“I do not want it, my dear boy!” replied Martha, smiling through her tears, “but I am glad to find that I was not mistaken in you. No, Michael! let me still, under all circumstances, have the unspeakable comfort of believing that I have been able to make you some little atonement for all you have gone through from my ill-judged and ignorant advice. You would make no difficulty about keeping what has been accumulated out of my hatred of silks and satins, Michael, if you could guess the extraordinary good it has done me to know that you are alive and well, and less destitute than you would have been, had you never seen me. I thought I was dying, Michael, before your little note reached me; but now, strange to say, spite of all the calamities which have fallen upon my family since, I feel as if I might still live long enough to be useful to my poor father. Alas! Michael, his condition is very dreadful! For some months past, I have perceived a great alteration in him. His memory ha failed him, and at times his temper has been so variable that I have seen him violently angry, and very intemperate in his language, one minute, and enduring the insolence of Lady Clarissa, with the meekness of a child, the next. And now — In short, Michael, I greatly fear that his reason is shaken by the misfortunes that have fallen upon him. He has kept all his commercial disasters so completely to himself, that not even his most confidential agents were at all aware of their extent; and I therefore hope that if I can contrive to remove him from this melancholy scene, his mind will be relieved by feeling that the worst is over, and that I may have the exceeding happiness of seeing him restored to reason and to health.”
“And in what way then can I be useful to you, my dear Miss Martha? I dare not combat your will, but it seems to me that if his creditors are stripping his house in this way, such a sum as you have put into my hands might be very useful to him,” said Michael.
“And so it would, certainly, my good friend, if he had not provided for the exigences of this terrible moment, by having a large sum of ready money in the house, a fact which he has confided to me only,” replied Martha. “His marriage with Lady Clarissa,” she continued, “has been a greater misfortune to him, Michael, than any losses in his business could possibly be. She has led him a most wretched life — constantly keeping his high spirit in subjection by threatening to bring her brother upon him, if he treated her with any want of respect, and my poor father’s reverence for rank and title is such, that he has submitted to her in every thing. But during the terrible fortnight that has passed since the disclosure of his ruin, her conduct has been perfectly frightful — and I feel quite certain that when she has taken herself off to Scotland, which she intends to do to-morrow, my father will feel so greatly relieved, that the very best effects upon his mind may be hoped for from it. What I want you to do for me, Michael, is this: — You must procure a postchaise to be at the Lodge-gates to-night at twelve. The men who are left in charge of the house, get both tired and tipsy before that hour, and will be in bed and asleep; and then I think I shall be able to get my poor father away from all the irritating objects which surround him here. He has been very ill with violent spasms, and confined to his bed for a day or two, which one of the maids tells me is the reason why he has not been more strictly watched. They think he is too ill to get away. But he is greatly better to-day, and though I have persuaded him to remain in bed, I think he has quite lost the complaint, and will be able to get off if you will do what I desire of you. I know not another being that I could trust. My poor father has spent a great deal of money, and been very liberal to many, but I do not know one whom I do not suspect would be more ready to betray, than to help him, if they saw him endeavouring to get away. His physician, Dr. Crockley, a man on whom he has heaped innumerable favours, is, I strongly suspect, acting as a spy upon him; and it is because I expect his daily visit presently, that I will not let my father get up. Therefore you see, Michael, there are some difficulties to be encountered. Do you think you could manage to get a chaise to the gates without its being known that it was for him?”
“I am quite sure of it,” replied Michael; “for to save time I came hither in a chaise myself, which is now waiting at the public-house to take me back to Fairly. I have only to go and tell the boy that I shall not be able to return before night, in order to have him ready to start at any hour you please.”
“To Fairly?” said Martha, musingly. “But it is no matter — he may sleep at the inn there as well as at any other, and the next morning we must make our way to the nearest port where there is a chance of our finding a steam-boat going to France. It will not do at present for my father to remain in the country. When he has got his certificate, he will be safe; but I greatly fear some difficulty about it.” While Martha was thus explaining her hopes and fears, the sound of carriage-wheels was heard slowly approaching by the road which led to the chief entrance, and which passed at no great distance from the window at which they were sitting.
“Here comes Dr. Crockley!” she exclaimed; “I am very glad his visit will be over so early. This will give me time for preparation.” But she was mistaken; the equipage she heard approaching was not the recently set-up cab of Dr. Crockley, but the donkey-chair of the ever active Mrs. Gabberly. Nothing could be much farther from poor Martha’s inclination than encountering the prying old woman at this moment; but having hastily told Michael to appear as if he were employed in taking a catalogue of the furniture, for which purpose, paper, pens, and ink lay conveniently ready on one of the marble-slabs, she hurried out into the hall for the purpose of meeting the physician, and attending him as usual to her father — so that the avoiding Mrs. Gabberly was impossible.
“Oh, my poor dear Martha! that’s you, is it? Well now! you was just the person I wanted to see. But I do wonder you did not get off with your father, poor man! when he made his escape, this morning,” said the unchanged little lady.
“I know not what you mean, Mrs. Gabberly,” replied Martha gravely. “My poor father has been extremely ill, and is at this moment confined to his bed.” The old lady gave a wink with one of her little cunning black eyes, and nodding her head very expressively, replied, “Old birds are not caught with chaff, my dear.”
“What is it that you mean, Mrs. Gabberly — that you do not believe me?” said Martha, indignantly.
“You are very foolish to bawl out in that manner, my dear, with that young fellow that’s cataloguing in there, close within hearing. Mind, it is your fault and not mine, if he suspects any thing from your violence.”
“You are taking an account of all the looking-glasses, are you not?” said Martha, approaching the drawing-room door and addressing Michael. “You may come into Sir Matthew’s room now, if you please. He was asleep when I sent you away just now.” Then, turning to Mrs. Gabberly, she added—” Perhaps you would be so good as to see my poor father, Mrs. Gabberly? I would not wish you to stay long with him, for he is very feverish; but I dare say he would take it very kindly if you will just come in to inquire for him.”
Looking a good deal surprised, but accepting the invitation with great alacrity, Mrs. Gabberly began to mount the stairs; exceedingly well pleased to have an opportunity of procuring so excellent a ticket of admission to every house in the neighbourhood, as this ocular demonstration of the actual condition of the fallen knight would furnish. Michael, in compliance with the order he had received, followed after; and in a few minutes, found himself once more in the presence of the man under whose tyranny he had suffered so terribly. But a harder heart than Michael’s might have been softened into forgiveness and forgetfulness of all former injuries, by the miserable aspect of the wretched man who lay stretched upon the splendid bed that he could no longer call his own. His steadfast-minded find affectionate daughter — the only earthly good that avenging Heaven had left him — entered first, intending to announce the visit of Mrs. Gabberly; but Sir Matthew started up in bed, and before she could speak, cried out, “Do not let that devil Crockley come to me, Martha! I will not see him, I tell you. I have got no pain now; and if I had, don’
t I know he would rather give me poison than physic? He is going to lose his annuity, you know.”
“It is Mrs. Gabberly, dear papa, just come to ask you how you are,” said Martha, leading the old lady to the bedside. “She will not stay, because you are not well enough to talk; but you will be glad to see her, will you not?”
“Glad?” said the miserable man, knitting his brows, and throwing upon her a look of deep aversion. “Don’t I know her? Is she not the town-crier of all the country round? Have I not paid her for it a hundred times? And do you think I don’t know what she is come for now? Somebody else will pay her now, for bringing them word how the poor bankrupt Dowling looks.”
“Well how, that is terrible, to be sure!” exclaimed Mrs. Gabberly. “He is quite shook in his mind. Do you think he would be outrageous if I was to feel his pulse, my dear? I should like to prescribe for him — I should indeed. Poor dear man! His talking about paying me is comical to be sure. Let me feel your pulse, Sir Matthew, shall I?”
Sir Matthew looked so very much as if he would have liked to take her up in his enormous hand and throw her to the further end of the room, that Martha thought it prudent to prevent her nearer approach.
“You have now seen my father, Mrs. Gabberly,” she said with emphasis, “and that, I think, is all that can be necessary for your satisfaction.”
“Oh! certainly — it is very satisfactory,” she replied, but without appearing to have the slightest intention of leaving the room; for, in truth, it was at that moment the place where, beyond all others, she best liked to be. The downfal of Sir Matthew Dowling was the subject that employed every tongue, and nobody could be so welcome to every drawing-room, and every dining-room too, throughout the neighbourhood, as one who could testify to having seen him, listened to him, and ascertained how he seemed to bear it. It was impossible that any person could have been better qualified for the service than Mrs. Gabberly. Willingly would the still brisk little lady have crept under the toilet-table, or the bed itself, rather than have lost so glorious an opportunity; and instead of attending to Martha’s repeated assurance that she “had better go now,” she began opening sundry physic-vials that stood on a table at the bottom of the bed, smelling some, tasting others, and pronouncing judgment upon all.
“It is quite a mystery to me, my dear, what Dr. Crockley can be thinking of, giving such medicines as these to your father,” said she. “I see, plainly enough, that he is in a very inflammable and irritable state, and he ought to be put altogether upon the depleting plan.” Then putting her finger on her lip, in sign of secrecy, she whispered, “I’ll just stay here, Martha, behind the bed-curtains, till Dr. Crockley comes, and I think it may be very useful for us to have a little conversation together. I know my poor dear father’s method in these cases as well as he did himself, and he was regular bred you know, which is more than we can say of poor dear Dr. Crockley.”
Exceedingly provoked, Martha now addressed her father, saying, “Mrs. Gabberly wishes to stay, papa, till Dr. Crockley comes, in order that they may have a consultation about you; but you won’t like that, shall you?”
“Like it?” replied the prostrate man, with bitterness, “Oh! dear yes, I shall like it vastly! They are exactly a fitting pair to come together, glowering and gloating round the bed of a ruined neighbour. Let her stay, by all means, Martha, let her stay and watch it all. See, Mrs. Gabberly, there is a young auctioneering gentleman come to take an account of the furniture. Isn’t it pleasant? I am sure it must do your heart good to see it. Don’t go away, young man!” he continued, addressing Michael, who, shocked and disgusted, was making his way towards the door. “Don’t go away. Go on, never mind losing a little time, I dare say you will be paid for it all the same, and my dear good neighbour would not enjoy it half so much if she did not see something of the kind going on.”
“Oh, dear! oh, dear! quite wild and wandering! Isn’t he? — Calling Crockley and me a pair too! As if we ever thought of such a thing! I am sure, for one, I can answer for it that I never did. — His doll of a wife, you know, hasn’t been dead above a year, and I’ve no notion of such quick work, it is quite indecent, I think. Good gracious me, now!” she continued, catching Sir Matthew’s fierce eye fixed upon her with a mixture of hatred and bitter irony; “what have I said! — I’ll bet a guinea he fancies I mean something about his marrying himself up, all in such a hurry with Lady Clarissa.”
“Lady Clarissa!” cried the knight in a loud voice. “That’s right! I had very nearly forgotten her ladyship. Go to her this moment, Martha — tell her to come here. Is she not my wife — bone of my bone — flesh of my flesh? Is she not, Mrs. Gabberly? And shall she not come hither and share with me the delight of seeing a broker taking possession of my furniture, and a dear good soul like you looking on? Go, Martha, go when I tell you, and bring the right honourable Lady Clarissa Dowling here.”
“I am quite certain she won’t come, papa,” said Martha, leaning down, and whispering in his ear. “So don’t make me go to her,”
“But she shall, though!” shouted Sir Matthew, “even if I go down, and fetch her myself. My dear Mrs. Gabberly, my sweet Mrs. Gabberly — will you have the great condescension to go for her? You used to run about, if I did but hold up my finger, you know — and you would not be so ungenerous as to refuse now, merely because I am a bankrupt! Go to my Lady Clarissa, if you please, sweet Mrs. Gabberly, and tell her that as she is a daughter of the noble house of Highlandloch, I wish, before we part, to give her a parting token of remembrance. She knows that I wear a magnificent diamond ring, Mrs. Gabberly, and you may just hint to her, if you please, that nothing has been taken off my body yet. I do assure you it will be a very pretty touching scene for you to witness, and talk about. It will indeed. I am quite determined to have a sentimental parting; and as she has told me that she means to set off to-morrow, this will be just the, right time for it — won’t it, Mrs. Gabberly?”
Perfectly well disposed to execute the commission, and quite as desirous as Sir Matthew could be that the proud poor lady who had ever treated her with haughty coldness, should be properly humbled, she darted towards the door, in order to perform her errand; but Martha, remembering the manner in which she had left her stepmother engaged, stepped forward to prevent her, quietly saying, “If my father wishes to see his wife, Mrs. Gabberly, I can go for her, without troubling you — and I really wish you would permit me to lead you down stairs to your donkey-chair, at the same time — I am sure you must be aware that papa is not in a state to bear seeing company.”
“You are quite right, my dear, quite right, indeed — Sir Matthew is looking sadly wild and feverish, and I should say that nobody whatever but the doctor and his own family ought to see him. Of course I suppose it would not be very convenient to hire attendants now, for these sort of people, I am sorry to say, always insist upon ready money, which is a cruel thing under such circumstances. But so it is, and therefore it follows that you and Lady Clarissa must be the chief nurses.”
“Certainly, ma’am, it will be his own family who will wish to attend to him. And therefore, if you please, I will take you down stairs, and see you to your carriage.”
“Me! my dear!” cried Mrs. Gabberly, in the shrillest possible tone.
“Surely you cannot mean to call such an old friend as I am, company? No, no, my dear Martha. Don’t think me such a brute! I would not leave you just yet, for the whole world! You shall go yourself, my dear, if you will, and bring her ladyship up. I will stay here as quiet as a mouse, and watch by your poor papa. But perhaps it might be as well to desire that young man to finish with his scribbling, and get out of the room. He must have gone over every thing by this time, mustn’t he?”
“I will have her right honourable ladyship here before that fellow stirs a step, Martha. Do you hear me? That’s more than half the fun,” cried Sir Matthew, bursting into a shout of laughter. “Doesn’t she know our kind, clever, observing, neighbour, who is come here so thoughtfully, just to look abo
ut her a little? Doesn’t she know her, almost as well as I do? And won’t she enjoy thinking what a pleasant description dear Mrs. Gabberly will be able to give of my Lord High-landloch’s sweet daughter watching the broker, and seeing that he sets every thing down fair?”
Thankful was Martha that the supposed broker was one who could not in reality add to the horror of the scene. She turned to him as she left the room, saying, “You had better remain here, if you please, till I return,” upon which he modestly ensconced himself in a distant corner of the room, and resting his paper upon a commode, continued, as he stood, to scribble upon it.
Quite certain that it would be impossible to get rid of Mrs. Gabberly till her father’s summons to his proud wife had been obeyed, and greatly more anxious to clear his room of this troublesome guest, than to spare the feelings of her ladyship, Martha entered the little sitting-room, determined to deliver the message concerning the diamond-ring, if she could not prevail without it. She found Lady Clarissa in the act of finishing the packing of her basket, by laying on the top of it sundry light articles of female attire, very cleverly calculated to make the whole pass under the general description of wearing-apparel, which the courtesy of the law permits to be removed by all persons in the unfortunate situation of her ladyship.
“Now I hope you will cease your impertinent preaching, Miss Martha,” she said, as the pale and agitated young woman entered the room. “Unless every separate nightcap and frill are to be examined one by one by these brutes, I conceive no objection can be made to this package. Gather up the cotton-wool, and poke it somewhere out of sight directly.” Martha obediently set herself to collect the scattered fragments of the suspicious-looking wool, but as she did so, said, “My father wishes to see you, Lady Clarissa.”
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 217