Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth

by Maria Edgeworth

  “My dear sir,” cried he, “you do not know, you cannot estimate, the extent of the service you have done me: far from wishing to lessen it in your eyes, I wish you to know at this moment its full importance. By Lady Oldborough’s death, and by circumstances with which I need not trouble you, I lost the support of her connexions. The Duke of Greenwich, though my relation, is a weak man, and a weak man can never be a good friend. I was encompassed, undermined, the ground hollow under me — I knew it, but I could not put my finger upon one of the traitors. Now I have them all at one blow, and I thank you for it. I have the character, I believe, of being what is called proud, but you see that I am not too proud to be assisted and obliged by one who will never allow me to oblige or assist him or any of his family. But why should this be? Look over the list of these men. In some one of these places of trust, give me a person in whom I can confide, a friend to me, and to your country. Look over that list, now in your hand, and put your finger upon any thing that will suit you.”

  “I thank you, my lord,” said Mr. Percy; “I feel the full value of your good opinion, and true gratitude for the warmth of your friendship, but I cannot accept of any office under your administration. Our political principles differ as much as our private sentiments of honour agree; and these sentiments will, I trust, make you approve of what I now say — and do.”

  “But there are places, there are situations which you might accept, where your political opinions and mine could never clash. It is an extraordinary thing for a minister to press a gentleman to accept of a place, unless he expects more in return than what he gives. But come — I must have Mr. Percy one of us. You have never tried ambition yet,” added Lord Oldborough, with a smile: “trust me, you will find ambition has its pleasures, its proud moments, when a man feels that he has his foot on the neck of his enemies.”

  Lord Oldborough stood, as if he felt this pride at the instant. “You do not know the charms of ambition, Mr. Percy.”

  “It may be delightful to feel one’s foot on the neck of one’s enemies, but, for my part, I rather prefer having no enemies.”

  “No enemies!” said Lord Oldborough: “every man that has character enough to make friends has character enough to make enemies — and must have enemies, if not of his power or place, of his talents and property — the sphere lower, the passion’s the same. No enemies! — What is he, who has been at law with you, and has robbed you of your estate?”

  “I forgot him — upon my word, I forgot him,” said Mr. Percy. “You see, my lord, if he robbed me of my estate, he did not rob me of my peace of mind. Does your lordship think,” said Mr. Percy, smiling, “that any ambitious man, deprived of his place, could say as much?”

  “When I can tell you that from my own experience, you shall know,” said Lord Oldborough, replying in the same tone; “but, thanks to your discovery, there seems to be little chance, at present, of my being competent to answer that question. But to business — we are wasting life.”

  Every word or action that did not tend to a political purpose appeared to Lord Oldborough to be a waste of life.

  “Your ultimatum? Can you be one of us?”

  “Impossible, my lord. Pardon me if I say, that the nearer the view your confidence permits me to take of the workings of your powerful mind, and of the pains and penalties of your exalted situation, the more clearly I feel that ambition is not for me, that my happiness lies in another line.”

  “Enough — I have done — the subject is at rest between us for ever.” A cloud, followed instantaneously by a strong radiance of pleasure, passed across Lord Oldborough’s countenance, while he pronounced, as if speaking to himself, the words, “Singular obstinacy! Admirable consistency! And I too am consistent, my dear sir,” said he, sitting down at the table. “Now for business; but I am deprived of my right hand.” He rang, and desired his secretary, Mr. Temple, to be sent to him. Mr. Percy rose to take leave, but Lord Oldborough would not permit him to go. “I can have no secrets for you, Mr. Percy — stay and see the end of the Cassock.”

  Mr. Temple came in; and Lord Oldborough, with that promptitude and decision by which he was characterised, dictated a letter to the king, laying before his majesty the whole intrigue, as discovered by the Tourville papers, adding a list of the members of the Cassock — concluding by begging his majesty’s permission to resign, unless the cabal, which had rendered his efforts for the good of the country and for his majesty’s service in some points abortive, should be dismissed from his majesty’s councils. In another letter to a private friend, who had access to the royal ear, Lord Oldborough named the persons, whom, if his majesty should do him the favour of consulting him, he should wish to recommend in the places of those who might be dismissed. His lordship farther remarked, that the marriage which had taken place between his niece and the eldest son of the Duke of Greenwich, and the late proofs of his grace’s friendship, dissipated all fears and resentment arising from his former connexion with the Cassock. Lord Oldborough therefore entreated his majesty to continue his grace in his ministry. All this was stated in the shortest and plainest terms.

  “No rounded periods, no phrases, no fine writing, Mr. Temple, upon this occasion, if you please; it must be felt that these letters are straight from my mind, and that if they are not written by my own hand, it is because that hand is disabled. As soon as the gout will let me stir, I shall pay my duty to my sovereign in person. These arrangements will be completed, I trust, by the meeting of parliament. In the mean time I am better here than in London; the blow will be struck, and none will know by whom — not but what I am ready to avow it, if called upon. But — let the coffee-house politicians decide, and the country gentlemen prose upon it,” said Lord Oldborough, smiling—”some will say the ministry split on India affairs, some on Spanish, some on French affairs. How little they, any of them, know what passes or what governs behind the curtain! Let them talk — whilst I act.”

  The joy of this discovery so raised Lord Oldborough’s spirits, and dilated his heart, that he threw himself open with a freedom and hilarity, and with a degree of humour unusual to him, and unknown except to the few in his most intimate confidence. The letters finished, Mr. Temple was immediately despatched with them to town.

  “There,” said Lord Oldborough, as soon as Mr. Temple had left him, “there’s a secretary I can depend upon; and there is another obligation I owe to your family — to your son Alfred.”

  Now this business of the Tourville papers was off his mind, Lord Oldborough, though not much accustomed to turn his attention to the lesser details of domestic life, spoke of every individual of the Percy family with whom he was acquainted; and, in particular, of Godfrey, to whom he was conscious that he had been unjust. Mr. Percy, to relieve him from this regret, talked of the pleasure his son had had in his friend Gascoigne’s late promotion to the lieutenant-colonelcy. Whilst Mr. Percy spoke, Lord Oldborough searched among a packet of letters for one which made honourable mention of Captain Percy, and put it into the hands of the happy father.

  “Ah! these are pleasurable feelings denied to me,” said Lord Oldborough.

  After a pause he added, “That nephew of mine, Colonel Hauton, is irretrievably profligate, selfish, insignificant. I look to my niece, the Marchioness of Twickenham’s child, that is to say, if the mother—”

  Another long pause, during which his lordship rubbed the glasses of his spectacles, and looked through them, as if intent that no speck should remain; while he did this very slowly, his mind ran rapidly from the idea of the Marchioness of Twickenham to John Falconer, and thence to all the causes of distrust and discontent which he felt towards all the different individuals of the Falconer family. He considered, that now the Tourville papers had been completely deciphered, the necessity for engaging the secrecy of the commissioner, and of his son Cunningham, would soon cease.

  Lord Oldborough’s reverie was interrupted by seeing, at this instant, the commissioner returning from his ride.

  “Not a word, Mr.
Percy, of what has passed between us, to Commissioner Falconer — not a word of the Gassoc. I put you on your guard, because you live with those in whom you have entire confidence,” said Lord Oldborough; “but that is what a public man, a minister, cannot do.”

  Another reason why I should not like to be a minister, thought Mr. Percy. “I took it for granted that the commissioner was entirely in your lordship’s confidence.”

  “I thought you were too good a philosopher to take any thing for granted, Mr. Percy. Consider, if you please, that I am in a situation where I must have tools, and use them, as long as I can make them serviceable to my purposes. Sir, I am not a missionary, but a minister. I must work with men, and upon men, such as I find them. I am not a chemist, to analyze and purify the gold. I make no objection to that alloy, which I am told is necessary, and fits it for being moulded to my purposes. But here comes the ductile commissioner.”

  Lord Oldborough began to talk to him of the borough, without any mercy for his curiosity, and without any attempt to evade the various dexterous pushes he made to discover the business which had this morning occupied his lordship. Mr. Percy was surprised, in the course of this day, to see the manner in which the commissioner, a gentleman well-born, of originally independent fortune and station, humbled and abased himself to a patron. Mr. Falconer had contracted a certain cringing servility of manner, which completely altered his whole appearance, and which quite prevented him even from looking like a gentleman. It was his principle never to contradict a great man, never to give him any sort of pain; and his idea of the deference due to rank, and of the danger of losing favour by giving offence, was carried so far, that not only his attitude and language, but his whole mind, seemed to be new modified. He had not the free use of his faculties. He seemed really so to subdue and submit his powers, that his understanding was annihilated. Mr. Percy was astonished at the change in his cousin; the commissioner was equally surprised, nay, actually terrified, by Mr. Percy’s freedom and boldness. “Good Heavens! how can you speak in this manner?” said Mr. Falconer, as they were going down stairs together, after parting with Lord Oldborough.

  “And why not? — I have nothing to fear or to hope, nothing to gain or to lose. Lord Oldborough can give me nothing that I would accept, but his esteem, and that I am sure of never losing.”

  Heigho! if I had your favour with my lord, what I would make of it! thought the commissioner, as he stepped into his chariot. Mr. Percy mounted his horse, and rode back to his humble home, glad to have done his friend Lord Oldborough a service, still more glad that he was not bound to the minister by any of the chains of political dependence. Rejoiced to quit Tourville papers — state intrigues — lists of enemies, — and all the necessity for reserve and management, and all the turmoil of ambition.

  CHAPTER XXV.

  Count Altenberg arrived at Clermont-park, and as Lord Oldborough was still confined by the gout, Commissioner Falconer, to his lady’s infinite satisfaction, was deputed to show him every thing that was worth seeing in this part of the country. Every morning some party was formed by Mrs. Falconer, and so happily arranged that her Georgiana and the count were necessarily thrown together. The count rode extremely well; Miss Falconers had been taught to ride in a celebrated riding-house, and were delighted to display their equestrian graces. When they were not disposed to ride, the count had a phaeton; and Mrs. Falconer a barouche; and either in the phaeton, or the barouche seat, Miss Georgiana Falconer was seated with the count, who, as she discovered, drove uncommonly well.

  The count had expressed a desire to see the place where M. de Tourville had been shipwrecked, and he really wished to be introduced to the Percy family, of whom, from the specimen he had seen in Alfred, and from all the hospitality they had shown the distressed mariners (some of whom were his countrymen), he had formed a favourable opinion. Half his wish was granted, the rest dispersed in empty air. Mrs. Falconer with alacrity arranged a party for Percy-hall, to show the count the scene of the shipwreck. She should be so glad to see it herself, for she was absent from the country at the time of the sad disaster; but the commissioner, who knew the spot, and all the circumstances, better than any other person, would show them every thing — and Sir Robert Percy, she was sure, would think himself much honoured by Count Altenberg’s visiting his place.

  Count Altenberg had some confused recollection of Mr. Alfred Percy’s having told him that his father no longer lived at Percy hall; but this speech of Mrs. Falconer’s led the count to believe that he had misunderstood what Alfred had said.

  The party arranged for Percy-hall consisted of the Miss Falconers, the two Lady Arlingtons, and some other young people, who were at Falconer-court. It was a fine morning, Mrs. Falconer was all suavity and smiles, both the Miss Falconers in charming hopes, and consequently in charming spirits.

  Percy-hall was really a beautiful place, and Miss Arabella Falconer now looked at it with the pleasure of anticipated possession. Sir Robert Percy was not at home, he had been obliged that morning to be absent on some special business; but he had left orders with his steward and housekeeper to show the party of visitors the house and grounds. In going through the apartments they came to the gallery leading to the library, where they were stopped by some workmen’s trestles, on which were lying two painted glass windows, one that had been taken down, and another which was to be put in its stead. Whilst the workmen were moving the obstacles out of the way, the company had leisure to admire the painted windows. One of them was covered with coats of arms: the other represented the fire at Percy-hall, and the portrait of Caroline assisting the old nurse down the staircase. This painting immediately fixed Count Altenberg’s eye, and Miss Georgiana Falconer, not knowing whose portrait it was, exclaimed, as she looked at the figure of Caroline, “Beautiful! Exquisite! What a lovely creature that is assisting the old woman!”

  “Yes,” said Count Altenberg, “it is one of the finest countenances I ever beheld.”

  All the ladies eagerly pressed forward to look at it.

  “Beautiful! Don’t you think it is something like Lady Anne Cope?” said Miss Falconer.

  “Oh! dear, no!” cried Miss Georgiana Falconer: “it is a great deal handsomer than any of the Copes ever were, or ever will be!”

  “It has a look of Lady Mary Nesbitt,” said one of the Lady Arlingtons.

  “The eyes are so like Lady Coningsby, who is my delight,” said Georgiana.

  “And it has quite the Arlington nose,” said Mrs. Falconer, glancing her eye upon the Lady Arlingtons. Count Altenberg, without moving his eye, repeated, “It is the most beautiful face I ever beheld.”

  “Not nearly so beautiful as the original, sir,” said the painter.

  “The original? — Is it a copy?”

  “A portrait, sir.”

  “Oh! a family portrait of one of our great, great grandmother Percys, I suppose,” said Miss Georgiana, “done in her youth — in a fancy piece, you know, according to the taste of those times — she must have been superlatively lovely.”

  “Ma’am,” said the painter, “the young lady, of whom this is a portrait, is, I hope and believe, now living.”

  “Where? — and who can she be? — for I am sure I don’t recollect ever having seen her in all my life — never met her in town any where — Pray, sir, who may it be?” added she, turning to the artist, with a mixture of affected negligence and real pride.

  “Miss Caroline Percy, ma’am.”

  “A daughter of Sir Robert Percy — of the gentleman of this house?” said Count Altenberg eagerly.

  Mrs. Falconer, and her daughter Georgiana, answered rapidly, with looks of alarm, as they stood a little behind the count.

  “Oh! no, no, Count Altenberg,” cried Mrs. Falconer, advancing, “not a daughter of the gentleman of this house — another family, relations, but distant relations of the commissioner’s: he formerly knew something of them, but we know nothing of them.”

  The painter however knew a great deal, and seemed anxi
ous to tell all he knew: but Mrs. Falconer walked on immediately, saying, “This is our way, is not it? This leads to the library, where, I dare say, we shall find the book which the count wanted.” The count heard her not, for with his eyes fixed on the picture he was listening to the account which the painter was giving of the circumstance it recorded of the fire at Percy-hall — of the presence of mind and humanity of Miss Caroline Percy, who had saved the life of the poor decrepit woman, who in the picture was represented as leaning upon her arm. The painter paused when he came to this part of his story—”That woman was my mother, sir.” — He went on, and with all the eloquence of filial affection and of gratitude, pronounced in a few words a panegyric on the family who had been his first and his best benefactors: all who heard him were touched with his honest warmth, except the Miss Falconers.