Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth

by Maria Edgeworth

  “I was there, seeing the horse taken care of; and, knowing the cut of the fellow’s jib, what does I do, but whips the body clothes off Naboclish, and claps them upon a garrone, that the priest would not ride.

  “In comes the bailiff—’Good morrow to you, sir,’ says I, leading out of the stable my lord’s horse, with an ould saddle and bridle on.

  “‘Tim Neal,’ says I to the groom, who was rubbing down the garrone’s heels, ‘mind your hits to-day, and wee’l wet the plate to-night.”

  “‘Not so fast, neither,’ says the bailiff—’here’s my writ for seizing the horse.’

  “‘Och,’ says I, ‘you wouldn’t be so cruel.’

  “‘That’s all my eye,’ says he, seizing the garrone, while I mounted Naboclish, and rode him off deliberately.”

  “Ha! ha! ha! — That was neat, I grant you, Terry,” said Lord Clonbrony. “But what a dolt of a born ignoramus must that sheriff’s fellow have been, not to know Naboclish when he saw him!”

  “But stay, my lord — stay, Miss Nugent — I have more for you,” following her wherever she moved—”I did not let him off so, even. At the cant, I bid and bid against them for the pretended Naboclish, till I left him on their hands for 500 guineas — ha! ha! ha! — was not that famous?”

  “But,” said Miss Nugent, “I cannot believe you are in earnest, Sir Terence — Surely this would be—”

  “What? — out with it, my dear Miss Nugent.”

  “I am afraid of offending you.”

  “You can’t, my dear, I defy you — say the word that came to the tongue’s end; it’s always the best.”

  “I was going to say, swindling,” said the young lady, colouring deeply.

  “Oh, you was going to say wrong, then! It’s not called swindling amongst gentlemen who know the world — it’s only jockeying — fine sport — and very honourable to help a friend at a dead lift. Any thing to help a friend out of a present pressing difficulty.”

  “And when the present difficulty is over, do your friends never think of the future?”

  “The future! leave the future to posterity,” said Sir Terence; “I’m counsel only for the present; and when the evil comes, it’s time enough to think of it. I can’t bring the guns of my wits to bear till the enemy’s alongside of me, or within sight of me at the least. And besides, there never was a good commander yet, by sea or land, that would tell his little expedients beforehand, or before the very day of battle.”

  “It must be a sad thing,” said Miss Nugent, sighing deeply, “to be reduced to live by little expedients — daily expedients.”

  Lord Colambre struck his forehead, but said nothing.

  “But if you are beating your brains about your own affairs, my Lord Colambre, my dear,” said Sir Terence, “there’s an easy way of settling your family affairs at once; and since you don’t like little daily expedients, Miss Nugent, there’s one great expedient, and an expedient for life, that will settle it all to your satisfaction — and ours. I hinted it delicately to you before; but, between friends, delicacy is impertinent; so I tell you, in plain English, you’ve nothing to do but go and propose yourself, just as you stand, to the heiress Miss B —— , that desires no better—”

  “Sir!” cried Lord Colambre, stepping forward, red with sudden anger.

  Miss Nugent laid her hand upon his arm. “Oh, my lord!”

  “Sir Terence O’Fay,” continued Lord Colambre, in a moderated tone, “you are wrong to mention that young lady’s name in such a manner.”

  “Why then I said only Miss B —— , and there are a whole hive of bees. But I’ll engage she’d thank me for what I suggested, and think herself the queen bee if my expedient was adopted by you.”

  “Sir Terence,” said his lordship, smiling, “if my father thinks proper that you should manage his affairs, and devise expedients for him, I have nothing to say on that point; but I must beg you will not trouble yourself to suggest expedients for me, and that you will have the goodness to leave me to settle my own affairs.”

  Sir Terence made a low bow, and was silent for five seconds; then turning to Lord Clonbrony, who looked much more abashed than he did, “By the wise one, my good lord, I believe there are some men — noblemen, too — that don’t know their friends from their enemies. It’s my firm persuasion, now, that if I had served you as I served my friend I was talking of, your son there would, ten to one, think I had done him an injury by saving the family plate.”

  “I certainly should, sir. The family plate, sir, is not the first object in my mind,” replied Lord Colambre; “family honour — Nay, Miss Nugent, I must speak,” continued his lordship; perceiving, by her countenance, that she was alarmed.

  “Never fear, Miss Nugent, dear,” said Sir Terence; “I’m as cool as a cucumber. — Faith! then, my Lord Colambre, I agree with you, that family honour’s a mighty fine thing, only troublesome to one’s self and one’s friends, and expensive to keep up with all the other expenses and debts a gentleman has now-a-days. So I, that am under no natural obligations to it by birth or otherwise, have just stood by it through life, and asked myself, before I would volunteer being bound to it, what could this same family honour do for a man in this world? And, first and foremost, I never remember to see family honour stand a man in much stead in a court of law — never saw family honour stand against an execution, or a custodiam, or an injunction even.—’Tis a rare thing, this same family honour, and a very fine thing; but I never knew it yet, at a pinch, pay for a pair of boots even,” added Sir Terence, drawing up his own with much complacency.

  At this moment, Sir Terence was called out of the room by one who wanted to speak to him on particular business.

  “My dear father,” cried Lord Colambre, “do not follow him; stay, for one moment, and hear your son, your true friend.”

  Miss Nugent left the room.

  “Hear your natural friend for one moment,” cried Lord Colambre. “Let me beseech you, father, not to have recourse to any of these paltry expedients, but trust your son with the state of your affairs, and we shall find some honourable means—”

  “Yes, yes, yes, very true; when you’re of age, Colambre, we’ll talk of it; but nothing can be done till then. We shall get on, we shall get through, very well, till then, with Terry’s assistance; and I must beg you will not say a word more against Terry — I can’t bear it — I can’t bear it — I can’t do without him. Pray don’t detain me — I can say no more — except,” added he, returning to his usual concluding sentence, “that there need, at all events, be none of this, if people would but live upon their own estates, and kill their own mutton.” He stole out of the room, glad to escape, however shabbily, from present explanation and present pain. There are persons without resource, who, in difficulties, return always to the same point, and usually to the same words.

  While Lord Colambre was walking up and down the room, much vexed and disappointed at finding that he could make no impression on his father’s mind, nor obtain his confidence, Lady Clonbrony’s woman, Mrs. Petito, knocked at the door, with a message from her lady, to beg, if Lord Colambre was by himself, he would go to her dressing-room, as she wished to have a conference with him. He obeyed her summons.

  “Sit down, my dear Colambre—” And she began precisely with her old sentence—”With the fortune I brought your father, and with my lord’s estate, I cawnt understand the meaning of all these pecuniary difficulties; and all that strange creature Sir Terence says is algebra to me, who speak English. And I am particularly sorry he was let in this morning — but he’s such a brute that he does not think any thing of forcing one’s door, and he tells my footman he does not mind not at home a pinch of snuff. Now what can you do with a man who could say that sort of thing, you know? — the world’s at an end.”

  “I wish my father had nothing to do with him, ma’am, as much as you can wish it,” said Lord Colambre; “but I have said all that a son can say, and without effect.”

  “What particularly prov
okes me against him,” continued Lady Clonbrony, “is what I have just heard from Grace, who was really hurt by it, too, for she is the warmest friend in the world: I allude to the creature’s indelicate way of touching upon a tender pint, and mentioning an amiable young heiress’s name. My dear Colambre, I trust you have given me credit for my inviolable silence all this time, upon the pint nearest my heart. I am rejoiced to hear you was so warm when she was mentioned inadvertently by that brute, and I trust you now see the advantages of the projected union in as strong and agreeable a pint of view as I do, my own Colambre; and I should leave things to themselves, and let you prolong the dees of courtship as you please, only for what I now hear incidentally from my lord and the brute, about pecuniary embarrassments, and the necessity of something being done before next winter. And, indeed, I think now, in propriety, the proposal cannot be delayed much longer; for the world begins to talk of the thing as done; and even Mrs. Broadhurst, I know, had no doubt that, if this contretemps about the poor Berryls had not occurred, your proposal would have been made before the end of last week.”

  Our hero was not a man to make a proposal because Mrs. Broadhurst expected it, or to marry because the world said he was going to be married. He steadily said, that, from the first moment the subject had been mentioned, he had explained himself distinctly; that the young lady’s friends could not, therefore, be under any doubt as to his intentions; that, if they had voluntarily deceived themselves, or exposed the lady in situations from which the world was led to make false conclusions, he was not answerable: he felt his conscience at ease — entirely so, as he was convinced that the young lady herself, for whose merit, talents, independence, and generosity of character he professed high respect, esteem, and admiration, had no doubts either of the extent or the nature of his regard.

  “Regard, respect, esteem, admiration! — Why, my dearest Colambre! this is saying all I want; satisfies me, and I am sure would satisfy Mrs. Broadhurst, and Miss Broadhurst too.”

  “No doubt it will, ma’am: but not if I aspired to the honour of Miss Broadhurst’s hand, or professed myself her lover.”

  “My dear, you are mistaken: Miss Broadhurst is too sensible a girl, a vast deal, to look for love, and a dying lover, and all that sort of stuff: I am persuaded — indeed I have it from good, from the best authority, that the young lady — you know one must be delicate in these cases, where a young lady of such fortune, and no despicable family too, is concerned; therefore I cannot speak quite plainly — but I say I have it from the best authority, that you would be preferred to any other suitor, and, in short, that—”

  “I beg your pardon, madam, for interrupting you,” cried Lord Colambre, colouring a good deal; “but you must excuse me if I say, that the only authority on which I could believe this is one from which I am morally certain I shall never hear it — from Miss Broadhurst herself.”

  “Lord, child! if you only ask her the question, she would tell you it is truth, I dare say.”

  “But as I have no curiosity on the subject, ma’am—”

  “Lord bless me! I thought everybody had curiosity. But still, without curiosity, I am sure it would gratify you when you did hear it; and can’t you just put the simple question?”

  “Impossible!”

  “Impossible! — now that is so very provoking when the thing is all but done. Well, take your own time; all I will ask of you then is, to let things go on as they are going — smoothly and pleasantly; and I’ll not press you further on the subject at present. Let things go on smoothly, that’s all I ask, and say nothing.”

  “I wish I could oblige you, mother; but I cannot do this. Since you tell me that the world and Miss Broadhurst’s friends have already misunderstood my intentions, it becomes necessary, in justice to the young lady and to myself, that I should make all further doubt impossible — I shall, therefore, put an end to it at once, by leaving town to-morrow.”

  Lady Clonbrony, breathless for a moment with surprise, exclaimed, “Bless me! leave town to-morrow! Just at the beginning of the season! Impossible! — I never saw such a precipitate rash young man. But stay only a few weeks, Colambre; the physicians advise Buxton for my rheumatism, and you shall take us to Buxton early in the season — you cannot refuse me that. Why, if Miss Broadhurst was a dragon, you could not be in a greater hurry to run away from her. What are you afraid of?”

  “Of doing what is wrong — the only thing, I trust, of which I shall ever be afraid.”

  Lady Clonbrony tried persuasion and argument — such argument as she could use — but all in vain — Lord Colambre was firm in his resolution; at last, she came to tears; and her son, in much agitation, said, “I cannot bear this, mother! — I would do any thing you ask, that I could do with honour; but this is impossible.”

  “Why impossible? I will take all blame upon myself; and you are sure that Miss Broadhurst does not misunderstand you, and you esteem her, and admire her, and all that; and all I ask; is, that you’ll go on as you are, and see more of her; and how do you know but you may fall in love with her, as you call it, to-morrow?”

  “Because, madam, since you press me so far, my affections are engaged to another person. Do not look so dreadfully shocked, my dear mother — I have told you truly, that I think myself too young, much too young, yet to marry. In the circumstances in which I know my family are, it is probable that I shall not for some years be able to marry as I wish. You may depend upon it that I shall not take any step, I shall not even declare my attachment to the object of my affection, without your knowledge; and, far from being inclined headlong to follow my own passions — strong as they are — be assured that the honour of my family, your happiness, my mother, my father’s, are my first objects: I shall never think of my own till these are secured.”

  Of the conclusion of this speech, Lady Clonbrony heard only the sound of the words; from the moment her son had pronounced that his affections were engaged, she had been running over in her head every probable and improbable person she could think of; at last, suddenly starting up, she opened one of the folding-doors into the next apartment, and called, “Grace! — Grace Nugent! — put down your pencil, Grace, this minute, and come here!”

  Miss Nugent obeyed with her usual alacrity; and the moment she entered the room, Lady Clonbrony, fixing her eyes full upon her, said, “There’s your cousin Colambre tells me his affections are engaged.”

  “Yes, to Miss Broadhurst, no doubt,” said Miss Nugent, smiling, with a simplicity and openness of countenance, which assured Lady Clonbrony that all was safe in that quarter: a suspicion which had darted into her mind was dispelled.

  “No doubt — Ay, do you hear that no doubt, Colambre? — Grace, you see, has no doubt; nobody has any doubt but yourself, Colambre.”

  “And are your affections engaged, and not to Miss Broadhurst?” said Miss Nugent, approaching Lord Colambre.

  “There now! you see how you surprise and disappoint every body, Colambre.”

  “I am sorry that Miss Nugent should be disappointed,” said Lord Colambre.

  “But because I am disappointed, pray do not call me Miss Nugent, or turn away from me, as if you were displeased.”

  “It must, then, be some Cambridgeshire lady,” said Lady Clonbrony. “I am sure I am very sorry he ever went to Cambridge — Oxford I advised: one of the Miss Berryls, I presume, who have nothing. I’ll have no more to do with those Berryls — there was the reason of the son’s vast intimacy. Grace, you may give up all thoughts of Sir Arthur.”

  “I have no thoughts to give up, ma’am,” said Miss Nugent, smiling. “Miss Broadhurst,” continued she, going on eagerly with what she was saying to Lord Colambre, “Miss Broadhurst is my friend, a friend I love and admire; but you will allow that I strictly kept my promise, never to praise her to you, till you should begin to praise her to me. Now recollect, last night, you did praise her to me, so justly, that I thought you liked her, I confess; so that it is natural I should feel a little disappointed. Now you know the wh
ole of my mind; I have no intention to encroach on your confidence; therefore, there is no occasion to look so embarrassed. I give you my word, I will never speak to you again upon the subject,” said she, holding out her hand to him, “provided you will never again call me Miss Nugent. Am I not your own cousin Grace? — Do not be displeased with her.”

  “You are my own dear cousin Grace; and nothing can be farther from my mind than any thought of being displeased with her; especially just at this moment, when I am going away, probably, for a considerable time.”

  “Away! — when? — where?”

  “To-morrow morning, for Ireland.”

  “Ireland! of all places,” cried Lady Clonbrony. “What upon earth puts it into your head to go to Ireland? You do very well to go out of the way of falling in love ridiculously, since that is the reason of your going; but what put Ireland into your head, child?”

  “I will not presume to ask my mother what put Ireland out of her head,” said Lord Colambre, smiling; “but she will recollect that it is my native country.”

  “That was your father’s fault, not mine,” said Lady Clonbrony; “for I wished to have been confined in England: but he would have it to say that his son and heir was born at Clonbrony Castle — and there was a great argument between him and my uncle, and something about the Prince of Wales and Caernarvon Castle was thrown in, and that turned the scale, much against my will; for it was my wish that my son should be an Englishman born — like myself. But, after all, I don’t see that having the misfortune to be born in a country should tie one to it in any sort of way; and I should have hoped your English edication, Colambre, would have given you too liberal idears for that — so I reely don’t see why you should go to Ireland merely because it’s your native country.”

  “Not merely because it is my native country — but I wish to go thither — I desire to become acquainted with it — because it is the country in which my father’s property lies, and from which we draw our subsistence.”