Читать книгу The History of A Merchant's Widow and her Young Family - Барбара Хофланд - Страница 6

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After this conversation, Mrs. Daventree was for several days closeted with Mr. Sadler, examining accounts, and considering the nature of her future prospects. She found, that notwithstanding all their terrible losses, there were still very considerable debts due to them from many respectable houses on the Continent, which there was reason to believe would be paid some time; in which case, no sacrifice of her own immediate comforts would be called for, so far as regarded her settlement, which was, at the utmost, a very poor provision, in comparison of that to which she had been accustomed from her birth: in the first instant, therefore, she was inclined to adopt Mr. Sadler's advice, and retain it untouched, leaving the foreign debts to redeem her husband's at home; but when she considered that the losses already experienced had been caused by circumstances which continued to operate, she dared not depend upon them as the means of supplying the deficiency; and after revolving the affair fully in her mind, and considering both the claims of her children, her creditors, and what she well knew would be the wishes of her deceased husband, she at length resolved to sequester five hundred a-year out of her income, which, together with the entire resignation of her household furniture, carriages, horses, and plate, would, in the space of nine years, fully liquidate the debts of her husband and uncle.

When she had arranged her plans, she informed Charles and Henry how her affairs stood; the former was too young and thoughtless to comprehend more than that his dear mamma was obliged to leave her house, and go into a worse, which made him sorrowful; but the latter comprehended her motives, and had the good sense to feel their excellence, and feel that affectionate veneration for the memory of his father which she wished him to possess; he warmly approved all which he understood from her was to be done, in order to rescue that father's name from blame, and prevent any one from suffering on his account.

"But are you aware, my dear boy, that in order to effect this good purpose, we must all submit to many privations?"

"Yes, mamma, I do understand that, and I am sure I can give up any thing: but I confess it will grieve me very, very much to see you wanting any thing."

The affectionate boy fell on his mother's neck as he spoke, and wept abundantly. Charles was affected with this, and declared roundly—"His mamma should never want any thing—he would go to sea, and take prizes from the French, and bring home every thing to her."

The mother, finding that grief only increased by indulgence, and that the longer she lingered in that dear home, where she had once enjoyed happiness beyond the common lot of mortals, the longer she felt herself incapacitated for the task before her, at once roused herself to action; and perceiving that the sorrow of her eldest boy was more deep than is often shewn at his years, she endeavoured, by making him her coadjutor in all her plans, to wean his mind from the indulgence of grief; at the same time, she led him to that active exertion of his faculties now so peculiarly necessary to him.

At this period, all those more intimate friends who knew her resolution, stepped out with offers of service; and it would have been easy for her to have disposed of all her children, in such a manner as to have ensured to each of these dear ones the continued possession of those comforts and luxuries hitherto found in their paternal home; but Mrs. Daventree could not, of course, part with all her darlings, and she did not choose to divide their lot in life; nor did she approve of placing any in such a state of present affluence as might render them hereafter dependent on their present protectors, and by enervating their minds, and increasing their wants, unfit them for the exercise of those talents which, if rightly employed, might yet secure them independence; and she therefore thankfully, but decidedly, refused every offer of this description, except so far as related to the future disposal of her sons.

After various inquiries for country situations, she at length chose a house in the village of Conisbro', in Yorkshire, which she saw advertised, and gave it the preference, on account of its vicinity to Doncaster, which being a town remarkable for the number and excellency of its schools, would, she thought, afford her the means of educating her children at a small expense. Having, with Mr. Sadler's assistance, secured this distant habitation, she made her intentions fully known to the creditors, who, for the most part, complied reluctantly with her wishes, as they not only sincerely pitied her for the loss she had already experienced, but considered her as unequal to pursuing the thorny path her high sense of integrity pointed out to her. They were well aware of the many hardships to which she thus subjected herself; and considering that this was the precise period in which her children would be most expensive to her, they remonstrated with her, and entreated her to reconsider the matter.

"I am aware of the truth you have just named," said she; "this is indeed the time when my children's wants are many, but it is likewise the time in which their minds must be formed to diligence and care; they must all be self-dependent, and cannot begin the necessary training too soon: they have now no one to look to for help in future life, except their eldest brother, and not even him, so long as their mother lives; how then can I be kinder to them, than by teaching them to contract their wants, use their abilities, and confine their wishes? It is happy for them that their misfortunes have occurred too early in life for their habits to be formed; and I trust they will be not less happy because they are less wealthy during the days of childhood; and that when they are brought again into the world, their path will be honourable, useful, and happy, though more lowly than they were born to. Who shall presume to say that their change is not for the best? if poverty has its trials, riches have their temptations—'The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be His name!'"

When Mrs. Daventree came to depart, a task awaited her, more severe than any which arose from leaving her elegant mansion—the parting with her servants, most of whom had lived with her from the time of her marriage, and were so attached to her and her children, as to be led to plead earnestly for permission to continue in her service, each having some peculiar reason why he or she should be preferred: the younger children increased this difficulty, by lamenting their own favourites, and the heart of the kind mistress and tender mother was lacerated in every pore. On this occasion, Henry exerted himself in a manner which proved not less the soundness of his understanding, than the sweetness of his disposition; he reasoned with them all—he shewed them the severity of the trial to which they exposed one who was already overburthened—and proved that it was their duty to imitate the fortitude thus cruelly distressed; by degrees, he succeeded in reconciling them to the inevitable evil, and inducing them to part with their beloved benefactress in such a manner as to spare her feelings. They complied, but each envied William the privilege of seeing what they called the "last of their lady;" for they looked upon her journey into Yorkshire as nothing better than absolute banishment, though all were willing to partake it.

It was settled that this footman should remain with his lady until she should have settled her little household at Conisbro', as she could not possibly do without some active person, to purchase her furniture and arrange her necessaries. The assignees had entreated her to take out of her house whatever she most valued; but this she had declined, not only because she wished to resign the property into their hands, but because she did not wish to retain elegances, which would remind herself and children of what they had lost, and which were inconsistent with that moderate competence which she considered it the will of Heaven she should henceforth inherit; but as her conduct arose from a sense of justice, not of pride, she accepted with pleasure the most useful part of her library, and such articles of plate as were indispensable.

During all this time, Mrs. Daventree had not one ventured down stairs; when the dreaded moment came, in which she found herself called upon, for the last time, to cross that threshold where she had been so often welcomed by the smile of rapture, and the voice of connubial love, and where, three months before, she had beheld that heart-appalling sight which had blasted her happiness, and threatened her reason, her heart fluttered, and sunk within her, as if all her first sensations were about to be renewed. But here again the cares of her dear sons interposed to spare her; at the moment her trembling steps left her chamber, Henry and Charles each seized her hand, and led her by a contrary direction.

"Where are you going, my loves?"

"Down the back stairs, mamma; they are the easiest: the chaises are in Montague-street, just at the corner—'tis a step only, the back-way."

Mrs. Daventree fully comprehended this delicate attention in her affectionate and amiable children; and while the tears rose to her eyes, and her memory recalled the ceaseless solicitude of their beloved father to protect her from every degree of suffering, she yet breathed a devout aspiration of thanksgiving to that Heavenly Protector, who, in the midst of judgment, had remembered mercy; and felt, that although she was indeed a widow, yet she was not childless, and therefore not desolate.