of your errand to any of my relations, I charge you, for your own sake as well as mine. The harpies would tear you to pieces; but I’ll show them that I can do what I please with my own. That’s the least satisfaction I can have for my money before I die. God knows, it has been plague enough to me all my life long! But now, before I die—”

  “Oh! ma’am,” interrupted Patty, “there is no need to talk of your dying now; for I have not heard you speak so strong, or so clear, nor seem so much yourself this long time. You may live yet, and I hope you will, to see many a good day; and to make it up, if I may be so bold to say it, with all your relations: which, I am sure, would be a great ease to your heart; and I am sure they are very sorry to have offended you.”