Had he been a ragged sailor-boy, or a ragged plough-boy, or even a ragged chimney-sweeper, there might by possibility have been excited some feeling of curiosity and interest; but a ragged factory-boy was of all created beings the one least likely to give birth to such emotions, among his friends and neighbours, or indeed to any other emotion fit to be exhibited in good society. So, merely saying to his fair friend, “Excuse me, my lady, for one moment,” he once more knocked at the cottage-window, and called aloud for “Mac-nab!”
The obedient North Briton appeared immediately, and was about to forestal the inquiry he anticipated by assurances that her ladyship’s pines, peaches, and grapes, had all been consigned to the care of her ladyship’s own serving-man, when he was very literally struck dumb by his master saying —
“Macnab, take this little boy into the servants’ hall, and tell the servants to take care of him — do you hear? — and he is to have a bed made up for him, and — and supper, and breakfast — and all that; and to-morrow I will talk to Parsons about what must be done for him.
Observe, Macnab, and take care, if you please, that all the servants about the place know it, that this boy is to be the object of the greatest benevolence.”
“The greatest — what was you pleased to say, sir?” said the Scotch gardener, really and truly doubting his own ears.
“BENEVOLENCE, sir!” shouted the knight vehemently; “and woe to any one on my estate who dares to question or thwart my design!”
“How inspiring is this angelic goodness,” exclaimed Lady Clarissa affectionately. “Ah, Sir Matthew! how few there are who know you as I know you!”
“Come along, my man,” said the Scotchman, leading away Michael; and he said no more till he was quite sure that the knight and the lady had got far enough in their progress across the garden, to be out of hearing, and then he added: “And now, my little fellow, tell me in God’s name what all this means? Why, you look for all the world like one of the little raggamuffins out of the factory.”
“I am one of the raggamuffins out of the factory,” replied Michael.
“You are? and our master’s going to make a house-pet of ye? Why, now, you’ll be made the talk of the whole country. I should not have been one-half so much surprised if he had taken one of our sucking pigs into the drawing-room.”
“Nor I, sir,” said Michael timidly, but with half a smile “So, then, you don’t understand it much better than I do, it seems? But what did he say it was for? He didn’t take the Earl of Highlandloch’s daughter among the infernal whirligigs, did he, and pick you out as a specimen to be kept in a glass case?”
“I hope he won’t put me in a glass case, sir,” said Michael, taking courage from the gardener’s good-humour; “but why he brought me here at all, I don’t very well understand. The lady said it was because I held up my hat, and cried ‘Wough!’ to Dame Knight’s old cow: but of course she was only making fun.”
“At any rate, he was making no fun, for he roared like a bulldog, didn’t he? So his bidding I’ll do, let it mean what it will; and if it brings you food and lodging, I don’t suppose you’ll break your heart for being taken out of the factory — shall you?”
“Not if he’ll take Edward out too,” said the boy.
“Edward out too! Oh! Lord, oh! Lord, how many more? Did he cry ‘Wough!’ to the cow, too?”
“I wish he had!” said Michael, shaking his head very mysteriously.
* * * * *
Meanwhile Lady Clarissa and the gallant knight re-entered my Lady Dowling’s drawing-room, amidst a perfect storm of questions, exclamations of admiration, wonder, fears for the lady’s safety, and so forth.
Miss Brotherton, who always took more liberties than any one else, laughed immoderately; Lady Dowling looked the picture of conjugal woe; and good Miss Mogg bustled forward with her usual amiable attention, put a footstool under the lady’s misused white satin shoes, took Mrs. Janet Macnab’s shawl off her shoulders, and whispered in her ear, that she was dreadfully afraid she must have caught cold.
But Lady Clarissa, with a lively action of both hands at once, not only drove Miss Mogg back, but every one else who attempted to crowd round her, saying, “Give me space! give me space, I entreat you! I must have ‘ample room and verge enough’ to breathe. Such a series of adventures! Lady Dowling, you have no idea! Good heaven! I can hardly believe it myself. I have been in the greatest possible danger of losing my life — a beast — a monster — the most terrific animal certainly that nature ever permitted on the earth! You know, Mogg, I fear nothing — I have the spirit of my race within me. Who ever heard of a Highlandloch being afraid? But I give you my honour — I pledge my noble word to you all, that such a monster as that which I have escaped from this night, might have made the black Douglas fear!”
“Or the Earl of Warwick either, perhaps,” said Miss Brotherton, for she had heard Sir Matthew utter the word “cow,” in answer to the importunate inquiries of his eldest son.
“But what shall I say of Sir Matthew Dowling?” resumed Lady Clarissa, with increased energy. “Such benevolence! such noble, disinterested conduct! — No, I cannot — I really have no strength left. Miss Brotherton, my dear, pray do order your carriage; my nerves are in disorder, so is my dress — in short, I long to get home, and meditate in solitude on my providential escape.”
Here Lady Clarissa found it necessary to lie down upon a sofa, her faithful Mogg endeavouring in vain to pull her dress over her slender feet and ankles, for her ladyship was restless, feverish, and unable to remain in the same attitude for a minute together.
Ere long, however, the carriage of the heiress was announced, and the languid Lady Clarissa exerted herself to reach it, with the aid of Miss Mogg’s substantial arm on one side, and that of Sir Matthew Dowling on the other.
“Farewell, my friend!” she uttered with some effort, after taking her seat: “ere long I shall call upon you, and shall hope to see our interesting protégé looking very differently from what he did when we parted from him. Farewell! I do assure you I am almost fainting! Do ask — will you, dear Sir Matthew? — if the fruit, the pines particularly, are put in. I really think they will do me good, and I am sure I want it. Thank you! thank you! Adieu!
CHAPTER III.
INTRODUCTION OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG INTO THE FAMILY OF SIR MATTHEW DOWLING — CONJECTURES CONCERNING HIS PARENTAGE — A CONFABULATION BETWEEN SIR MATTHEW AND MR. JOSEPH PARSONS.
WHEN Mr. Macnab and his little companion entered the kitchen, in their way to the servants’ hall, to which place of honour the wondering Scotchman remembered he had been commanded to conduct his charge, the first person they encountered was Mr. Simkins, the butler, whom some accidental wish or want had led to enter a region but rarely honoured by the sunshine of his presence.
“Good morning, Macnab. What! empty-handed? I am afraid you have forgotten the little basket of peaches I desired to have; and upon my word, sir, if you leave it much longer, I shall not consider them worth presenting to the lady for whom I desired to have them. Be pleased to recollect, good Mr. Sawney, that when every garden-wall is hung with ripe fruit, a bottle of comfort will be rather too high a price for a dozen.”
“Your discourse, Mr. Simkins, is neither civil nor discreet in any way,” replied the offended North Briton: “my word, sir, is as good as the bank, either in England or Scotland; and it is beneath a gentleman, to say nothing of your rank as a butler, Mr. Simkins, to suspect that I should forget it.”
“Well, well, the sooner the better, that’s all. But who in God’s name have you got here?”
“That is more than I am able to tell you, sir,” replied Macnab. “All I know about him is a mystery. Sir Matthew, and a lady that was hardly born to be so free in his company, came to the garden-house about an hour ago, and Sir Matthew was as gay as a lark, and ambled and smirked; while the Highlandloch’s daughter, old fool! looked as well pleased as if she had been gallanted by the Duke of Argyle. Well, sir, he ordered a basket of the choi
cest and best for her ladyship, and it went against me, Mr. Simkins, both ways — for first it ought to choke her, seeing who she is, and who he is, and next I thought upon my promise to you, sir. However, and nevertheless, Mr. Simkins, I will keep my word with you, if it cost me a ton of coals more in the forcing.”
“But what’s all this to do with your ragged companion there? The child looks as if he was ready to drop. I’ll bet a bottle you caught him thieving in the fruit-garden.”
The boy’s colour rose on hearing these words. He spoke not, however; but his large eyes were turned up to the face of his companion, and the fingers of his little hand pressed the hard palm that held them, almost convulsively. Sawney understood the appeal, and answered it: for though, like many other gentlemen, his code of honour was at some points a little loosened and enlarged, to fits and suit his individual circumstances, he felt the value of character as much as any man; and promptly replied, in good Scotch, which must, however, for sundry weighty reasons, be here translated into English: “No, no, Mr. Butler! no such thing, I assure you; the lad’s as honest as I am, for aught that I know to the contrary. But, to make a short story of a long one, my lady walked off up the lane, after borrowing a shawl from my wife, and your master with her, Mr. Simkins, who but he — Well, I had picked the fruit, packed it, and delivered it over to my lady’s man, and was just set down again to my seed-picking, when I heard Sir Matthew’s big voice again halloaing to me, and when I came out, there stood the ill-sorted pair, arm in arm together, as before, and this ragged chap beside them.”
“Well! and what then?” ejaculated the portly butler, impatiently. “What a long-winded man you are, Macnab.”
“Hoot, man!” retorted Macnab, “if you want the story, you must just find patience to hear it. ‘Take this boy to the servants’ hall,’ said Sir Matthew, quite upon the strut, ‘and order supper and a bed for him.’”
“To the servants’ hall?” repeated the indignant man of bottles, measuring the little fellow from head to foot with an eye, which, notwithstanding it was small and bloodshot, was eloquent of scorn. “To the servants’ hall? Sir Matthew will inflict his own company upon us next, I suppose. Why, look at the cotton fluff mixed with his hair! He is neither more nor less than a factory-boy.”
“To be sure he is,” replied the gardener, shrugging his shoulders, “but it’s no fault of mine, Mr. Simkins; to the servants’ hall I must take him, right or wrong. Come along, boy.”
“Stop one moment, if you please, Macnab. Let me step to Mrs. Thompson’s room, and speak one word to her about it. Sit down, sit down, will you, for one moment.” And away hurried Mr. Simkins, scattering dismay as he traversed the passages, by uttering as he passed along to footmen and housemaids, abigail and page, “Go to the kitchen, do, in God’s name! go and see the company Sir Matthew has been ordering into the servants’ hall!”
And away they flew, one after another, eager to see the wonder; so that by the time Mr. Simkins himself returned to the kitchen, marshalling the housekeeper before him, at least half-a-dozen servants had assembled there, all of whom were gazing at little Michael, very much as if he had been caught in a forest, and conveyed thither to gratify their desire of studying natural history.
“Who is that dirty little boy, Macnab?” said the magnificent Mrs. Thompson, advancing to the spot where the gardener was seated with his frightened charge standing beside him, and all the lookers-on making way for her as she passed.
“It is a factory-boy sent here by Sir Matthew, Mrs. Thompson,” replied Macnab, while, forestalling, it may be, the storm likely to follow the intelligence, he seemed to settle himself in the arm-chair either to enjoy the fun, or abide the tempest.
But he was, as it should seem, mistaken as to Mrs. Thompson’s feelings; for that lady, though usually considered by the subordinates as somewhat warm in temper, appeared on this occasion to be as mild as a lamb.
“A factory-boy, certainly,” she replied with the dignity that was peculiar to her, “nobody is likely to doubt that, Mr. Macnab; one might know his calling at half a mile’s distance. The vulgar factory itself, with its millions of windows, is not more easily known than the things that crawl out of it, with their millions of cotton specks — that is not the main point of the question, Mr. Macnab: it is not what the boy is, but who he is, and for what reason any one has dared to say that he was to sup in the servants’ hall.”
“Oh! dear me, ma’am,” replied the gardener, endeavouring to look very grave, “that wasn’t one half of it. To you, ma’am, it’s my duty to repeat Sir Matthew’s words exact, and this is what he said. ‘Macnab,’ or ‘Mr. Macnab,’ for he calls me both at times,
‘take this little boy,’ says he, ‘into the servants’ hall, and tell every body there to take care of him — every body to take care of him’ — that was it, Mrs. Thompson, word for word. And then he went on: ‘He is to have a bed,’ says he, ‘made up on purpose for him, and he is to be waited upon with supper and breakfast,’ and a great deal more, that Mr. Parsons is to make known to-morrow. But you have not heard all yet, ma’am,” continued Macnab, raising his voice, on perceiving that the stately housekeeper was putting herself in act to speak. “Sir Matthew went on, raising his arm like one of his own steam-engines, ‘Observe, Mr. Macnab,’ says he, ‘and take care that all the servants, little and great, know it, that this boy is to be the object of the greatest benevolence.’ That’s something new for you, Mrs. Thompson, isn’t it?”
“Sir Matthew may settle about his benevolence with himself, when he is in his own pew at church,” replied Mrs. Thompson, with a very satirical sort of smile; “but most certainly it shall not be brought to dirty my premises; so let me hear no more about it, gardener, if you please.” And with these words, she turned haughtily away.
“But, ma’am — Mrs. Thompson, you had better stop if you please, for go I must, if that’s your answer, and tell Sir Matthew of it.”
If Mr. Macnab had been a blacksmith instead of a gardener, he might have been less surprised at the phenomena which followed these words; for he would have known that white heat is stronger than red heat, though it does not look so fierce. He had fancied the housekeeper particularly calm and placable upon this occasion, because, forsooth, she looked rather pale than red when she entered the kitchen; but no sooner had he uttered this threat of reporting her words to Sir Matthew, than the fact of her being in an exceedingly terrible rage became evident. Notwithstanding the usual dignified gentility of her manner, on which, indeed, when more self-possessed, she greatly prided herself, she clenched her fists, raised her arms on high, and from one of the most imposing housekeepers in the British dominions, suddenly assumed the aspect of an inspired fury.
“Tell! — You? — Sir Matthew? — Blackguard! scoundrel! — base-born spinning spider! — I, that have lived with the Duke of Clarington!”
“Tis two, too bad, and that’s the fact!” exclaimed my Lady Dowling’s own footman, who always sided with the principal person in company, which gave him very much the air of being a superior person himself; “and if I was Mrs. Thompson, I’d throw my salary in the vulgar fellow’s face, before I’d bear to have a factory-boy pushed into my company.”
“And so I will, Mr. Jennings, you may depend upon it,” replied the incensed prime ministeress, somewhat softened: “so now, Mr. Macnab, you may just take yourself off, and leave the brat in the kitchen, or take him away with you, as you like best.”
“I have done my share of the benevolent job, so I will wish you good night, Mrs. Thompson; and whether this little fellow eats his supper and breakfast in the kitchen or the hall, it will be much the same to him, I fancy.” So saying, the gardener rose, and giving a sort of general nod to the company, left the kitchen.
Considering that there had been nothing very affectionate in the nature of the intercourse which had taken place between them, it was rather singular that the little Michael should feel as sorry as he did at the departure of Mr. Macnab. But he did feel sorry, and when
the door shut after him, he turned away, and hid his face with his uplifted arm.
Pride of place, and elevation of character, having been in a considerable degree satisfied by Mrs. Thompson’s energetic expression of her feelings, something like curiosity awoke within her to learn what the circumstances had been which had induced Sir Matthew Dowling to declare an intention of acting benevolently. For a moment she struggled against it, and again seemed about to leave the room; but as she turned her eyes upon the child, she seemed to feel that before one so very abject, no loss of importance could be feared, even if she did question him. So, with the air of a judge walking up to the bench, she stalked onwards to the seat Mr. Macnab had left, and placing her austere person in it, made a signal with her hand, that the kitchen-maid who had ventured to approach the little boy should stand back, and leave her space to examine him.
On one side of this space stood the lordly butler, with his arms folded, and a look of scorn upon his countenance that seemed to question the propriety of the measure Mrs. Thompson had thought proper to adopt. On the other was the courtly Jennings, with an arm resting upon her chair, as if to give evidence that he was near at hand to support her. An extremely fat and very professional looking cook came next, while my lady’s own maid, with all the elegant superiority of attire which marks the station, held a scent-bottle to her nose, that the curiosity which led her to be a witness of this extraordinary scene, might be punished with as little suffering as possible. Two sprightly housemaids seemed to find something vastly amusing in the whole business, though their evident merriment was restrained by the solemnity of Mrs. Thompson’s manner.
“Look up in my face, little boy,” said the housekeeper, as soon as she had seated herself and saw that those around her stood still, as if they had taken their places, and were prepared to listen.
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 166
