It was hardly possible at that moment, that either one of the four persons present could have said any thing to her sufficiently interesting to fully awaken her sense of hearing; unless, indeed, Sir Matthew had led the conversation to Michael Armstrong. But this he did not do; and, therefore, having endured Lady Clarissa’s embrace, and answered her mechanically, she knew not what, Miss Brotherton walked up to the sofa where the lady of the mansion as usual sat enthroned, and said, “Will you be so good, ma’am, as to let Miss Martha be told that I am come to call upon her?”
The surprised eyebrows with which her ladyship listened to this speech would, probably, under other circumstances, have given birth to an exceedingly comical caricature, but at this moment Mary Brotherton had no fun in her thoughts, and not immediately receiving an answer, she said, loud enough for Sir Matthew to hear, “Will you give me leave to ring the bell, and ask for the pleasure of seeing Miss Martha?”
Lady Dowling still remained silently staring at her; but not so Sir Matthew. He reached the bell almost as soon as the young lady herself, and fully persuaded that this most unaccountable request could only proceed from some little manoeuvring project at that moment labouring in the fair Brotherton’s head, which had, somehow or other, his son Augustus for its object, his countenance resumed all its former affectionate urbanity towards her, and taking her hand too suddenly for any contrivance to prevent it, he said—” Martha? — Do you want to see Martha, my dear? — To be sure you shall. She is a Dowling, Miss Brotherton, though not quite like the rest of us. But where is the Dowling, young or old, male or female, who would not fly from the farthest corner of the world to see you?”
“I only want to see Miss Martha just now, sir,” replied Mary, half Smiling.
“And Martha you shall see, my dear, without a moment’s delay. Desire Miss Martha Dowling to come here instantly!” he continued, as the door opened» and a servant appeared at it — adding, when the door closed again, “You do her an honour, my dear Miss Brotherton, in thus asking for her, that more than one of her family, perhaps, might feel inclined to envy.” But as Miss Brotherton made no answer at all, and Lady Clarissa began to hem, and fidget, and walk towards the window, all which the observant knight well knew were pretty lures, meant to recal him, he contented himself with gallantly drawing forward an arm-chair for the heiress, at no great distance from Lady Dowling, and then strode across the apartment to sooth the irritation of his noble friend.
Martha never suffered a summons from her father to remain a moment unanswered. The message had been delivered to her in his name, and she entered almost immediately. Miss Brotherton, who was in no humour to make small talk for her ladyship, instantly rose, and went forward to meet her. “I took the liberty of sending for you, my dear Miss Martha,” she said, “to request you would let me speak to you alone, for five minutes. — Will you take a parasol, and let us walk into the shrubbery together?”
Martha, who certainly liked Miss Brotherton, notwithstanding the late painful scene, produced by her indiscretion, and who, moreover, at this moment, joyfully recollected how charming an anecdote she had now to relate concerning her father, acquiesced in this proposal with a ready smile, and saying that her parasol was always in the hall, the two young ladies left the room together.
No sooner did she find herself beneath the sheltering trees of the extensive shrubbery, and ascertained, by looking round that they were really alone, than Miss Brotherton, passing her arm through that of her companion, said, “My dear Miss Martha, I cannot help feeling great interest in the welfare of the little boy whom we saw performing the other night — little Michael Armstrong, I mean. Will you have the kindness to tell me where he is now?”
Instead of giving a direct answer, Martha eagerly exclaimed, “I am so glad, Miss Brotherton, that you asked to see me, for I have quite longed to tell you all particulars about that little fellow — and all that papa has been doing for him. I do assure you. Miss Brotherton, that notwithstanding what you saw the other night, papa has been, and still is, most excessively kind to him. Only he was very troublesome about the acting, and papa’s temper is hasty. That, as you must be aware, Miss Brotherton, is the case with many people; but there are very few who have courage and candour to own it, as my father does. In justice to him, I must tell you what happened the morning after the unfortunate play. My father sent for me, and said, that he was perfectly miserable in his mind on account of the anger he had shown towards Michael. He told me, as frankly as possible, that he had beat him, and that in consequence of this, the boy was evidently so afraid of him that he had no enjoyment when in his presence. And he went on to say that such being the case, he was determined to apprentice the child to a good trade, where he might learn to maintain himself comfortably, and assist his family besides. So you see, Miss Brotherton,” concluded Martha, in an eager voice, and with heightened colour, “you see that if papa loses his temper, he knows how to atone for it.”
Miss Brotherton listened to this statement with the most unbroken attention; and had she not been previously aware of the kind and excellent nature of Martha Dowling, she would have become so then. Her hopes, too, that all was fair and right concerning the disposal of the little boy, were strengthened; and in full confidence of receiving a satisfactory answer, she said, “I am very much obliged to you, Martha, for telling me all this, because I truly feel an interest in the little fellow. And now I hope you will tell me also to what part of the country he has been sent.”
“I would tell you in a moment, if I knew, my dear Miss Brotherton, but I do not. His departure at last was very sudden; owing, I believe, to papa’s having found some particularly good opportunity of sending him.”
“I wonder you should never have asked where he was sent to, Miss Martha,” said Mary, gravely.
“I did ask, Miss Brotherton,” replied Martha; “but papa said he could not recollect the name of the place.”
Mary changed colour, as she remembered the promise she had given to the child’s mother; but after a moment’s reflection, said, “Perhaps he may have recollected it, since, my dear — I wish you would run in, and ask him to come to me for a moment.”
Martha seemed to hesitate. “I am sure,” said she, after a little hesitation, “that papa would be delighted to come here to talk with you, Miss Brotherton — only Lady Clarissa might—”
“Nay, then, I’ll go to him myself,” said Mary, rather abruptly. “There is no particular objection, I suppose, to Lady Clarissa’s being let into the secret of little Michael’s abode.” And immediately turning her steps towards the house, she re-entered the drawing-room, followed by Martha.
They found Sir Matthew engaged in exhibiting a portfolio of splendid engravings to her ladyship, who was descanting upon them with rapture; though the application of a near-sighted glass to one long-sighted eye, while the other was effectually closed, rendered them pretty nearly invisible to her.
“I beg ten thousand pardons, Sir Matthew,” said the heiress, placing herself at the opposite side of the loo-table, and thereby commanding a perfect view of his countenance; “but you are too goodnatured, I am sure, to be angry with me, even though I do interrupt you. Will you have the kindness to tell me, sir, while Lady Clarissa is lost in admiration of that enchanting Venus, where little Michael Armstrong has been sent to?”
The question was too unexpected for even Sir Matthew’s sturdy self-possession, to receive it as he would have wished to do. His bold eye, which had been gaily fixed on the young lady, as she spoke to him, fell before her keen, inquiring glance, and he turned the page of Lady Clarissa’s adoration with rather unseemly rapidity, as he replied, “To a tradesman — that is, to a manufacturer, some miles further north, Miss Brotherton. I have just been telling Lady Clarissa,” continued the knight, recovering his audacity, “I have just been telling her all the little fellow’s adventures. The love of novelty seemed to have superseded all other love in his young heart, for he was delighted to go.”
“But h
e could not have liked going without taking leave of his mother and brother, Sir Matthew. I have just seen them, and they are in a perfect agony about him — in fact, I am come here on purpose to ask where he has been sent.”
“Fairest of messengers!” exclaimed the knight, with a tender smile, “how utterly miserable shall I be if I cannot answer you! — I think it is to Halifax, I am almost sure that it is either to Halifax or Wakefield that he is gone.”
“You have bound the little fellow apprentice, you do not know where?” said Miss Brotherton, with undisguised astonishment.
“I do not say that, my dear young lady, I know he is apprenticed to an excellent good man, who is a stocking-weaver; but he has two or three large concerns belonging to him, and I protest to you that at this moment I really cannot say to which this little fellow has been sent.”
“I am quite shocked to give you so much trouble, Sir Matthew,” returned Mary, “but I should be exceedingly obliged if you would learn the name of the place, and let me know it. I ventured, sir, to promise the boy’s mother that I would learn this for her, and I am quite sure that you will not let me disappoint her.”
“Most assuredly not! I will call or send to-morrow at the latest, my charming Miss Brotherton! How I adore your benevolence! No wonder you are such friends, Lady Clarissa! Your hearts are made upon the same model!”
To this satisfactory assurance Miss Brotherton made no answer; but telling Sir Matthew that she should remain at home on the morrow for the purpose of receiving his promised information, took her leave.
With increased dislike of Sir Matthew, perhaps, yet with no very serious fears about the fate of little Michael, Miss Brotherton boldly determined to brave all the wonder which the act might occasion, and ordered her carriage to stop at No. 12, Hoxley-lane, Ashleigh.
As it happened, however, she escaped all her military admirers, and reached the widow Armstrong without interruption; the absorbing mills were in full activity, and few of the inhabitants of the miserable region through which she passed were left to gaze on the unwonted spectacle. The answer she brought was received by the widow and her boy with breathless attention; but it was quite evident that it did not altogether remove the sort of vague terror which seemed to have taken possession of them. Mary’s cheerful assurance, however, that she should soon bring them more satisfactory intelligence, could not be listened to without good effect; and she left them at last so infinitely happier than she had found them, that spite of Sir Matthew’s unsatisfactory reply, and more unsatisfactory manner, she still blessed her morning’s work.
CHAPTER XVII.
A JOURNEY, BEGUN IN VERY GOOD STYLE, BUT ENDING NOT QUITE SO WELL — A FAITHFUL DESCRIPTION OF A VALLEY IN DERBYSHIRE — MICHAEL MAKES SOME NEW ACQUAINTANCE.
AND where was little Michael? The indentures, when duly signed and executed, did not remain two hours in Sir Matthew Dowling’s possession before he began to put in action the power they gave him. Mr. Joseph Parsons perfectly understood the nature of the “few necessaries” which he was commanded to procure for the young stocking-weaver; and accordingly, by the time Sir Matthew had taken leave of Martha in the hall, after their walk back from Hoxley-lane, his confidential agent was ready to attend him in his study.
“Now, Mr. Parsons, I flatter myself that you will allow I have managed this business tolerably well. My excellent friend, Elgood Sharpton, will owe me a good turn — for, thanks to the meddling of old Sir Robert, ‘prentice-boys are not so easily got as they used to be — and you and I, Mr. Parsons, have got rid of a most infernal spy. Now then, to business. How soon can you set off with him?”
“As soon as a horse can be harnessed to the jockey-cart, Sir Matthew.”
“The jockey-cart! — the devil! What a fool you are, Parsons! Have you really no more wit in you than to propose setting off, willy-nilly, with this young cur, that yelped at the rate he did the other night, before all the fine folks in the county, in an open jockey-cart? Fie, Mr. Parsons, fie! — I really had a better opinion of your understanding.”
“I thought he was going to set off, at any rate, by his own free will, Sir Matthew,” replied the superintendent, “and I knew when we got among the moors, it wouldn’t much matter to me, if he did sing out.”
“You are an excellent fellow, Parsons — true to the backbone, mid as firm as a rock — but don’t you ever undertake to carry through such a pretty little kidnapping scheme as this, where every thing is to be done according to law, unless you have got the help of a little such stuff as this,” and the knight touched his own forehead expressively as he spoke.
“There’s few men as wouldn’t be the better for a little of that, Sir Matthew,” returned the judicious Parsons with a submissive nod; “but I’m ready and willing to do your, bidding, be it what it may, and that’s the best way of putting your honour’s wit to profit.”
“You are right there, my good fellow — one captain is always better than two. But, however, as to master Michael, Parsons, we must neither let him stay loitering here till his dainty mother has questioned all the gossips who will come to prate with her about her boy, and about all the nonsense current concerning Squire Elgood Sharpton’s, of Thistledown House; nor yet must we carry him off at noonday in an open jockey-cart, without permitting him to kiss mother and brother, and uncle and aunt, and the devil knows who beside, from one end of Ashleigh to the other, — all ready perhaps to tell him some amusing anecdotes concerning his future master.”
“But what be the indentures good for, Sir Matthew,” shrewdly inquired Mr. Parsons, “if they don’t give you power over the chap, let him hear what he will?”
“Fair and softly, Mr. Parsons — there is a when and a where in all things. It has cost me some pounds, and a d — d deal of trouble to get up a cry hereabouts concerning my goodness and charity to these Armstrongs. Once get the boy off, and you and I between us, can make folks talk as loud of the great preferment he is come to, as mother Armstrong can about her doubts and alarms. There is no fear of that — I have more than one friend who will swear a thing or two for me. But once get up a screaming bout at the widow’s, and a struggling scene in taking off the young gentleman, and we never shall hear the last of it. So, if you please, Mr. Parsons, we will just get the young gentleman to take a ride before he is an hour older. But not in a jockey-cart though. I believe you know the road and the baiting-place? — By Jove! Parsons, now I think of it, there would be no better joke than taking him in my own carriage for the first few miles, and letting you drive on, as far as Wood-End or there about, and wait till our coming. You know I have taken him out in the carriage lots of times, so he will think nothing of that — and I will have Crockley go with me to make the party agreeable. So off with you to Wood-End as fast as you can go. But it must be in the covered cart remember — and a trifle of cord must be in the way in case he gives trouble.”
Within an hour from this time, Sir Matthew Dowling’s carriage was proceeding at a dignified and leisurely pace along a cross-country road which led to a lane, which led to a moor, across which was a track which led by another lane to Mr. Elgood Sharpton’s factory in the desolate hollow, known by the name of Deep Valley.”
The party, as arranged by Sir Matthew, consisted of himself, his friend Dr. Crockley, and Michael Armstrong. The little fellow had been repeatedly honoured by a seat in the same stately vehicle before, for the purpose of being shown off at various houses in the neighbourhood, and had a notion that he was now taken out, in order to hear the remainder of his great fortune announced. That this final proof of Sir Matthew’s benevolence should have for its object the sending him far away from Dowling Lodge would have been, but for the dreaded parting with his mother and brother, a source of unmixed joy to the little apprentice; and, even with this drawback, the distant hopes of his young heart might have been read in the contented meditation of his eye, as he rode silently along in front of his jocose companions, who amused themselves the while in talking very mystically concerning him, and
his very useful and judicious destination.
At length the carriage reached the point at which Sir Matthew intended his airing should terminate, and he looked out to reconnoitre the opening of a lane to the left where he expected to see the covered cart. Nor was he disappointed; a covered cart, with an excellent stout horse in it, was drawn up close to the bank to take advantage of the shade of a thick elm-tree that grew upon it. As the carriage approached, the occupant of the humbler vehicle peeped out, and Sir Matthew recognised the punctual Parsons.
“Pull the check-string, Crockley,” said the knight, “We will get out here. That is, you may if you will, there is no occasion, I suppose, for me to trouble myself, is there?”
“Oh! dear no,” replied Dr. Crockley, cheerfully. “Here comes Parsons, good man and true. Get out master Michael. Jump, jump, and enjoy it, my fine fellow! Perhaps you won’t have much time for jumping when you begin learning your trade.”
Without thinking it needful to reply to what he did not very clearly understand, Michael did as he was bid, and sprang from the carriage to the ground. The well-known figure of Parsons greeted him as his feet touched the turf, and the next instant he felt his hand suddenly seized by him.
“Shall you want me, Mr. Parsons?” said Dr. Crockley, putting his head out of the carriage.
“Not at all, sir,” replied the superintendent, leading Michael forward. “Then shut the carriage-door, John,” said Sir Matthew, “and order the coachman to drive home.”
“Please sir! Please sir!—” uttered the plaintive voice of Michael, as he turned his head, and attempted to disengage his hand. “Please sir, is Mr. Parsons to take me away?”
“Yes, my boy, he is,” replied the knight, loud enough for the footman to hear. “He is going to take you to your new master, and you may give my compliments to him, my dear, and tell him, that I ‘ have sent him a very good boy. Good bye! — Good bye! — Home!” So ended the colloquy; the carriage turned round and drove off by the way it came, and Michael Armstrong was left alone with Mr. Joseph Parsons. He need not, however, have held the little fellow’s hand so tight, for there was no rebellion in his heart, nor any thought of escape in his head. He knew his companion too well to hope for any explanation from him respecting this sudden manner of sending him off, and child as he was, he had no inclination to weep before him; but, on the contrary, his young heart swelled with a proud determination to behave well, and to set about his new employment with a stout spirit. Nevertheless, when he arrived at the cart he paused for a moment, before he obeyed the orders of Parsons to “climb up,” and ventured to say, “Please sir, beant I to see mother any more?”
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 189