Читать книгу Adeline Mowbray; or, The Mother and Daughter - Amelia Opie - Страница 4

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Meanwhile, in spite of all Mrs. Mowbray's eccentricities and caprices, Adeline, as she grew up, continued to entertain for her the most perfect respect and affection.

Her respect was excited by the high idea which she had formed of her abilities—an idea founded on the veneration which all the family seemed to feel for her on that account—and her affection was excited even to an enthusiastic degree by the tenderness with which Mrs. Mowbray had watched over her during an alarming illness.

For twenty-one days Adeline had been in the utmost danger; nor is it probable that she would have been able to struggle against the force of the disease, but for the unremitting attention of her mother. It was then, perhaps, for the first time that Mrs. Mowbray felt herself a mother:—all her vanities, all her systems, were forgotten in the danger of Adeline—she did not even hazard an opinion on the medical treatment to be observed. For once she was contented to obey instructions in silence; for once she was never caught in a reverie; but, like the most common-place woman of her acquaintance, she lived to the present moment:—and she was rewarded for her cares by the recovery of her daughter, and by that daughter's most devoted attachment.

Not even the parents of Mrs. Mowbray, who, because she talked on subjects which they could not understand, looked up to her as a superior being, could exceed Adeline in deference to her mother's abilities; and when, as she advanced in life, she was sometimes tempted to think her deficient in maternal fondness, the idea of Mrs. Mowbray bending with pale and speechless anxiety over her sleepless pillow used to recur to her remembrance, and in a moment the recent indifference was forgotten.

Nor could she entirely acquit herself of ingratitude in observing this seeming indifference: for, whence did the abstraction and apparent coldness of Mrs. Mowbray proceed? From her mind's being wholly engrossed in studies for the future benefit of Adeline. Why did she leave the concerns of her family to others? why did she allow her infirm but active mother to superintend all the household duties? and why did she seclude herself from all society, save that of her own family, and Dr. Norberry, her physician and friend, but that she might devote every hour to endeavours to perfect a system of education for her beloved and only daughter, to whom the work was to be dedicated?

'And yet,' said Adeline mentally, 'I am so ungrateful sometimes as to think she does not love me sufficiently.'

But while Mrs. Mowbray was busying herself in plans for Adeline's education, she reached the age of fifteen, and was in a manner educated; not, however, by her—though Mrs. Mowbray would, no doubt, have been surprised to have heard this assertion.

Mrs. Mowbray, as I have before said, was the spoiled child of rich parents; who, as geniuses were rarer in those days than they are now, spite of their own ignorance, rejoiced to find themselves the parents of a genius; and as their daughter always disliked the usual occupations of her sex, the admiring father and mother contented themselves with allowing her to please herself; say to each other, 'She must not be managed in a common way; for you know, my dear, she is one of your geniuses—and they are never like other folks.'

Mrs. Woodville, the mother, had been brought up with all the ideas of economy and housewifery which at that time of day prevailed in the city, and influenced the education of the daughters of citizens.

'My dear,' said she one day to Adeline, 'as you are no genius, you know, like your mother, (and God forbid you should! for one is quite enough in a family,) I shall make bold to teach you every thing that young women in my young days used to learn, and my daughter may thank me for it some time or other: for you know, my dear, when I and my good man die, what in the world would come of my poor Edith, if so be she had no one to manage for her! for, Lord love you! she knows no more of managing a family, and such-like, than a newborn babe.'

'And can you, dear grandmother, teach me to be of use to my mother?' said Adeline.

'To be sure, child; for as you are no genius, no doubt you can learn all them sort of things that women commonly know:—so we will begin directly.'

In a short time Adeline, stimulated by the ambition of being useful, (for she had often heard her mother assert that utility was the foundation of all virtue,) became as expert in household affairs as Mrs. Woodville herself: even the department of making pastry was now given up to Adeline, and the servants always came to her for orders, saying, that 'as their mistress was a learned lady, and that, and so could not be spoken with except here and there on occasion, they wished their young mistress, who was more easy spoken, would please to order:' and as Mr. and Mrs. Woodville's infirmities increased every day, Adeline soon thought it right to assume the entire management of the family.

She also took upon herself the office of almoner to Mrs. Woodville, and performed it with an activity unknown to her; for she herself carried the broth and wine that were to comfort the infirm cottager; she herself saw the medicine properly administered that was to preserve his suffering existence: the comforts the poor required she purchased herself; and in sickness she visited, in sorrow she wept with them. And though Adeline was almost unknown personally to the neighbouring gentry, she was followed with blessings by the surrounding cottagers; while many a humble peasant watched at the gate of the park to catch a glimpse of his young benefactress, and pray to God to repay to the heiress of Rosevalley the kindness which she had shown to him and his offspring.

Thus happy, because usefully employed, and thus beloved and respected, because actively benevolent, passed the early years of Adeline Mowbray; and thus was she educated, before her mother had completed her system of education.

It was not long before Adeline took on herself a still more important office. Mrs. Mowbray's steward was detected in very dishonest practices; but, as she was too much devoted to her studies to like to look into her affairs with a view to dismiss him, she could not be prevailed on to discharge him from her service. Fortunately, however, her father on his death-bed made it his request that she would do so; and Mrs. Mowbray pledged herself to obey him.

'But what shall I do for a steward in Davison's place?' said she soon after her father died.

'Is one absolutely necessary?' returned Adeline modestly. 'Surely farmer Jenkins would undertake to do all that is necessary for half the money; and, if he were properly overlooked—'

'And pray who can overlook him properly?' asked Mrs. Mowbray.

'My grandmother and I,' replied Adeline timidly: 'we both like business and—'

'Like business!—but what do you know of it?'

'Know!' cried Mrs. Woodville, 'why, daughter, Lina is very clever at it, I assure you!'

'Astonishing! She knows nothing yet of accounts.'

'Dear me! how mistaken you are, child! She knows accounts perfectly well.'

'Impossible!' replied Mrs. Mowbray: 'who should have taught her? I have been inventing an easy method of learning arithmetic, by which I was going to teach her in a few months.'

'Yes, child: but I, thinking it a pity that the poor girl should learn nothing, like, till she was to learn every thing, taught her according to the old way; and I cannot but say she took to it very kindly. Did not you, Lina?'

'Yes, grandmother,' said Adeline; 'and as I love arithmetic very much, I am quite anxious to keep all my mother's accounts, and overlook the accounts of the person whom she shall employ to manage her estates in future.'

To this Mrs. Mowbray, half pleased and half mortified, at length consented; and Adeline and farmer Jenkins entered upon their occupations. Shortly after Mrs. Woodville was seized with her last illness; and Adeline neglected every other duty, and Mrs. Mowbray her studies, 'to watch, and weep, beside a parent's bed.'

But watch and weep was all that Mrs. Mowbray did: with every possible wish to be useful, she had so long given way to habits of abstraction, and neglect of everyday occupations, that she was rather a hindrance than a help in the sick room.

During Adeline's illness, excessive fear of losing her only child had indeed awakened her to unusual exertion; and as all that she had to do was to get down, at stated times, a certain quantity of wine and nourishment, her task though wearisome was not difficult: but to sooth the declining hours of an aged parent, to please the capricious appetite of decay, to assist with ready and skilful alacrity the shaking hand of the invalid, jealous of waiting on herself and wanting to be cheated into being waited upon;—these trifling yet important details did not suit the habits of Mrs. Mowbray. But Adeline was versed in them all; and her mother, conscious of her superiority in these things, was at last contented to sit by inactive, though not unmoved.

One day, when Mrs. Mowbray had been prevailed upon to lie down for an hour or two in another apartment, and Adeline was administering to Mrs. Woodville some broth which she had made herself, the old lady pressed her hand affectionately, and cried, 'Ah! child, in a lucky hour I made bold to interfere, and teach you what your mother was too clever to learn. Wise was I to think one genius enough in a family—else, what should I have done now? My daughter, though the best child in the world, could never have made such nice broth as this to comfort me, so hot, and boiled to a minute like! bless her! she'd have tried, that she would, but ten to one but she'd have smoked it, overturned it, and scalt her fingers into the bargain.—Ah, Lina, Lina! mayhap the time will come when you, should you have a sick husband or a child to nurse, may bless your poor grandmother for having taught you to be useful.'

'Dear grandmother,' said Adeline tenderly, 'the time has come: I am, you see, useful to you; and therefore I bless you already for having taught me to be so.'

'Good girl, good girl! just what I would have you! And forgive me, Lina, when I own that I have often thanked God for not making you a genius! Not but what no child can behave better than mine; for, with all her wit and learning, she was always so respectful, and so kind to me and my dear good man, that I am sure I could not but rejoice in such a daughter; though, to be sure, I used to wish she was more conversible like; for, as to the matter of a bit of chat, we never gossiped together in our lives. And though, to be sure, the squires' ladies about are none of the brightest, and not to compare with my Edith, yet still they would have done for me and my dear good man to gossip a bit with. So I was vexed when my daughter declared she wanted all her time for her studies, and would not visit any body, no, not even Mrs. Norberry, who is to be sure a very good sort of a woman, though a little given to speak ill of her neighbours. But then so we are all, you know: and, as I say, why, if one spoke well of all alike, what would be the use of one person's being better than his neighbours, except for conscience's sake? But, as I was going to say, my daughter was pleased to compliment me, and declare she was sure I could amuse myself without visiting women so much inferior to me; and she advised my beginning a course of study, as she called it.'

'And did you?' asked Adeline with surprise.

'Yes. To oblige her, my good man and I began to read one Mr. Locke on the Conduct of the Human Understanding; which my daughter said would teach us to think.'

'To think?' said Adeline.

'Yes.—Now, you must know, my poor husband did not look upon it as very respectful like in Edith to say that, because it seemed to say that we had lived all these years without having thought at all; which was not true, to be sure, because we were never thoughtless like, and my husband was so staid when a boy that he was called a little old man.'

'But I am sure,' said Adeline, half smiling, 'that my mother did not mean to insinuate that you wanted proper thought.'

'No, I dare say not,' resumed the old lady, 'and so I told my husband, and so we set to study this book: but, dear me! it was Hebrew Greek to us—and so dull!'

'Then you did not get through it, I suppose?'

'Through it, bless your heart! No—not three pages! So my good man says to Edith, says he, "You gave us this book, I think, child, to teach us to think?" "Yes, sir," says she. "And it has taught us to think," says he:—"it has taught us to think that it is very dull and disagreeable." So my daughter laughed, and said her father was witty; but, poor soul! he did not mean it.

'Well, then: as, to amuse us, we liked to look at the stars sometimes, she told us we had better learn their names, and study astronomy; and so we began that: but that was just as bad as Mr. Locke; and we knew no more of the stars and planets, than the man in the moon. Yet that's not right to say, neither; for, as he is so much nearer the stars, he must know more about them than any one whomsoever. So at last my daughter found out that learning was not our taste; so she left us to please ourselves, and play cribbage and draughts in an evening as usual.'

Here the old lady paused, and Adeline said affectionately, 'Dear grandmother, I doubt you exert yourself too much: so much talking can't be good for you.'

'O! yes, child!' replied Mrs. Woodville: 'it is no trouble at all to me, I assure you, but quite natural and pleasant like: besides, you know I shall not be able to talk much longer, so let me make the most of my time now.'

This speech brought tears into the eyes of Adeline; and seeing her mother re-enter the room, she withdrew to conceal the emotion which she felt, lest the cheerful loquacity of the invalid, which she was fond of indulging, should be checked by seeing her tears. But it had already received a check from the presence of Mrs. Mowbray, of whose superior abilities Mrs. Woodville was so much in awe, that, concluding her daughter could not bear to hear her nonsense, the old lady smiled kindly on her when with a look of tender anxiety she hastened to her bedside, and then, holding her hand, composed herself to sleep.

In a few days more, she breathed her last on the supporting arm of Adeline; and lamented in her dying moments, that she had nothing valuable in money to leave, in order to show Adeline how sensible she was of her affectionate attentions: 'but you are an only child,' she added, 'and all your mother has will be yours.'

'No doubt,' observed Mrs. Mowbray eagerly; and her mother died contented.