‘And my brother,’ enquired Orlando, ‘what is become of my brother?’
‘Oh, as for that,’ answered the woman, ‘nobody knows; and I must say this, ‘Squire, that if you’d a been like him, nobody would have been so sorry as they were, that Madam gave her money elsewhere; for, would you think it? – at the very time he came down here to take possession of his house, after the poor gentleman’s his father’s death, and when all the family was in such affliction – what did he do, but bring down that nasty flaunting hussey Bet Richards, that was took from the parish work-house to be housemaid at the Hall – whom he have kept in London all’s one as a lady, and dressed her up better than any of his sisters – and she’s as impudent and proud! – I’d have all such wicked toads sent to beat hemp – and everybody has said ’twas a thousand pities she was not in her old place the workhouse again, instead of prancing about as she did, to break poor dear Madam Somerive’s heart; who, though she seemed to bear it all with patience, and to take no notice, was quite as I may say, sunk and weighed down with one sorrow’s falling so fast upon another – and, at last, when she found the house and estate and all the goods were sold, and that she and her daughters must leave it, and then, just afterwards, when the negur’s news came, she seemed to be quite, quite gone! – and I heard say, her health was in a bad state, after she got to London.’
Dreadfully affected by this account of his mother, all of whose sufferings he felt, however coarse and simple the relation of them, Orlando now again enquired of his informer, if she knew where his mother and sisters lived in town? – She said, No; there was a neighbour’s daughter gone up lately to London to live with them as a servant; whose friends knew the direction, and to them she would send if he would stay. Orlando thanked her – and then expressed some wonder that his mother, who had always disliked London, should fix there: To which the woman said, ‘Why, Sir, I’ve heard say, that the reason of that was, that Madam’s brother, the London Merchant, insisted upon it; and another reason was, because she thought that if she was not always at his elbow, your brother would go after his pleasures and that; and so neglect the great law-suit.’
‘What law-suit?’ – said Orlando, who had forgotten at that moment the vague information he had received from the Miller.
‘Why you must know, Sir,’ replied the woman, ‘that when first my Lady died, there was a great talk about the country, that there was some black doings about the will; for from what she had said to your father, and from a great many other things she had said, and from her having Lawyers from London come down about three year and a half ago, when folks thought she made a new will in your favour; there were those, and in the house too, who didn’t scruple to say, that the real will was made away with by them Rokers, and that an old will was proved – So your brother he was advised by Counsellor Staply to go to law; – but he said, if there was another will, it was in your favour, not in his; and he’d as lieve the Parsons, or the Devil, had the estate as you. – However, when a little while after news came of your death, then he went to law directly; because, he said, if there was such a will, he was your heir-at-law, and the old woman’s too: – and so he is suing the Rokers; that is, Mrs Lennard and her husband; for you know the old soul took to herself a young husband at last.’
Orlando, expressing his surprise at this, enquired where they lived – ‘Oh!’ answered she, ‘when they found they were bit as to continuing in the stewardship, and that Archdeacon Hollybourn had provided another for my Lord Bishop and the Parsons, and was to overlook the estate himself, Mr and Mrs Roker went away to live in Hampshire, upon the estate my Lady gave them there; and there, I understand, they live quite like great people, and are visited and noticed by all the quality; only Madam I hear is terribly jealous; – and they say her young husband is not over and above good-humoured to her, though he got such a great fortune by her.’
The good woman seemed never weary of talking; but having at length exhausted all she could recollect, and promising to procure a direction from her neighbour, and send it down in a few minutes to West Wolverton, Orlando took his leave. And as just as he left the cottage, the clock in it struck three, he was afraid of intruding upon the benevolence of his new friend, at the house once his father’s, if he left her long with the lawyer whom he had sent for; and therefore, instead of going then to make his mournful visit to the turret, he returned to West Wolverton, where he found the man sent to the town had been some time returned, and had brought from his father’s former friend, the attorney, a note to this purport –
‘Mr Brock’s compts: imagines some mistake – has not the honor to know any gentleman of the name of Somerive, except Philip S. Esq; late of West Wolverton – hopes to be excused, being particularly engaged.’
This note completed the distress of Orlando, who saw that he should now be taken for an impostor where he was, and obtain no credit where he expected it to carry him to London, where he now most earnestly wished to be, because there only could he hope to see his family, or to have any explanation of the hints so darkly given by the labourer’s wife – hints, which among the complicated misfortunes which surrounded him, gave him the most insupportable pain. – ‘Gone with some lord!’ – Impossible – Yet the very idea was distraction. He was believed dead. He regretted that he had not asked whether Monimia heard of his death, not at that moment recollecting that his informer’s knowledge hardly went so far; and that, by her account, Monimia was gone before the death of Mrs Rayland, and before the arrival of the intelligence brought by Perseus the negro: yet again he recollected, that if Selina and Monimia still corresponded, she must immediately have known it; and thus by all he loved in the world he was considered as dead.
To undeceive them as soon as he could was what appeared most necessary; but how to do that he knew not. He could not bear to beg of any of the neighbouring gentlemen – indeed he knew none of them but Stockton (who was the last man in the world he desired to meet), for all the rest were at a great distance, and the elder Somerive had never sought their acquaintance: some were too expensive for him, and others too ignorant to afford him any pleasure in their society. By the richest he was contemned as a petty gentleman; and by the rest envied as the future possessor of Rayland Hall – and therefore very little intercourse had ever passed between them and the family at West Wolverton. While Orlando, whom his hospitable acquaintance had the consideration to leave by himself, was meditating on his wretched and forlorn situation, a young man was introduced into the room, in whom he immediately recollected a clerk to the lawyer to whom his unsuccessful note had been written; who, immediately acknowledging him, changed as he was, related, that Mr Brock having shewn him the note, and declaimed against it as an imposition, it being, he said, perfectly well known that Orlando Somerive was dead – the young man thought he recollected his hand, there having been formerly some degree of intimacy between them; and unwilling to dispute the point with Brock, who was, he told him, Solicitor in the depending cause between the Bishop and the Somerive family, he had made some excuse of business, and came to see himself whether it was his old friend, or some one wishing to represent him.
All the difficulties which Orlando had to encounter as to going to London were now removed at once – This young man, Mr Dawson, offered not only to supply him with money but clothes; and they agreed to proceed together to the town in the dusk, as Orlando did not wish to be known, nor indeed to be seen, in his present condition. This being settled, Orlando would immediately have taken leave of his humane hostess; but she entreated both him and his friend to stay dinner, with a frankness and good humour which Dawson was less disposed than Orlando to resist. As soon as it was nearly dark she ordered him to be accommodated with a horse, and sent a servant with him to bring it back.
With a thousand grateful acknowledgments Orlando took his leave; and with an agonizing sigh left, as he believed for ever, the paternal house and the neighbourhood of the Hall, without having been able to indulge his melancholy by visiting the tur
ret.
His friend, though he could give him very little information more than he had already received, and none about Monimia, yet soothed and consoled him; and, having equipped him with a coat, hat, and linen of his own, as they were nearly of a size, he put five guineas into his hand; and, desiring to hear from him, saw him into the stagecoach, which, at six every morning, set out from the town where they were for London.
CHAPTER IV
THE variety of uneasy emotions which passed through the mind of Orlando, as he journeyed towards London, would be difficult to describe, since he himself could hardly discriminate them; but each, though not distinct, was acutely painful. In what a situation did he return to his family! in what a situation did he find it! How should he, while his mind was yet enfeebled from the cruel disappointments he had experienced on his arrival in England, be able to bear the tears of his mother, the sorrow of his two sisters? how console them for the loss they had sustained? how strengthen by his example their more tender minds, to endure what he feared the dissolute folly of his brother might yet bring upon them; while his own heart recoiled from the idea of meeting that brother, and was bleeding with the dreadful wounds inflicted by the uncertainty of what was become of Monimia; which, had he not entertained some hopes of hearing of her from his sister Selina, would have driven him to distraction! Of his sister Isabellla he thought too with great concern; and when the reflection, which alone brought some comfort to his mind, occurred to him, that he had resisted the temptation Warwick threw in his way, and had not, to gratify himself, plunged another dagger in the heart of his father – even this consolatory testimony of his conscience was embittered by the enquiry that conscience immediately made, whether he had not acted wrong in not discovering the design of Warwick, and had not sacrificed his real duty to a mistaken point of honour. As he approached London, the agitation of his mind became greater. As his mother believed him dead, his sudden appearance might have the most fatal effects – That even if he was put down at a coffee-house, and sent a note to inform her of his arrival, the sight of his hand-writing might equally affect a mother and sisters, who had long lamented him as consigned to a grave on the banks of Hudson’s River.
There was one expedient that occurred, which, though extremely disagreeable to him, he at length determined to adopt – which was, to go on his reaching London to Mr. Woodford’s, and consult with him on the properest way of disovering to his family his unexpected arrival.
Though he was aware that he should have only insulting pity or coarse raillery to sustain from his uncle, he thought the dread of such transient and inconsequential evils, should yield to the important point of not injuring the health of a parent so beloved; and as soon as the stage in which he travelled reached Westminster Bridge, he got into an hackney-coach, and ordered it to be driven to the house of Mr. Woodford.
On his reaching this place, and enquiring for him, he was told by a maid that opened the door, that Mr. Woodford’s family had been removed some months from that house, and resided in King’s Street, St James’s Square, at an house of which the maid gave him the number, and whither he immediately repaired.
It was easily found – two lamps at the door, and the appearance of the house, which had been lately refitted in a style of uncommon elegance, seemed to say to Orlando, that he would find his uncle in increasing affluence.
A very smart powdered footman opened the door, who, upon being asked if Mr. Woodford was at home, answered shortly, No; and surveying the hackney-coach with contempt, seemed disposed to close the half-opened door, without attending to any farther enquiries.
But Orlando, putting his head out of the coach, called to the servant, and enquired at what time that evening he could see Mr. Woodford, with whom he had business that admitted of no delay.
‘He can’t be seen to-night,’ said the servant; ‘he is engaged for the evening.’
‘If you will tell me where then,’ replied Orlando, ‘I will go to him, for I must see him immediately.’
The man, who seemed afraid of venturing out to the coach-door, lest he should soil his shoes, or lose the powder from his hair, still held the door only partly open, and said very sullenly – ‘You must leave your business, and call again – my master will do no business with any body to-night; he expects company to dinner; and I am sure he won’t be disturbed.’
Orlando now got out of the coach, and said to the servant, that as he was Mr.Woodford’s nephew, he was sure he would see him. The man then, though with apparent reluctance, opened the door of a back parlour, and, while he stood at it himself, as if he was afraid Orlando would steal something, called to another footman to go and inform his master that his nephew desired to see him below.
At the same moment loud rapping was heard at the door, and the man, in visible distress, said, ‘I shall be blamed for letting any body in – here’s the company come; I wish, Sir, you’d call any other time – there’s my Lord and Sir Richard and Lady Wiggin, and Sir James and Lady Penguin – it’s quite impossible, Sir, for my master to see you.’
Orlando had not time to answer, before the other footman returned, and said very roughly, that his master desired the person, whoever he was, to walk out – for he must be an impostor, because he acknowledged no nephew.
Orlando, imagining that Mr. Woodford supposed him to be his brother, and therefore would not see him, had only to quit the house, and desist from his design of speaking to his uncle that evening; or to convince him that he had yet a nephew living, whom he had at least no reason to disclaim: he resolved on the latter, and putting back with his hand the servants who would have opposed his passage, he went up stairs. The door of the dining-room was yet open, for the visitors had hardly yet settled themselves,and some were standing near it till Sir Richard and Lady Wiggin had paid their compliments. Orlando, notwithstanding the abusive and insolent efforts of the servants, who had followed him up stairs to stop him, entered the room, and going up to Mr. Woodford, who stared at him as a perfect stranger, made himself immediately known to him. Mr. Woodford expressed more surprise than pleasure. But he could not help acknowledging his nephew, whom he slightly named to his guests, and coldly asked him to sit down and stay dinner.
Orlando, not much flattered by his reception, answered, that as he had not seen his mother, he must hasten to her, and meant no farther to intrude upon Mr. Woodford, than to consult with him on the properest way of breaking to his mother, news the joy of which might overpower her.
‘Oh!’ cried Woodford, ‘if that be all, I fancy you may venture to take your own way – I never heard yet that joy killed any body; and I don’t imagine you have much good fortune to relate (added he, surveying him) to turn the brains of your family.’
Lady Wiggin, a squat figure, most sumptuously dressed, now surveyed Orlando, as he stood talking to his uncle before the fire, and then whispered to a younger woman who sat next her, whom he had not till then observed, but in whom, under the disguise of the most preposterous extremity of the fashion, with a very high head, and cheeks of the last Parisian dye, he discovered his elder cousin, to whom he bowed; while she slightly bowing in return, bit the end of her fan, and screwing herself into an attitude which she seemed to have studied, replied with half shut eye to the whisper of her titled neighbour.
Woodford seemed glad that Orlando declined dining with him, yet was unwilling to take the trouble of interfering in his first introduction to his mother. Pre-determined not to be discouraged by the unfeeling raillery, or repressed by the coldness of his uncle, he enquired again in a low voice, if he could be allowed to speak to him alone – ‘I have much to say to you, Sir,’ said he, ‘which it is not proper to discourse upon now. You may imagine I am very impatient to see my mother and my sisters – I will not detain you long – only let me for five minutes ask your attention below.’
The great man, who was no longer a wine merchant in the Strand soliciting the custom of the great, but their pompous entertainer, who was enabled, by the advantages of a great co
ntract obtained by the favour (and perhaps by yielding to the participation) of one of them, to vie in splendour with his patrons, seemed to be made very restless by this demand – ‘I’d go down into my study with you, with all my heart,’ said he, in the same low tone; ‘but my Lord and Sir James are not come, and my son not being here to receive them, I should be sorry . . . but however . . . you had better stay and dine perhaps, and then . . . ‘ Another loud rap at the door relieved him from this embarassment; it wanted but a quarter to seven, and my Lord was announced. In the bustle to receive so eminent a personage, with what Woodford thought politeness, but what appeared to Orlando the most cringing servility he had ever witnessed, his worthy uncle seemed totally to have forgotten him; and before the ceremony of this reception, and that of Sir James, who followed the peer as one of his satellites, was over, dinner was announced; and the company proceeded down stairs; while Orlando, finding that his uncle had as little taste for poor relations as if he had been born himself a great man, instead of having suddenly become so, by means which Orlando wondered at, rather than understood, took the opportunity of opening the street door himself, and returned to his hack, which was driven into the square, to make room for the splendid equipages which had since arrived at the door.
He stepped in; but when the coachman asked him whither to drive, he knew not what to reply. He knew nobody: nor did he recollect one friend in this immense town, to whom he could in such exigence apply. – The small house his mother had taken, was in Howland-Street; and he thought he had better drive to some coffee-house in the neighborhood, where he might consider how he could first speak to Selina. As he proceeded to a coffee-house in Oxford-Street, which the coach-man named to him upon his enquiring for one, he could not help reflecting on the strange vicissitudes of fortune, and the strange way in which her gifts are divided. It was only a few months since he had an almost undoubted prospect of succeeding to the great estates of Mrs Rayland; he was now not only deprived of all those hopes, but was literally a beggar – and going home, not to assist his ruined family, but to add to it another indigent member, and to weep with them all the mournful changes that had happened during his absence.
Complete Poetical Works of Charlotte Smith Page 142