Читать книгу Patronage - Maria Edgeworth - Страница 16

Table of Contents

Lord Oldborough expected that the prompt measure of despatching the dangerous Godfrey to the West Indies would restore things to their former train. For a week after Godfrey Percy’s departure, Miss Hauton seemed much affected by it, and was from morning till night languid or in the sullens: of all which Lord Oldborough took not the slightest notice. In the course of a fortnight Miss Falconer, who became inseparable from Miss Hauton, flattering, pitying, and humouring her, contrived to recover the young lady from this fit of despondency, and produced her again at musical parties. She was passionately fond of music; the Miss Falconers played on the piano-forte and sung, their brother John accompanied exquisitely on the flute, and the Marquis of Twickenham, who was dull as “the fat weed that grows on Lethe’s brink,” stood by—admiring. His proposal was made in form—and in form the young lady evaded it—in form her uncle, Lord Oldborough, told her that the thing must be, and proceeded directly to decide upon the settlements with the Duke of Greenwich, and set the lawyers to work. In the mean time, the bride elect wept, and deplored, and refused to eat, drink, or speak, except to the Miss Falconers, with whom she was closeted for hours, and to whom the task of managing her was consigned by common consent. The marquis, who, though he was, as he said, much in love, was not very delicate as to the possession of the lady’s affections, wondered that any one going to be married to the Marquis of Twickenham could be so shy and so melancholy; but her confidantes assured him that it was all uncommon refinement and sensibility, which was their sweetest Maria’s only fault. Excellent claret, and a moderately good opinion of himself, persuaded the marquis of the truth of all which the Miss Falconers pleased to say, and her uncle graciously granted the delays, which the young lady prayed for week after week—till, at last, striking his hand upon the table, Lord Oldborough said, “There must be an end of this—the papers must be signed this day se’nnight—Maria Hauton shall be married this day fortnight.”—Maria Hauton was sent for to her uncle’s study; heard her doom in sullen silence; but she made no show of resistance, and Lord Oldborough was satisfied. An hour afterwards Commissioner Falconer begged admission, and presented himself with a face of consternation—Lord Oldborough, not easily surprised or alarmed, waited, however, with some anxiety, till he should speak.

“My lord, I beg pardon for this intrusion: I know, at this time, you are much occupied; but it is absolutely necessary I should communicate—I feel it to be my duty immediately—and I cannot hesitate—though I really do not know how to bring myself—”

There was something in the apparent embarrassment and distress of Mr. Falconer, which Lord Oldborough’s penetrating eye instantly discerned to be affected.—His lordship turned a chair towards him, but said not a word.—The commissioner sat down like a man acting despair; but looking for a moment in Lord Oldborough’s face, he saw what his lordship was thinking of, and immediately his affected embarrassment became real and great.

“Well, commissioner, what is the difficulty?”

“My lord, I have within this quarter of an hour heard what will ruin me for ever in your lordship’s opinion, unless your lordship does me the justice to believe that I never heard or suspected it before—I have only to trust to your magnanimity—and I do.”

Lord Oldborough bowed slightly—“The fact, if you please, my dear sir.”

“The fact, my lord, is, that Captain Bellamy, whose eyes, I suppose, have been quickened by jealousy, has discovered what has escaped us all—what never would have occurred to me—what never could have entered into my mind to suspect—what I still hope—”

“The fact, sir, let me beg.”

The urgency of Lord Oldborough’s look and voice admitted of no delay.

“Miss Hauton is in love with my son John.”

“Indeed!”

This “Indeed!” was pronounced in a tone which left the commissioner in doubt what it expressed, whether pure surprise, indignation, or contempt—most of the last, perhaps: he longed to hear it repeated, but he had not that satisfaction. Lord Oldborough turned abruptly—walked up and down the room with such a firm tread as sounded ominously to the commissioner’s ear.

“So then, sir, Miss Hauton, I think you tell me, is in love with Cornet Falconer?”

“Captain Bellamy says so, my lord.”

“Sir, I care not what Captain Bellamy says—nor do I well know who or what he is—much less what he can have to do with my family affairs—I ask, sir, what reason you have to believe that my niece is in love, as it is called, with your son? You certainly would not make such a report to me without good reason for believing it—what are your reasons?”

“Excuse me, my lord, my reasons are founded on information which I do not think myself at liberty to repeat: but upon hearing the report from—” The commissioner, in the hurry and confusion of his mind, and in his new situation, totally lost his tact, and at this moment was upon the point of again saying from Captain Bellamy; but the flash of Lord Oldborough’s eye warned him of his danger—he dropped the name.

“I immediately went to sound my son John, and, as far as I can judge, he has not yet any suspicion of the truth.”

Lord Oldborough’s countenance cleared. The commissioner recovered his presence of mind, for he thought he saw his way before him. “I thought it my duty to let your lordship know the first hint I had of such a nature; for how soon it might be surmised, or what steps might be taken, I must leave it to your lordship to judge—I can only assure you, that as yet, to the best of my belief, John has not any suspicion: fortunately, he is very slow—and not very bright.”

Lord Oldborough stood with compressed lips, seeming to listen, but deep in thought.

“Mr. Commissioner Falconer, let us understand one another well now—as we have done hitherto. If your son, Cornet Falconer, were to marry Maria Hauton, she would no longer be my niece, he would have a portionless, friendless, and, in my opinion, a very silly wife. He is, I think you say, not very bright himself—he would probably remain a cornet the rest of his days—all idea of assistance being of course out of the question in that case, from me or mine, to him or his.”

The awful pause which Lord Oldborough made, and his determined look, gave the commissioner opportunity to reflect much in a few seconds.

“On the contrary,” resumed his lordship, “if your son John, my dear sir, show the same desire to comply with my wishes, and to serve my interests, which I have found in the rest of his family, he shall find me willing and able to advance him as well as his brother Cunningham.”

“Your lordship’s wishes will, I can answer for it, be laws to him, as well as to the rest of his family.”

“In one word then—let Cornet Falconer be married elsewhere, within a fortnight, and I prophesy that within a year he shall be a field-officer—within two years, a lieutenant-colonel.”

Commissioner Falconer bowed twice—low to the field-officer—lower to the lieutenant-colonel.

“I have long had a match in my eye for John,” said the father; “but a fortnight, my gracious lord—that is so very short a time! Your lordship will consider there are delicacies in these cases—no young lady—it is impossible—your lordship must be sensible that it is really impossible, with a young lady of any family.”

“I am aware that it is difficult, but not impossible,” replied Lord Oldborough, rising deliberately.

The commissioner took his leave, stammering somewhat of “nothing being impossible for a friend,” courtier, he should have said.

The commissioner set to work in earnest about the match he had in view for John. Not one, but several fair visions flitted before the eye of his politic mind. The Miss Chattertons—any one of whom would, he knew, come readily within the terms prescribed, but then they had neither fortune nor connexions. A relation of Lady Jane Granville’s—excellent connexion, and reasonable fortune; but there all the decorum of regular approaches and time would be necessary: luckily, a certain Miss Petcalf was just arrived from India with a large fortune. The general, her father, was anxious to introduce his daughter to the fashionable world, and to marry her for connexion—fortune no object to him—delicacies he would waive. The commissioner saw—counted—and decided—(there was a brother Petcalf, too, who might do for Georgiana—but for that no hurry)—John was asked by his father if he would like to be a major in a year, and a lieutenant-colonel in two years?

To be sure he would—was he a fool?

Then he must be married in a fortnight.

John did not see how this conclusion followed immediately from the premises, for John was not quite a fool; so he answered “Indeed!” An indeed so unlike Lord Oldborough’s, that the commissioner, struck with the contrast, could scarcely maintain the gravity the occasion required, and he could only pronounce the words, “General Petcalf has a daughter.”

“Ay, Miss Petcalf—ay, he is a general; true—now I see it all: well, I’m their man—I have no objection—But Miss Petcalf!—is not that the Indian girl? Is not there a drop of black blood?—No, no, father,” cried John, drawing himself up, “I’ll be d—d....”

“Hear me first, my own John,” cried his father, much and justly alarmed, for this motion was the precursor of an obstinate fit, which, if John took, perish father, mother, the whole human race, he could not be moved from the settled purpose of his soul. “Hear me, my beloved John—for you are a man of sense,” said his unblushing father: “do you think I’d have a drop of black blood for my daughter-in-law, much less let my favourite son—But there’s none—it is climate—all climate—as you may see by only looking at Mrs. Governor Carneguy, how she figures every where; and Miss Petcalf is nothing near so dark as Mrs. Carneguy, surely.”

“Surely,” said John.

“And her father, the general, gives her an Indian fortune to suit an Indian complexion.”

“That’s good, at any rate,” quoth John.

“Yes, my dear major—yes, my lieutenant-colonel—to be sure that’s good. So to secure the good the gods provide us, go you this minute, dress, and away to your fair Indian! I’ll undertake the business with the general.”

“But a fortnight, my dear father,” said John, looking into the glass: “how can that be?”

“Look again, and tell me how it can not be? Pray don’t put that difficulty into Miss Petcalf’s head—into her heart I am sure it would never come.”

John yielded his shoulder to the push his father gave him towards the door, but suddenly turning back, “Zounds! father, a fortnight!” he exclaimed: “why there won’t be time to buy even boots!”

“And what are even boots,” replied his father, “to such a man as you? Go, go, man; your legs are better than all the boots in the world.”

Flattery can find her way to soothe the dullest, coldest ear alive. John looked in the glass again—dressed—and went to flatter Miss Petcalf. The proposal was graciously accepted, for the commissioner stated, as he was permitted in confidence to the general, that his son was under the special patronage of Lord Oldborough, who would make him a lieutenant-colonel in two years. The general, who looked only for connexion and genteel family, was satisfied. The young lady started at the first mention of an early day; but there was an absolute necessity for pressing that point, since the young officer was ordered to go abroad in a fortnight, and could not bear to leave England without completing his union with Miss Petcalf. These reasons, as no other were to be had, proved sufficient with father and daughter.

John was presented with a captain’s commission. He, before the end of the fortnight, looked again and again in the glass to take leave of himself, hung up his flute, and—was married. The bride and bridegroom were presented to Lord and Lady Oldborough, and went immediately abroad.

Thus the forms of homage and the rights of vassalage are altered; the competition for favour having succeeded to the dependence for protection, the feudal lord of ancient times could ill compete in power with the influence of the modern political patron.

Pending the negotiation of this marriage, and during the whole of this eventful fortnight, Cunningham Falconer had been in the utmost anxiety that can be conceived—not for a brother’s interests, but for his own: his own advancement he judged would depend upon the result, and he could not rest day or night till the marriage was happily completed—though, at the same time, he secretly cursed all the loves and marriages, which had drawn Lord Oldborough’s attention away from that embassy on which his own heart was fixed.

Buckhurst, the while, though not admitted behind the scenes, said he was sufficiently amused by what he saw on the stage, enjoyed the comedy of the whole, and pretty well made out for himself the double plot. The confidante, Miss Falconer, played her part to admiration, and prevailed on Miss Hauton to appear on the appointed day in the character of a reasonable woman; and accordingly she suffered herself to be led, in fashionable style, to the hymeneal altar by the Marquis of Twickenham. This dénouement satisfied Lord Oldborough.