CONTAINING AN ACCOUNT OF THE MARRIAGE OF COLONEL BRANDON, AND ITS
CONSEQUENCES.
George Brandon was the only son of a younger brother, a scion of an
ancient and distinguished family: they had been, for the most part,
staunch Jacobites, and George’s father lost the greater part of
his property in a fruitless endeavour to support the ill–timed and
ill–conducted expedition of Charles Edward, in 1745.
After this he retired to the Continent and died, leaving to his son
little else besides his sword, a few hundred crowns, and an untarnished
name. The young man returned to England; and, being agreeable,
accomplished, and strikingly handsome, was kindly received by some of
his relations and their friends.
During one of the visits that he paid at the house of a neighbour
in the country, he fell desperately in love with Lucy Shirley, the
daughter of the richest squire in the country, a determined Whig, and
one who hated a Jacobite worse than a Frenchman. As George Brandon’s
passion was returned with equal ardour, and the object of it was young
and inexperienced as himself, all the obstacles opposed to their union
only served to add fuel to the flame; and, after repeated but vain
endeavours on the part of Lucy Shirley to reconcile her father, or her
only brother, to the match, she eloped with her young lover; and, by a
rapid escape into Scotland, where they were immediately married, they
rendered abortive all attempt at pursuit.
It was not long before the young couple began to feel some of the
painful consequences of their imprudence. The old squire was not to
be appeased; he would neither see his daughter, nor would he open one
of the many letters which she wrote to entreat his forgiveness: but,
although incensed, he was a proud man and scrupulously just in all his
dealings: Lucy had been left 10,000_l._ by her grand–mother, but it was
not due to her until she attained her twenty–first year, or _married
with her father’s consent_. The squire waved both these conditions;
he knew that his daughter had fallen from a brilliant sphere to one
comparatively humble. Even in the midst of his wrath he did not wish
her to starve, and accordingly instructed his lawyer to write to Mrs.
Brandon, and to inform her that he had orders to pay her 500_l._
a–year, until she thought fit to demand the payment of the principal.
George and his wife returned, after a brief absence, to England, and
made frequent efforts to overcome, by entreaty and submission, the
old squire’s obduracy; but it was all in vain: neither were they more
successful in propitiating the young squire, an eccentric youth, who
lived among dogs and horses, and who had imbibed from his father an
hereditary taste for old port, and an antipathy to Jacobites. His
reply to a letter which George wrote, entreating his good offices in
effecting a reconciliation between Lucy and her father, will serve
better than an elaborate description to illustrate his character; it
ran as follows:—
“Sir,
“When my sister married a Jacobite, against Father’s consent, she
carried her eggs to a fool’s market, and she must make the best of her
own bargain. Father isn’t such a flat as to be gulled with your fine
words now: and tho’ they say I’m not over forw’rd in my schoolin’, you
must put some better bait on your trap before you catch
“MARMADUKE SHIRLEY, Jun.”
It may well be imagined, that after the receipt of this epistle George
Brandon did not seek to renew his intercourse with Lucy’s brother: but
as she had now presented him with a little boy, he began to meditate
seriously on the means which he should adopt to better his fortunes.
One of his most intimate and esteemed friends, Digby Ethelston, being,
like himself, a portionless member of an ancient family, had gone out
early in life to America, and had, by dint of persevering industry,
gained a respectable competence: while in the southern colonies he
had married the daughter of an old French planter, who had left the
marquisate to which he was entitled in his own country, in order
to live in peace and quiet among the sugar–canes and cotton–fields
of Louisiana. Ethelston had received with his wife a considerable
accession of fortune, and they were on the eve of returning across the
Atlantic, her husband having settled all the affairs which had brought
him to England.
His representations of the New World made a strong impression on
the sanguine mind of George Brandon, and he proposed to his wife to
emigrate with their little one to America. Poor Lucy, cut off from her
own family, and devoted to her husband, made no difficulty whatever,
and it was soon settled that they should accompany the Ethelstons.
George now called upon Mr. Shirley’s solicitor, a dry, matter–of–fact,
parchment man, to inform him of their intention, and of their wish
that the principal of Lucy’s fortune might be paid up. The lawyer took
down a dusty box of black tin whereon was engraved “Marmaduke Shirley,
Esq., Shirley Hall, No. 7.”; and after carefully perusing a paper of
instructions, he said, “Mrs. Brandon’s legacy shall be paid up, sir,
on the 1st of July, to any party whom she may empower to receive it on
her behalf, and to give a legal discharge for the same.”
“And pray, sir,” said George, hesitating, “as we are going across the
Atlantic, perhaps never to return, do you not think Mr. Shirley would
see his daughter once before she sails, to give her his blessing?”
Again the man of parchment turned his sharp nose towards the paper, and
having scanned its contents, he said, “I find nothing, sir, in these
instructions on that point. Good morning, Mr. Brandon.—James, show in
Sir John Waltham.”
George walked home dispirited, and the punctual solicitor failed
not to inform the squire immediately of the young couple’s intended
emigration, and the demand for the paying up of the sum due to Lucy.
In spite of his long–cherished prejudices against George Brandon’s
Jacobite family, and his anger at the elopement, he was somewhat
softened by time, by what he heard of the blameless life led by the
young man, and by the respectful conduct that the latter had evinced
towards his wife’s family; for it had happened on one occasion that
some of his young companions had thought fit to speak of the obstinacy
and stinginess of the old squire: this language George had instantly
and indignantly checked, saying, “My conduct in marrying his daughter
against his consent, was unjustifiable: though he has not forgiven her,
has he behaved justly and honourably. Any word spoken disrespectfully
of my wife’s father, I shall consider a personal insult to myself.”
This had accidentally reached the ears of the old squire; and though
still too proud and too obstinate to agree to any reconciliation, he
said to the solicitor: “Perkins, I will not be reconciled to these
scapegraces; I will have no intercourse with them, but I will _see_
Lucy before she goes; she must not see me. Arrange it as you please:
desire her to come to your house to sign the discharge for the
10,000_l._, in person; you can put me in a cupboard, in the next room;
where you will; a glass door will do;—you understand?”
“Yes, sir. When?”
“Oh, the sooner the better; whenever the papers are ready.”
“It shall be done, sir.” And thus the interview closed.
Meantime George made one final effort in a letter, which he addressed
to the squire, couched in terms at once manly and respectful; owning
the errors that he had committed, but hoping that forgiveness might
precede this long, this last separation.
This letter was returned to him unopened; and, in order to conceal from
Lucy the grief and mortification of his high and wounded spirit, he was
obliged to absent himself from home for many hours; and when he did
return, it was with a clouded brow.
Certainly the fate of this young couple, though not altogether
prosperous, was in one particular a remarkable exception to the usual
results of a runaway match; they were affectionately and entirely
devoted to each other: and Lucy, though she had been once, and only
once, a disobedient daughter, was the most loving and obedient of wives.
The day fixed for her signature arrived. Mr. Perkins had made all his
arrangements agreeably to his wealthy client’s instructions; and when,
accompanied by her husband, she entered the solicitor’s study, she was
little conscious that her father was separated from her only by a frail
door, which being left ajar, he could see her, and hear every word that
she spoke.
Mr. Perkins, placing the draft of the discharge into George Brandon’s
hand, together with the instrument whereby his wife was put in
possession of the 10,000_l._, said to him, “Would it not be better,
sir, to send for your solicitor to inspect these papers on behalf of
yourself and Mrs. Brandon, before she signs the discharge?”
“Allow me to inquire, sir,” replied George, “whether Mr. Shirley has
perused these papers, and has placed them here for his daughter’s
signature?”
“Assuredly, he has, sir,” said the lawyer, “and I have too, on
his behalf; you do not imagine, sir, that my client would pay the
capital sum without being certain that the discharge was regular and
sufficient!”
“Then I am satisfied, sir,” said George, with something of disdain
expressed on his fine countenance. “Mr. Shirley is a man of honour, and
a father; whatever he has sent for his daughter’s signature will secure
her interests as effectually as if a dozen solicitors had inspected it.”
At the conclusion of this speech, a sort of indistinct _hem_ proceeded
from the ensconced squire; to cover which, Mr. Perkins said, “But,
sir, it is not usual to sign papers of this consequence without
examining them.”
“Lucy, my dear,” said George, turning with a smile of affectionate
confidence to his wife; “to oblige Mr. Perkins, I will read through
these two papers attentively: sit down for a minute, as they are
somewhat long:” so saying, he applied himself at once to his task.
Meantime Lucy, painfully agitated and excited, made several attempts to
address Mr. Perkins; but her voice failed her, as soon as she turned
her eyes upon that gentleman’s rigid countenance: at length, however,
by a desperate effort, she succeeded in asking, tremulously, “Mr.
Perkins, have you seen my father lately?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said the lawyer nibbing his pen.
“Oh! tell me how he is!—Has the gout left him?—Can he ride to the
farm as he used?”
“He is well, madam, very well, I believe.”
“Shall you see him soon again, sir?”
“Yes, madam, I must show him these papers, when signed.”
“Oh! then, tell him, that his daughter, who never disobeyed him but
once, has wept bitterly for her fault; that she will probably never
see him again, in this world; that she blesses him in her daily
prayers. Oh! tell him, I charge you as you are a man, tell him, that I
could cross the ocean happy—that I could bear years of sickness, of
privation, happy—that I could die happy, if I had but my dear, dear
father’s blessing.” As she said this, the young wife had unconsciously
fallen upon one knee before the man of law, and her tearful eyes were
bent upon his countenance in earnest supplication.
Again an indistinct noise, as of a suppressed groan or sob, was heard
from behind the door, and the solicitor wiping his spectacles and
turning away his face to conceal an emotion of which he felt rather
ashamed, said: “I will tell him all you desire, madam; and if I receive
his instructions to make any communication in reply, I will make it
faithfully, and without loss of time.”
“Thank you, thank you a thousand times,” said Lucy: and resuming her
seat, she endeavoured to recover her composure.
George had by this time run his eye over the papers; and although
he had overheard his wife’s appeal to the solicitor, he would not
interrupt her, nor throw any obstacle in the way of an object which he
knew she had so much at heart. “I am perfectly satisfied, sir,” said
he; “you have nothing to do but to provide the witnesses, and Mrs.
Brandon will affix her signature.”
Two clerks of Mr. Perkins’ were accordingly summoned, and the discharge
having been signed in their presence, they retired. Mr. Perkins now
drew another paper from the leaves of a book on his table, saying: “Mr.
Brandon, the discharge being now signed and attested, I have further
instructions from Mr. Shirley to inform you, that although he cannot
alter his determination of refusing to see his daughter, or holding
any intercourse with yourself, he is desirous that you should not in
America find yourself in straitened circumstances; and has accordingly
authorised me to place in your hands this draft upon his banker for
5000_l._”
“Mr. Perkins,” said George, in a tone of mingled sadness and pride;
“in the payment of the 10,000_l._, my wife’s fortune, Mr. Shirley,
though acting honourably, has only done justice, and has dealt as
he would have dealt with strangers; had he thought proper to listen
to my wife’s, or to my own repeated entreaties for forgiveness and
reconciliation, I would gratefully have received from him, as from a
father, any favour that he wished to confer on us; but, sir, as he
refuses to see me under his roof, or even to give his affectionate and
repentant child a parting blessing, I would rather work for my daily
bread than receive at his hands the donation of a guinea.”
As he said this, he tore the draft and scattered its shreds on the
table before the astonished lawyer. Poor Lucy was still in tears,
yet one look assured her husband that she _felt_ with him. He added
in a gentler tone, “Mr. Perkins, accept my acknowledgments for your
courtesy;” and, offering his arm to Lucy, turned to leave the room.