So with her head full of furniture, Lady Clonbrony retired. “I go to my business, Colambre: and I leaven you to settle yours in peace.”
In peace! — Never was our hero’s mind less at peace than at this moment. The more his heart felt that it was painful, the more his reason told him it was necessary that he should part from Grace Nugent. To his union with her there was an obstacle which his prudence told him ought to be insurmountable; yet he felt that, during the few days he had been with her, the few hours he had been near her, he had, with his utmost power over himself, scarcely been master of his passion, or capable of concealing its object. It could not have been done but for her perfect simplicity and innocence. But how could this be supported on his part? How could he venture to live with this charming girl? How could he settle at home? What resource?
His mind turned towards the army: he thought that abroad, and in active life, he should lose all the painful recollections, and drive from his heart all the sentiments, which could now be only a source of unavailing regret. But his mother — his mother, who had now yielded her own taste to his entreaties, for the good of her family — she expected him to return and live with her in Ireland. Though not actually promised or specified, he knew that she took it for granted; that it was upon this hope, this faith, she consented: he knew that she would be shocked at the bare idea of his going into the army. There was one chance — our hero tried, at this moment, to think it the best possible chance — that Miss Nugent might marry Mr. Salisbury, and settle in England. On this idea he relied, as the only means of extricating him from difficulties.
It was necessary to turn his thoughts immediately to business, to execute his promises to his father. Two great objects were now to be accomplished — the payment of his father’s debts, and the settlement of the Irish agent’s accounts; and, in transacting this complicated business, he derived considerable assistance from Sir Terence O’Fay, and from Sir Arthur Berryl’s solicitor, Mr. Edwards. Whilst acting for Sir Arthur, on a former occasion, Lord Colambre had gained the entire confidence of this solicitor, who was a man of the first eminence. Mr. Edwards took the papers and Lord Clonbrony’s title-deeds home with him, saying that he would give an answer the next morning. He then waited upon Lord Colambre, and informed him that he had just received a letter from Sir Arthur Berryl, who, with the consent and desire of his lady, requested that whatever money might be required by Lord Clonbrony should be immediately supplied on their account, without waiting till Lord Colambre should be of age, as the ready money might be of some convenience to him in accelerating the journey to Ireland, which Sir Arthur and Lady Berryl knew was his lordship’s object. Sir Terence O’Fay now supplied Mr. Edwards with accurate information as to the demands that were made upon Lord Clonbrony, and of the respective characters of the creditors. Mr. Edwards undertook to settle with the fair claimants; Sir Terence with the rogues: so that by the advancement of ready money from the Berryls, and by the detection of false and exaggerated charges which Sir Terence made among the inferior class, the debts were reduced nearly to one-half of their former amount. Mordicai, who had been foiled in his vile attempt to become sole creditor, had, however, a demand of more than seven thousand pounds upon Lord Clonbrony, which he had raised to this enormous sum in six or seven years, by means well known to himself. He stood the foremost in the list: not from the greatness of the sum; but from the danger of his adding to it the expenses of law. Sir Terence undertook to pay the whole with five thousand pounds. Lord Clonbrony thought it impossible: the solicitor thought it improvident, because he knew that upon a trial a much greater abatement would be allowed; but Lord Colambre was determined, from the present embarrassments of his own situation, to leave nothing undone that could be accomplished immediately.
Sir Terence, pleased with his commission, immediately went to Mordicai.
“Well, Sir Terence,” said Mordicai, “I hope you are come to pay me my hundred guineas; for Miss Broadhurst is married!”
“Well, Mister Mordicai, what then? The ides of March are come, but not gone! Stay, if you plase, Mister Mordicai, till Lady-day, when it becomes due: in the mean time, I have a handful, or rather an armful, of bank-notes for you, from my Lord Colambre.”
“Humph.” said Mordicai: “how’s that? he’ll not be of age these three days.”
“Don’t matter for that: he has sent me to look over your accounts, and to hope that you will make some small ABATEMENT in the total.”
“Harkee, Sir Terence — you think yourself very clever in things of this sort, but you’ve mistaken your man: I have an execution for the whole, and I’ll be d —— d if all your cunning shall MAKE me take up with part!”
“Be aisy, Mister Mordicai! — you sha’n’t make me break your bones, nor make me drop one actionable word against your high character; for I know your clerk there, with that long goose-quill behind his ear, would be ready evidence again’ me. But I beg to know, in one word, whether you will take five thousand down, and GIVE Lord Clonbrony a discharge?”
“No, Mr. Terence! nor six thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine pounds. My demand is seven thousand one hundred and thirty pounds, odd shillings: if you have that money, pay it; if not, I know how to get it, and along with it complete revenge for all the insults I have received from that greenhorn, his son.”
“Paddy Brady!” cried Sir Terence, “do you hear that? Remember that word revenge! — Mind I call you to witness!”
“What, sir, will you raise a rebellion among my workmen?”
“No, Mr. Mordicai, no rebellion; and I hope you won’t cut the boy’s ears off for listening to a little of the brogue — so listen, my good lad. Now, Mr. Mordicai, I offer you here, before little goosequill, 5000l. ready penny — take it, or leave it: take your money, and leave your revenge; or take your revenge, and lose your money.”
“Sir Terence, I value neither your threats nor your cunning. Good morning to you.”
“Good morning to you, Mr. Mordicai — but not kindly! Mr. Edwards, the solicitor, has been at the office to take off the execution: so now you may have law to your heart’s content! And it was only to plase the young lord that the ould one consented to my carrying this bundle to you,” showing the bank-notes.
“Mr. Edwards employed!” cried Mordicai. “Why, how the devil did Lord Clonbrony get into such hands as his? The execution taken off! Well, sir, go to law — I am ready for you. Jack Latitat IS A MATCH for your sober solicitor.”
“Good morning again to you, Mr. Mordicai: we’re fairly out of your clutches, and we have enough to do with our money.”
“Well, Sir Terence, I must allow you have a very wheedling way — Here, Mr. Thompson, make out a receipt for Lord Clonbrony: I never go to law with an old customer, if I can help it.”
This business settled, Mr. Soho was next to be dealt with.
He came at Lady Clonbrony’s summons; and was taking directions with the utmost sang froid, for packing up and sending off the very furniture for which he was not paid.
Lord Colambre called him into his father’s study; and, producing his bill, he began to point out various articles which were charged at prices that were obviously extravagant.
“Why, really, my lord, they are abundantly extravagant: if I charged vulgar prices, I should be only a vulgar tradesman. I, however, am not a broker, nor a Jew. Of the article superintendence, which is only 500l., I cannot abate a doit: on the rest of the bill, if you mean to offer ready, I mean, without any negotiation, to abate thirty per cent., and I hope that is a fair and gentlemanly offer.”
“Mr. Soho, there is your money!”
“My Lord Colambre! I would give the contents of three such bills to be sure of such noblemanly conduct as yours. Lady Clonbrony’s furniture shall be safely packed, without costing her a farthing.”
With the help of Mr. Edwards, the solicitor, every other claim was soon settled; and Lord Clonbrony, for the first time since he left Ireland, found himself out of debt, and out of danger.
&n
bsp; Old Nick’s account could not be settled in London. Lord Colambre had detected numerous false charges, and sundry impositions: the land, which had been purposely let to run wild, so far from yielding any rent, was made a source of constant expense, as remaining still unset: this was a large tract, for which St. Dennis had at length offered a small rent.
Upon a fair calculation of the profits of the ground, and from other items in the account, Nicholas Garraghty, Esq., appeared at last to be, not the creditor, but the debtor to Lord Clonbrony. He was dismissed with disgrace; which perhaps he might not have felt, if it had not been accompanied by pecuniary loss, and followed by the fear of losing his other agencies, and by the dread of immediate bankruptcy.
Mr. Burke was appointed agent in his stead to the Clonbrony as well as the Colambre estate. His appointment was announced to him by the following letter: —
“TO MRS. BURKE, AT COLAMBRE.
“DEAR MADAM,
“The traveller whom you so hospitably received some months ago was Lord Colambre; he now writes to you in his proper person. He promised you that he would, as far as it might be in his power, do justice to Mr. Burke’s conduct and character, by representing what he had done for Lord Clonbrony in the town of Colambre, and in the whole management of the tenantry and property under his care.
“Happily for my father, my dear madam, he is now as fully convinced as you could wish him to be of Mr. Burke’s merits; and he begs me to express his sense of the obligations he is under to him and to you. He entreats that you will pardon the impropriety of a letter, which, as I assured you the moment I saw it, he never wrote or read.
“He hopes that you will forget that such a letter was ever received, and that you will use your influence with Mr. Burke to induce him to continue to our family his regard and valuable services. Lord Clonbrony encloses a power of attorney, enabling Mr. Burke to act in future for him, if Mr. Burke will do him that favour, in managing the Clonbrony as well as the Colambre estate.
“Lord Clonbrony will be in Ireland in the course of next month, and intends to have the pleasure of soon paying his respects in person to Mr. Burke, at Colambre.
“I am, dear madam,
“Your obliged guest,
“And faithful servant,
“COLAMBRE.
“Grosvenor-square, London.”
Lord Colambre was so continually occupied with business, during the days previous to his coming of age, every morning at his solicitor’s chambers, every evening in his father’s study, that Miss Nugent never saw him but at breakfast or dinner; and, though she watched for it most anxiously, never could find an opportunity of speaking to him alone, or of asking an explanation of the change and inconsistencies of his manner. At last, she began to think, that, in the midst of so much business of importance, by which he seemed harassed, she should do wrong to torment him, by speaking of any small uneasiness that concerned only herself. She determined to suppress her doubts, to keep her feelings to herself, and endeavour, by constant kindness, to regain that place in his affections, which she imagined that she had lost. “Every thing will go right again,” thought she, “and we shall all be happy, when he returns with us to Ireland — to that dear home which he loves as well as I do!”
The day Lord Colambre was of age, the first thing he did was, to sign a bond for five thousand pounds, Miss Nugent’s fortune, which had been lent to his father, who was her guardian.
“This, sir, I believe,” said he, giving it to his father as soon as signed, “this, I believe, is the first debt you would wish to have secured.”
“Well thought of, my dear boy! — God bless you! — that has weighed more upon my conscience and heart than all the rest, though I never said any thing about it. I used, whenever I met Mr. Salisbury, to wish myself fairly down at the centre of the earth: not that he ever thought of fortune, I’m sure; for he often told me, and I believed him, he would rather have Miss Nugent without a penny, if he could get her, than the first fortune in the empire. But I’m glad she will not go to him pennyless, for all that; and by my fault, especially. There, there’s my name to it — do witness it, Terry. But, Colambre, you must give it to her — you must take it to Grace.”
“Excuse me, sir; it is no gift of mine — it is a debt of yours. I beg you will take the bond to her yourself, my dear father.”
“My dear son, you must not always have your own way, and hide every thing good you do, or give me the honour of it — I won’t be the jay in borrowed feathers. I have borrowed enough in my life, and I’ve done with borrowing now, thanks to you, Colambre — so come along with me; for I’ll be hanged if ever I give this joint bond to Miss Nugent, unless you are with me. Leave Lady Clonbrony here to sign these papers. Terry will witness them properly, and do you come along with me.”
“And pray, my lord,” said her ladyship, “order the carriage to the door; for, as soon as you have my signature, I hope you’ll let me off to Buxton.”
“Oh, certainly — the carriage is ordered — every thing ready, my dear.”
“And pray tell Grace to be ready,” added Lady Clonbrony.
“That’s not necessary; for she is always ready,” said Lord Clonbrony. “Come, Colambre,” added he, taking his son under the arm, and carrying him up to Miss Nugent’s dressing-room.
They knocked, and were admitted.
“Ready!” said Lord Clonbrony; “ay, always ready — so I said. Here’s Colambre, my darling,” continued he, “has secured your fortune to you to my heart’s content; but he would not condescend to come up to tell you so, till I made him. Here’s the bond; and now, all I have to ask of you, Colambre, is, to persuade her to marry out of hand, that I may see her happy before I die. Now my heart’s at ease; I can meet Mr. Salisbury with a safe conscience. One kiss, my little Grace. If any body can persuade you, I’m sure it’s that man that’s now leaning against the mantel-piece. It’s Colambre will, or your heart’s not made like mine — so I leave you.”
And out of the room walked he, leaving his poor son in as awkward, embarrassing, and painful a situation as could well be conceived. Half a dozen indistinct ideas crossed his mind; quick conflicting feelings made his heart beat and stop. And how it would have ended, if he had been left to himself; whether he would have stood or fallen, have spoken or have continued silent, can never now be known, for all was decided without the action of his will. He was awakened from his trance by these simple words from Miss Nugent: “I’m much obliged to you, cousin Colambre — more obliged to you for your kindness in thinking of me first, in the midst of all your other business, than by your securing my fortune. Friendship — and your friendship — is worth more to me than fortune. May I believe that is secured?”
“Believe it! Oh, Grace, can you doubt it?”
“I will not; it would make me too unhappy, I will not.”
“You need not.”
“That is enough — I am satisfied — I ask no farther explanation. You are truth itself — one word from you is security sufficient. We are friends for life,” said she; “are not we?”
“We are — and therefore sit down, cousin Grace, and let me claim the privilege of friendship, and speak to you of him who aspires to be more than your friend for life, Mr.—”
“Mr. Salisbury!” said Miss Nugent; “I saw him yesterday. We had a very long conversation; I believe he understands my sentiments perfectly, and that he no longer thinks of being more to me than a friend for life.”
“You have refused him!”
“Yes. I have a high opinion of Mr. Salisbury’s understanding, a great esteem for his character; I like his manners and conversation; but I do not love him, and, therefore, you know, I could not marry him.”
“But, my dear Miss Nugent, with a high opinion, a great esteem, and liking his manners and conversation, in such a well-regulated mind as yours, can there be a better foundation for love?”
“It is an excellent foundation,” said she; “but I never went any farther than the foundation; and, indeed
, I never wished to proceed any farther.”
Lord Colambre scarcely dared to ask why; but after some pause he said, “I don’t wish to intrude upon your confidence.”
“You cannot intrude upon my confidence; I am ready to give it to you entirely, frankly; I hesitated only because another person was concerned. Do you remember, at my aunt’s gala, a lady who danced with Mr. Salisbury?”
“Not in the least.”
“A lady with whom you and Mr. Salisbury were talking, just before supper, in the Turkish tent.”
“Not in the least.”
“As we went down to supper, you told me you had had a delightful conversation with her; that you thought her a charming woman.”
“A charming woman! — I have not the slightest recollection of her.”
“And you told me that she and Mr. Salisbury had been praising me à l’envie l’une de l’autre.”
“Oh, I recollect her now perfectly,” said Lord Colambre: “but what of her?”
“She is the woman who, I hope, will be Mrs. Salisbury. Ever since I have been acquainted with them both, I have seen that they were suited to each other; I fancy, indeed I am almost sure, that she could love him, tenderly love him — and, I know, I could not. But my own sentiments, you may be sure, are all I ever told Mr. Salisbury.”
“But of your own sentiments you may not be sure,” said Lord Colambre; “and I see no reason why you should give him up from false generosity.”
“Generosity!” interrupted Miss Nugent; “you totally misunderstand me; there is no generosity, nothing for me to give up in the case. I did not refuse Mr. Salisbury from generosity, but because I did not love him. Perhaps my seeing early what I have just mentioned to you prevented me from thinking of him as a lover; but, from whatever cause, I certainly never felt love for Mr. Salisbury, nor any of that pity which is said to lead to love: perhaps,” added she, smiling, “because I was aware that he would be so much better off after I refused him — so much happier with one suited to him in age, talents, fortune, and love—’What bliss, did he but know his bliss,’ were his.’”
Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth Page 560