"Rheumatism! that's a bad complaint," continues the good-natured Captain;
"and the coach is in the yard to fetch the doctor, I suppose?"
"I don't know," says the boy.
"And how long has her ladyship been ill?"
"I don't know," says the boy.
"When did my lord go away?"
"Yesterday night."
"With Father Holt?"
"With Mr. Holt."
"And which way did they travel?" asks the lawyer.
"They travelled without me," says the page.
"We must see Lady Castlewood."
"I have orders that nobody goes in to her ladyship--she is sick," says
the page; but at this moment her maid came out. "Hush!" says she; and, as
if not knowing that any one was near, "What's this noise?" says she. "Is
this gentleman the doctor?"
"Stuff! we must see Lady Castlewood," says the lawyer, pushing by.
The curtains of her ladyship's room were down, and the chamber dark,
and she was in bed with a nightcap on her head, and propped up by
her pillows.
"Is that the doctor?" she said.
"There is no use with this deception, madam," Captain Westbury said (for
so he was named). "My duty is to arrest the person of Thomas, Viscount of
Castlewood, of Robert Tusher, Vicar of Castlewood, and Henry Holt, known
under various other names, a Jesuit priest, who officiated as chaplain
here in the late king's time, and is now at the head of the conspiracy
which was about to break out in this country against the authority of
their Majesties King William and Queen Mary--and my orders are to search
the house for such papers or traces of the conspiracy as may be found
here. Your ladyship will please give me your keys, and it will be as well
for yourself that you should help us, in every way, in our search."
"You see, sir, that I have the rheumatism, and cannot move," said the
lady, looking uncommonly ghastly as she sat up in her bed.
"I shall take leave to place a sentinel in the chamber, so that your
ladyship, in case you should wish to rise, may have an arm to lean on,"
Captain Westbury said. "Your woman will show me where I am to look;" and
Madame Victoire, chatting in her half-French and half-English jargon,
opened while the Captain examined one drawer after another; but, as Harry
Esmond thought, rather carelessly, as if he was only conducting the
examination for form's sake.
Before one of the cupboards Victoire flung herself down, and, with a
piercing shriek, cried, "_Non, jamais, monsieur l'officier! Jamais!_ I
will rather die than let you see this wardrobe."
But Captain Westbury would open it, still with a smile on his face,
which, when the box was opened, turned into a fair burst of laughter. It
contained--not papers regarding the conspiracy--but my lady's wigs,
washes, and rouge-pots, and Victoire said men were monsters, as the
Captain went on with his search. He tapped the back to see whether or no
it was hollow, and as he thrust his hands into the cupboard, my lady from
her bed called out, with a voice that did not sound like that of a very
sick woman:
"Is it your commission to insult ladies as well as to arrest
gentlemen, Captain?"
"These articles are only dangerous when worn by your ladyship," the
Captain said, with a low bow, and a mock grin of politeness. "I have
found nothing which concerns the government as yet--only the weapons with
which beauty is authorised to kill," says he, pointing to a wig with his
sword-tip. "We must now proceed to search the rest of the house."
"You are not going to leave that wretch in the room with me," cried my
lady, pointing to the soldier.
"What can I do, madam? Somebody you must have to smooth your pillow and
bring your medicine--permit me--"
"Sir!" screamed out my lady.
"Madam, if you are too ill to leave the bed," the Captain then said,
rather sternly, "I must have in four of my men to lift you off in the
sheet. I must examine this bed, in a word; papers may be hidden in a bed
as elsewhere; we know that very well, and--"
Here it was her ladyship's turn to shriek, for the Captain, with his
fist shaking the pillows and bolsters, at last wrenching away one of the
pillows, said, "Look! did not I tell you so? Here is a pillow stuffed
with paper. And now your ladyship can move, I am sure; permit me to give
you my hand to rise. You will have to travel for some distance, as far as
Hexton Castle to-night. Will you have your coach? Your woman shall attend
you if you like--and the japan-box?"
"Sir! you don't strike a _man_ when he is down," said my lady, with some
dignity; "can you not spare a woman?"
"Your ladyship must please to rise, and let me search the bed," said the
Captain; "there is no more time to lose in bandying talk."
And, without more ado, the gaunt old woman got up. Harry Esmond
recollected to the end of his life that figure, with the brocade dress
under the white nightdress, and the gold-clocked red stockings, and white
red-heeled shoes, sitting up in the bed, and stepping down from it. The
trunks were ready packed for departure in her ante-room, and the horses
ready harnessed in the stable: about all which the Captain seemed to
know, by information got from some quarter or other; and whence Esmond
could make a pretty shrewd guess in after-times, when Dr. Tusher
complained that King William's government had basely treated him for
services done in that cause.
And here we may relate, though he was then too young to know all that was
happening, what the papers contained, of which Captain Westbury had made
a seizure, and which papers had been transferred from the japan-box to
the bed when the officers arrived.
There was a list of gentlemen of the county, in Father Holt's
handwriting, who were King James's friends; also a patent conferring the
title of Marquis of Esmond on my Lord Castlewood and the heirs-male of
his body; his appointment as Lord-Lieutenant of the County, and
Major-General. There were various letters from the nobility and gentry,
some ardent and some doubtful, and all valuable to the men who found
them, for reasons which the lad knew little about; only being aware that
his patron and his mistress were in some trouble, which had caused the
flight of the one and the apprehension of the other by the officers of
King William.
The seizure of the papers effected, the gentlemen did not pursue their
further search through Castlewood House very rigorously. They only
examined Mr. Holt's room, being led thither by his pupil, who showed, as
the Father had bidden him, the place where the key of his chamber lay,
opened the door for the gentlemen, and conducted them into the room.
When the gentlemen came to the half-burned papers in the bowl, they
examined them eagerly enough, and their young guide was a little amused
at their perplexity.
"What are these?" says one.
"They're written in a foreign language," says the lawyer. "What are
you laughing at, little whelp?" he added, turning round as he saw the
boy smile.
"Mr. Holt said they were sermons," Harry said, "and bade me to burn
them;" which indeed was true of those papers.
"Sermons, indeed--it's treason, I would lay a wager," cries the lawyer.
"Egad! it's Greek to me," says Captain Westbury. "Can you read it,
little boy?"
"Yes, sir, a little," Harry said.
"Then read, and read in English, sir, on your peril," said the lawyer.
And Harry began to translate:
"Hath not one of your own writers said, 'The children of Adam are now
labouring as much as he himself ever did, about the tree of the knowledge
of good and evil, shaking the boughs thereof, and seeking the fruit,
being for the most part unmindful of the tree of life.' O blind
generation! 'tis this tree of knowledge to which the serpent has led
you"--and here the boy was obliged to stop, the rest of the page being
charred by the fire, and asked of the lawyer--"Shall I go on, sir?"
The lawyer said, "This boy is deeper than he seems: who knows that he is
not laughing at us?"
"Let's have in Dick the Scholar," cried Captain Westbury, laughing, and
he called to a trooper out of the window, "Ho, Dick, come in here and
construe."
A soldier, with a good-humoured face, came in at the summons, saluting
his officer.
"Tell us what is this, Dick Steele," says the lawyer.
"'Tis Latin," says Dick, glancing at it, and again saluting his officer,
"and from a sermon of Mr. Cudworth's," and he translated the words pretty
much as Henry Esmond had rendered them.
"What a young scholar you are," says the Captain to the boy.
"Depend on't, he knows more than he tells," says the lawyer. "I think we
will pack him off in the coach with the old lady."
"For construing a bit of Latin?" said the Captain, very good-naturedly.
"I would as lief go there as anywhere," Harry Esmond said, simply, "for
there is nobody to care for me."
There must have been something touching in the child's voice, or in this
description of his solitude, for the Captain looked at him very
good-naturedly, and the trooper called Steele put his hand kindly on the
lad's head, and said some words in the Latin language.
"What does he say?" says the lawyer.
"I said I was not ignorant of misfortune myself, and had learned to
succor the miserable, and that's not your trade, Mr. Sheepskin," said
the trooper.
"You had better leave Dick the Scholar alone, Mr. Corbett!" the Captain
said. And Harry Esmond, always touched by a kind face and a kind word,
felt very grateful to this good-natured champion.
The horses were by this time harnessed to the coach; and my Lady Isabella
was consigned to that vehicle and sent off to Hexton, with her woman and
the man-of-law to bear her company, a couple of troopers riding on either
side of the coach. And Harry was left behind at the Hall, belonging, as
it were, to nobody, and quite alone in the world. The Captain and a guard
of men remained in possession there; and the soldiers, who were very
good-natured and kind, ate my lord's mutton and drank his wine, and made
themselves comfortable, as they well might do in such pleasant quarters.
After the departure of the countess, Dick the Scholar took Harry Esmond
under his special protection, and would talk to him both of French and
Latin, in which tongues the lad found that he was even more proficient
than Scholar Dick. Hearing that he had learned them from a Jesuit, in the
praise of whom and whose goodness Harry was never tired of speaking,
Dick, rather to the boy's surprise, showed a great deal of theological
science, and knowledge of the points at issue between the Catholic and
Protestant churches; so that he and Harry would have hours of
controversy together, with which conversations the long days of the
trooper's stay at Castlewood were whiled away. Though the other troopers
were all gentlemen, they seemed ignorant and vulgar to Harry Esmond, with
the exception of this good-natured Corporal Steele, Scholar, although
Captain Westbury and Lieutenant Trant were always kind to the lad.
They remained for some months at Castlewood, and Harry learned from them,
from time to time, how Lady Isabella was being treated at Hexton Castle,
and the particulars of her confinement there. King William was disposed
to deal very leniently with the gentry who remained faithful to the old
king's cause; and no Prince usurping a crown as his enemies said he did,
ever caused less blood to be shed. As for women-conspirators, he kept
spies on the least dangerous, and locked up the others. Lady Castlewood
had the best rooms in Hexton Castle, and the gaoler's garden to walk in;
and though she repeatedly desired to be led out to execution like Mary
Queen of Scots, there never was any thought of taking her painted old
head off. She even found that some were friends in her misfortune, whom
she had, in her prosperity, considered as her worst enemies. Colonel
Francis Esmond, my lord's cousin and her ladyship's hearing of his
kinswoman's scrape, came to visit her in prison, offering any friendly
services which lay in his power. He brought, too, his lady and little
daughter, Beatrix, the latter a child of great beauty and many winning
ways, to whom the old viscountess took not a little liking, and who was
permitted after that to go often and visit the prisoner.
And now there befell an event by which Lady Isabella recovered her
liberty, and the house of Castlewood got a new owner, Colonel Francis
Esmond, and fatherless little Harry Esmond, the new and most kind
protector and friend, whom we met at the opening of this story. My Lord
of Castlewood was wounded at the battle of the Boyne, flying from which
field he lay for a while concealed in a marsh, and more from cold and
fever caught in the bogs than from the steel of the enemy in the
battle, died.
In those days letters were slow of travelling, and that of a priest
announcing my lord's death took two months or more on its journey from
Ireland to England. When it did arrive, Lady Isabella was still
confined in Hexton Castle, but the letter was opened at Castlewood by
Captain Westbury.
Harry Esmond well remembered the receipt of this letter, which was
brought in as Captain Westbury and Lieutenant Trant were on the Green
playing at Bowls, young Esmond looking on at the sport.
"Something has happened to Lord Castlewood," Captain Westbury said, in a
very grave tone. "He is dead of a wound received at the Boyne, fighting
for King James. I hope he has provided for thee somehow. Thou hast only
him to depend on now."
Harry did not know, he said. He was in the hands of Heaven, as he had
been all the rest of his life. That night as he lay in the darkness he
thought with a pang how Father Holt and two or three soldiers, his
acquaintances of the last six weeks, were the only friends he had in the
great wide world. The soul of the boy was full of love, and he longed as
he lay in the darkness there for someone upon whom he could bestow it.
Lady Isabella was in prison, his patron was dead, Father Holt was
gone,--he knew not where,--Tom Tusher was far away. To whom could he turn
now for comradeship?
He remembered to his dying day the thoughts and tears of that long
night--was there any child in the whole world so unprotected as he?
The next day the gentlemen of the guard, who had heard what had befallen
him, were more than usually kind to the child, and upon talking the
matter over with Dick they decided that Harry should stay where he was,
and abide his fortune; so he stayed on at Castlewood after the garrison
had been ordered away. He was sorry when the kind soldiers vacated
Castlewood, and looked forward with no small anxiety to his fate when the
new lord and lady of the house,--Colonel Francis Esmond and his
wife,--should come to live there. He was now past twelve years old and
had an affectionate heart, tender to weakness, that would gladly attach
itself to somebody, and would not feel at rest until it had found a
friend who would take charge of it.
Then came my lord and lady into their new domain, and my lady's
introduction to the little lad, whom she found in the book-room, as we
have seen.
The instinct which led Henry Esmond to admire and love the gracious
person, the fair apparition, whose beauty and kindness so moved him when
he first beheld her, became soon a passion of gratitude, which entirely
filled his young heart. There seemed, as the boy thought, in her every
look or gesture, an angelic softness and bright pity. In motion or repose
she seemed gracious alike; the tone of her voice, though she spoke words
ever so trivial, gave him a pleasure that amounted almost to pain. It
could not be called love, that a lad of his age felt for his mistress:
but it was worship. To catch her glance, to divine her errand and run on
it before she had spoken it; to watch, follow, adore her, became the
business of his life.
As for my Lord Castlewood, he was good-humoured, of a temper naturally
easy, liking to joke, especially with his inferiors, and charmed to
receive the tribute of their laughter. All exercises of the body he could
perform to perfection--shooting at a mark, breaking horses, riding at the
ring, pitching the quoit, playing at all games with great skill. He was
fond of the parade of dress, and also fond of having his lady well
dressed; who spared no pains in that matter to please him. Indeed, she
would dress her head or cut it off if he had bidden her.
My Lord Viscount took young Esmond into his special favour, luckily for
the lad. A very few months after my lord's coming to Castlewood in the
winter time, little Frank being a child in petticoats, trotting about, it
happened that little Frank was with his father after dinner, who fell
asleep, heedless of the child, who crawled to the fire. As good fortune
would have it, Esmond was sent by his mistress for the boy, just as the
poor little screaming urchin's coat was set on fire by a log. Esmond,
rushing forward, tore the dress off, so that his own hands were burned
more than the little boy's, who was frightened rather than hurt by the
accident. As my lord was sleeping heavily, it certainly was providential
that a resolute person should have come in at that instant, or the child
would have been burned to death.
Ever after this, the father was loud in his expressions of remorse, and
of admiration for Harry Esmond, and had the tenderest regard for his
son's preserver. His burns were tended with the greatest care by his kind
mistress, who said that Heaven had sent him to be the guardian of her
children, and that she would love him all her life.
And it was after this, and from the very great love and tenderness which
grew up in this little household, that Harry came to be quite of the
religion of his house, and his dear mistress, of which he has ever since
been a professing member.
My lady had three idols: her lord, the good Viscount of Castlewood,--her
little son, who had his father's looks and curly, brown hair,--and her
daughter Beatrix, who had his eyes--were there ever such beautiful eyes
in the world?
A pretty sight it was to see the fair mistress of Castlewood, her little
daughter at her knee, and her domestics gathered around her, reading the
Morning Prayer of the English Church. Esmond long remembered how she
looked and spoke, kneeling reverently before the sacred book, the sun
shining upon her golden hair until it made a halo round about her, a
dozen of the servants of the house kneeling in a line opposite their
mistress. For a while Harry Esmond as a good papist kept apart from these
mysteries, but Dr. Tusher, showing him that the prayers read were those
of the Church of all ages, he came presently to kneel down with the rest
of the household in the parlour; and before a couple of years my lady had
made a thorough convert. Indeed, the boy loved her so much that he would
have subscribed to anything she bade him at that time, and the happiest
period of all his life was this: when the young mother, with her daughter
and son, and the orphan lad whom she protected, read and worked and
played, and were children together.
But as Esmond grew, and observed for himself, he found much to read and
think of outside that fond circle of kinsfolk. He read more books than
they cared to study with him; was alone in the midst of them many a time,
and passed nights over labours, useless perhaps, but in which they could
not join him. His dear mistress divined his thoughts with her usual
jealous watchfulness of affection; began to forebode a time when he
would escape from his home nest; and at his eager protestations to the
contrary, would only sigh and shake her head, knowing that some day her
predictions would come true.
Meanwhile evil fortune came upon the inmates of Castlewood Hall; brought
thither by no other than Harry himself. In those early days, before Lady
Mary Wortley Montague brought home the custom of inoculation from Turkey,
smallpox was considered, as indeed it was, the most dreadful scourge of
the world. The pestilence would enter a village and destroy half its
inhabitants. At its approach not only the beautiful, but the strongest
were alarmed, and those fled who could.
One day in the year 1694 Dr. Tusher ran into Castlewood House with a face
of consternation, saying that the malady had made its appearance in the
village, that a child at the Inn was down with the smallpox.
Now there was a pretty girl at this Inn, Nancy Sievewright, the
blacksmith's daughter, a bouncing, fresh-looking lass, with whom Harry
Esmond in his walks and rambles often happened to fall in; or, failing to
meet her, he would discover some errand to be done at the blacksmith's,
or would go to the Inn to find her.
When Dr. Tusher brought the news that smallpox was at the Inn, Henry
Esmond's first thought was of alarm for poor Nancy, and then of disquiet
for the Castlewood family, lest he might have brought this infection to
them; for the truth is, that Mr. Harry had been sitting that day for an
hour with Nancy Sievewright, holding her little brother, who had
complained of headache, on his knee; and had also since then been drawing
pictures and telling stories to little Frank Castlewood, who had occupied
his knee for an hour after dinner, and was never tired of Henry's tales
of soldiers and horses. As luck would have it, Beatrix had not that
evening taken her usual place, which generally she was glad enough to
take, upon her tutor's lap. For Beatrix, from the earliest time, was
jealous of every caress which was given to her little brother Frank. She
would fling away even from her mother's arms if she saw Frank had been
there before her; she would turn pale and red with rage if she caught
signs of affection between Frank and his mother; would sit apart and not
speak for a whole night, if she thought the boy had a better fruit or a
larger cake than hers; would fling away a ribbon if he had one too; and
from the earliest age, sitting up in her little chair by the great
fireplace opposite to the corner where Lady Castlewood commonly sat at
her embroidery, would utter childish sarcasm about the favour shown to
her brother. These, if spoken in the presence of Lord Castlewood, tickled
and amused his humour; he would pretend to love Frank best, and dandle
and kiss him, and roar with laughter at Beatrix's jealousy.
So it chanced that upon this very day, when poor Harry Esmond had had the
blacksmith's son, and the peer's son, alike upon his knee, little Beatrix
had refused to take that place, seeing it had been occupied by her
brother, and, luckily for her, had sat at the further end of the room
away from him, playing with a spaniel dog which she had--for which by
fits and starts she would take a great affection--and talking at Harry
Esmond over her shoulder, as she pretended to caress the dog, saying that
Fido would love her, and she would love Fido and no one but Fido all the
rest of her life.
When, then, Dr. Tusher brought the news that the little boy at the Inn
was ill with the smallpox, poor Harry Esmond felt a shock of alarm, not
so much for himself as for little Frank, whom he might have brought into
peril. Beatrix, who had by this time pouted sufficiently (and who,
whenever a stranger appeared, began from infancy almost to play off
little graces to catch his attention), her brother being now gone to bed,
was for taking her place upon Esmond's knee: for though the Doctor was
very attentive to her, she did not like him because he had thick boots
and dirty hands (the pert young miss said), and because she hated
learning the catechism.
But as she advanced toward Esmond, he started back, and placed the
great chair on which he was sitting between him and her--saying in
French to Lady Castlewood, "Madam, the child must not approach me; I
must tell you that I was at the blacksmith's to-day, and had his little
boy upon my lap."
"Where you took my son afterwards!" Lady Castlewood cried, very angry,
and turning red. "I thank you, sir, for giving him such company.
Beatrix," she continued in English, "I forbid you to touch Mr. Esmond.
Come away, child--come to your room. Come to your room--I wish your
reverence good-night"--this to Dr. Tusher--adding to Harry: "and you,
sir, had not you better go back to your friends at the Inn?"
Her eyes, ordinarily so kind, darted flashes of anger as she spoke; and
she tossed up her head with the mien of a Princess, adding such words of
reproach and indignation that Harry Esmond, to whom she had never once
before uttered a syllable of unkindness, stood for some moments
bewildered with grief and rage at the injustice of her reproaches. He
turned quite white from red, and answered her in a low voice, ending his
little speech with these words, addressed to Lord Castlewood: "Heaven
bless you and yours for your goodness to me. I have tired her ladyship's
kindness out, and I will go;" and sinking down on his knee, took the
rough hand of his benefactor and kissed it.
Here my lady burst into a flood of tears, and quitted the room, as my
lord raised up Harry Esmond from his kneeling posture, put his broad hand
on the lad's shoulder, and spoke kindly to him. Then, suddenly
remembering that Harry might have brought the infection with him, he
stepped back suddenly, saying, "Keep off, Harry, my boy; there is no good
in running into the wolf's jaws, you know!"
My lady, who had now returned to the room, said: "There is no use, my
lord. Frank was on his knee as he was making pictures, and was running
constantly from Henry to me. The evil is done, if any."
"Not with me!" cried my lord. "I've been smoking, and it keeps off
infection, and as the disease is in the village, plague take it, I would
have you leave it. We'll go to-morrow to Wolcott."
"I have no fear, my lord," said my lady; "it broke out in our house when
I was an infant, and when four of my sisters had it at home, two years
before our marriage, I escaped it."
"I won't run the risk," said my lord; "I am as bold as any man, but I'll
not bear that."
"Take Beatrix with you and go," said my lady. "For us the mischief is
done."
Then my lord, calling away Tusher, bade him come to the oak parlour and
have a pipe. When my lady and Harry Esmond were alone there was a silence
of some moments, after which her ladyship spoke in a hard, dry voice of
her objections to his intimacy with the blacksmith's daughter, and she
added, "Under all the circumstances I shall beg my lord to despatch you
from this house as quick as possible; and will go on with Frank's
learning as well as I can. I owe my father thanks for a little
grounding, and you, I am sure, for much that you have taught me. And--I
wish you a good-night."
And with this she dropped a stately curtsy, and, taking her candle, went
away through the tapestry door which led to her apartments. Esmond stood
by the fireplace, blankly staring after her. Indeed, he scarce seemed to
see until she was gone; and then her image was impressed upon him, and
remained forever fixed upon his memory. He saw her retreating, the taper
lighting up her marble face, her scarlet lip quivering, and her shining
golden hair. He went to his own room, and to bed, where he tried to read,
as his custom was; but he never knew what he was reading. And he could
not get to sleep until daylight, and woke with a violent headache, and
quite unrefreshed.
He had brought the contagion with him from the Inn, sure enough, and was
presently laid up with the smallpox, which spared the Hall no more than
it did the cottage.
When Harry Esmond passed through the crisis of that malady, and returned
to health again, he found that little Frank Esmond had also suffered and
rallied after the disease, and that Lady Castlewood was down with it,
with a couple more of the household. "It was a Providence, for which we
all ought to be thankful," Dr. Tusher said, "that my lady and her son
were spared, while death carried off the poor domestics of the house;"
and he rebuked Harry for asking in his simply way, for which we ought to
be thankful; that the servants were killed or the gentlefolk were saved?
Nor could young Esmond agree with the Doctor that the malady had not in
the least impaired my lady's charms, for Harry thought that her
ladyship's beauty was very much injured by the smallpox. When the marks
of the disease cleared away, they did not, it is true, leave scars on
her face, except one on her forehead, but the delicacy of her complexion
was gone, her eyes had lost their brilliancy and her face looked older.
When Tusher vowed and protested that this was not so, in the presence of
my lady, the lad broke out impulsively, and said, "It is true; my
mistress is not near so handsome as she was!" On which poor Lady
Castlewood gave a rueful smile, and a look into a little glass she had,
which showed her, I suppose, that what the stupid boy said was only too
true, for she turned away from the glass, and her eyes filled with tears.
The sight of these on the face of the lady whom he loved best filled
Esmond's heart with a soft of rage of pity, and the young blunderer sank
down on his knees and besought her to pardon him, saying that he was a
fool and an idiot, that he was a brute to make such a speech, he, who
caused her malady; and Dr. Tusher told him that he was a bear indeed, and
a bear he would remain, after which speech poor young Esmond was so
dumb-stricken that he did not even growl.
"He is my bear, and I will not have him baited, Doctor," my lady said,
patting her hand kindly on the boy's head, as he was still kneeling at
her feet. "How your hair has come off!--and mine, too," she added, with
another sigh.
"Madam, you have the dearest, and kindest, and sweetest face in the
world, I think," the lad said.
"Will my lord think so when he comes back?" the lady asked with a sigh,
and another look at her glass. Then turning to her young son she said,
"Come, Frank, come, my child. You are well, praised be Heaven. _Your_
locks are not thinned by this dreadful smallpox; nor your poor face
scarred--is it, my angel?"
Frank began to shout and whimper at the idea of such a misfortune, for
from the very earliest time the young lord had been taught by his mother
to admire his own beauty; and esteemed it very highly.
At length, when the danger was quite over, it was announced that my lord
and Beatrix would return. Esmond well remembered the day. My lady was in
a flurry of fear. Before my lord came she went into her room, and
returned from it with reddened cheeks. Her fate was about to be decided.
Would my lord--who cared so much for physical perfection--find hers gone,
too? A minute would say. She saw him come riding over the bridge, clad in
scarlet, and mounted on his grey hackney, his little daughter beside him,
in a bright riding dress of blue, on a shining chestnut horse. My lady
put her handkerchief to her eyes, and withdrew it, laughing hysterically.
She ran to her room again, and came back with pale cheeks and red eyes,
her son beside her, just as my lord entered, accompanied by young Esmond,
who had gone out to meet his protector, and to hold his stirrup as he
descended from horseback.
"What, Harry boy!" he exclaimed good-naturedly, "you look as gaunt as a
greyhound. The smallpox hasn't improved your beauty, and you never had
too much of it--ho!"
And he laughed and sprang to the ground, looking handsome and red, with a
jolly face and brown hair. Esmond, kneeling again, as soon as his patron
had descended, performed his homage, and then went to help the little
Beatrix from her horse.
"Fie! how yellow you look," she said; "and there are one, two red holes
in your face;" which indeed was very true, Harry Esmond's harsh
countenance bearing as long as he lived the marks of the disease.
My lord laughed again, in high good-humour, exclaiming with one of his
usual oaths, "The little minx sees everything. She saw the dowager's
paint t'other day, and asked her why she wore that red stuff--didn't you,
Trix? And the Tower; and St. James's; and the play; and the Prince
George; and the Princess Ann--didn't you, Trix?"
"They are both very fat, and smelt of brandy," the child said.
Papa roared with laughing.
"Brandy!" he said. "And how do you know, Miss Pert?"
"Because your lordship smells of it after supper, when I kiss you before
I go to bed," said the young lady, who indeed was as pert as her father
said, and looked as beautiful a little gipsy as eyes ever gazed on.
"And now for my lady," said my lord, going up the stairs, and passing
alone under the tapestry curtain that hung before the drawing-room door.
Esmond always remembered that noble figure, handsomely arrayed in
scarlet. Within the last few months he himself had grown from a boy to be
a man, and with his figure his thoughts had shot up, and grown manly.
After her lord's return, Harry Esmond watched my lady's countenance with
solicitous affection, and noting its sad, depressed look realised that
there was a marked change in her. In her eagerness to please her husband
she practised a hundred arts which had formerly pleased him, charmed him,
but in vain. Her songs did not amuse him, and she hushed them and the
children when in his presence. Her silence annoyed him as much as her
speech; and it seemed as if nothing she could do or say could please him.
But for Harry Esmond his benefactress' sweet face had lost none of its
charms. It had always the kindest of looks and smiles for him; not so gay
and artless perhaps as those which Lady Castlewood had formerly worn, but
out of her griefs and cares, as will happen when trials fall upon a
kindly heart, grew up a number of thoughts and virtues which had never
come into existence, had not her sorrow given birth to them.
When Lady Castlewood found that she had lost the freshness of her
husband's admiration, she turned all her thoughts to the welfare of her
children, learning that she might teach them, and improving her many
natural gifts and accomplishments that she might impart them. She made
herself a good scholar of French, Italian, and Latin. Young Esmond was
house-tutor under her or over her, as it might happen, no more having
been said of his leaving Castlewood since the night before he came down
with the smallpox. During my lord's many absences these school days would
go on uninterruptedly: the mother and daughter learning with surprising
quickness, the latter by fits and starts only, as suited her wayward
humour. As for the little lord, it must be owned that he took after his
father in the matter of learning, liked marbles and play and sport best,
and enjoyed marshalling the village boys, of whom he had a little court;
already flogging them, and domineering over them with a fine imperious
spirit that made his father laugh when he beheld it, and his mother
fondly warn him. Dr. Tusher said he was a young nobleman of gallant
spirit; and Harry Esmond, who was eight years his little lordship's
senior, had hard work sometimes to keep his own temper, and hold his
authority over his rebellious little chief.
Indeed, "Mr. Tutor," as my lady called Esmond, had now business enough on
his hands in Castlewood house. He had his pupils, besides writing my
lord's letters, and arranging his accounts for him, when these could be
got from his indolent patron.
Of the pupils the two young people were but lazy scholars, and as my
lady would admit no discipline such as was then in use, my lord's son
only learned what he liked, which was but little, and never to his life's
end could be got to construe more than six lines of Virgil. Mistress
Beatrix chattered French prettily, from a very early age; and sang
sweetly, but this was from her mother's teaching, not Harry Esmond's, who
could scarce distinguish one air from another, although he had no greater
delight in life than to hear the ladies sing. He never forgot them as
they used to sit together of the summer evenings, the two golden heads
over the page, the child's little hand, and the mother's, beating the
time with their voices rising and falling in unison.
But these happy days were to end soon, and it was by Lady Castlewood's
own decree that they were brought to a conclusion. It happened about
Christmas time, Harry Esmond being now past sixteen years of age, that
his old comrade, Tom Tusher, returned from school in London, a fair,
well-grown and sturdy lad, who was about to enter college, with good
marks from his school, and a prospect of after-promotion in the church.
Tom Tusher's talk was of nothing but Cambridge now; and the boys examined
each other eagerly about their progress in books. Tom had learned some
Greek and Hebrew, besides Latin, in which he was pretty well skilled, and
also had given himself to mathematical study under his father's guidance.
Harry Esmond could not write Latin as well as Tom, though he could talk
it better, having been taught by his dear friend the Jesuit Father, for
whose memory the lad ever retained the warmest affection, reading his
books, and keeping his swords clean. Often of a night sitting in the
Chaplain's room, over his books, his verses, his rubbish, with which the
lad occupied himself, he would look up at the window, wishing it might
open and let in the good father. He had come and passed away like a
dream; but for the swords and books Harry might almost think he was an
imagination of his mind--and for two letters which had come from him, one
from abroad, full of advice and affection, another soon after Harry had
been confirmed by the Bishop of Hexton, in which Father Holt deplored his
falling away from the true faith. But it would have taken greater
persuasion than his to induce the boy to worship other than with his
beloved mistress, and under her kind eyes he read many volumes of the
works of the famous British divines of the last age. His mistress never
tired of pursuing their texts with fond comments, or to urge those points
which her fancy dwelt on most, or her reason deemed most important.
In later life, at the University, Esmond pursued the subject in a very
different manner, as was suitable for one who was to become a clergyman.
But his heart was never much inclined towards this calling. He made up
his mind to wear the cassock and bands as another man does to wear a
breastplate and jack-boots, or to mount a merchant's desk for a
livelihood--from obedience and necessity, rather than from choice.
When Thomas Tusher was gone, a feeling of no small depression and
disquiet fell upon young Esmond, of which, though he did not complain,
his kind mistress must have guessed the cause: for, soon after, she
showed not only that she understood the reason of Harry's melancholy,
but could provide a remedy for it. All the notice, however, which she
seemed to take of his melancholy, was by a gaiety unusual to her,
attempting to dispel his gloom. She made his scholars more cheerful than
ever they had been before, and more obedient, too, learning and reading
much more than they had been accustomed to do. "For who knows," said
the lady, "what may happen, and whether we may be able to keep such a
learned tutor long?"
Frank Esmond said he for his part did not want to learn any more, and
cousin Harry might shut up his book whenever he liked, if he would come
out a-fishing; and little Beatrix declared she would send for Tom
Tusher, and _he_ would be glad enough to come to Castlewood, if Harry
chose to go away.
At last came a messenger from Winchester one day, bearer of a letter
with a great black seal, from the Dean there, to say that his sister was
dead, and had left her fortune among her six nieces, of which Lady
Castlewood was one.
When my lord heard of the news, he made no pretence of grieving.
"The money will come very handy to furnish the music-room and the cellar,
which is getting low, and buy your ladyship a coat, and a couple of new
horses. And, Beatrix, you shall have a spinnet; and, Frank, you shall
have a little horse from Hexton Fair; and, Harry, you shall have five
pounds to buy some books," said my lord, who was generous with his own,
and indeed with other folk's money.
"I wish your aunt would die once a year, Rachel; we could spend your
money, and all your sisters', too."
"I have but one aunt--and--and I have another use for the money, my
lord," said my lady.
"Another use, my dear; and what do you know about money?" said my lord.
"And what the devil is there that I don't give you which you want?"
"I intend this money for Harry Esmond to go to college," says my lady.
"You mustn't stay longer in this dull place, but make a name for
yourself, and for us, too, Harry."
"Is Harry going away? You don't mean to say you will go away?" cried out
Frank and Beatrix in one breath.
"But he will come back; and this will always be his home," cried my lady,
with blue eyes looking a celestial kindness. "And his scholars will
always love him, won't they?"
"Rachel, you're a good woman!" exclaimed my lord, with an oath, seizing
my lady's hand. "I wish you joy!" he continued, giving Harry Esmond a
hearty slap on the shoulder. "I won't balk your luck. Go to Cambridge,
boy, and when Tusher dies you shall have the living here, if you are not
better provided by that time. We'll furnish the dining-room and buy the
horses another year. I'll give thee a nag out of the stables; take any
one except my hack and the bay gelding and the coach horses; and God
speed thee, my boy!"
"Have the sorrel, Harry; 'tis a good one. Father says 'tis the best in
the stable," said little Frank, clapping his hands and jumping up.
"Let's come and see him in the stable." And Harry Esmond in his delight
and eagerness was for leaving the room that instant to arrange about
his journey.
The Lady Castlewood looked after him with sad penetrating glances.
"He wishes to be gone already, my lord," said she to her husband.
The young man hung back abashed. "Indeed, I would stay forever if your
ladyship bade me," he said.
"And thou wouldst be a fool for thy pains," said my lord. "Tut, tut, man.
Go and see the world. Sow thy wild oats; and take the best luck that fate
sends thee. I wish I were a boy again, that I might go to college and
taste the Thumpington ale."
"Indeed, you are best away," said my lady, laughing, as she put her hand
on the boy's head for a moment. "You shall stay in no such dull place.
You shall go to college and distinguish yourself as becomes your name.
That is how you shall please me best; and--and if my children want you,
or I want you, you shall come to us; and I know we may count on you."
"May Heaven forsake me if you may not!" Harry said, getting up
from his knee.
"And my knight longs for a dragon this instant that he may fight," said
my lady, laughing; which speech made Harry Esmond start, and turn red;
for indeed the very thought was in his mind, that he would like that some
chance should immediately happen whereby he might show his devotion. And
it pleased him to think that his lady had called him "her knight," and
often and often he recalled this to his mind, and prayed that he might be
her true knight, too.
My lady's bed-chamber window looked out over the country, and you could
see from it the purple hills beyond Castlewood village, the green common
betwixt that and the Hall, and the old bridge which crossed over the
river. When Harry Esmond went away to Cambridge, little Frank ran
alongside his horse as far as the bridge, and there Harry stopped for a
moment, and looked back at the house where the best part of his life had
been passed.
It lay before him with its grey familiar towers, a pinnacle or two
shining in the sun, the buttresses and terrace walls casting great blue
shades on the grass. And Harry remembered all his life after how he saw
his mistress at the window looking out on him in a white robe, the little
Beatrix's chestnut curls resting at her mother's side. Both waved a
farewell to him, and little Frank sobbed to leave him. Yes, he _would_
be his lady's true knight, he vowed in his heart; he waved her an adieu
with his hat. The village people had good-bye to say to him, too. All
knew that Master Harry was going to college, and most of them had a kind
word and a look of farewell. I do not stop to say what adventures he
began to imagine, or what career to devise for himself before he had
ridden three miles from home. He had not read the Arabian tales as yet;
but be sure that there are other folks who build castles in the air, and
have fine hopes, and kick them down, too, besides honest Alnaschar.
This change in his life was a very fine thing indeed for Harry, who rode
away in company of my lord, who said he should like to revisit the old
haunts of his youth, and so accompanied Harry to Cambridge. Their road
lay through London, where my Lord Viscount would have Harry stay a few
days to see the pleasures of the town before he entered upon his
university studies, and whilst here Harry's patron conducted the young
man to my lady dowager's house near London. Lady Isabella received them
cordially, and asked Harry what his profession was to be. Upon hearing
that the lad was to take orders, and to have the living of Castlewood
when old Dr. Tusher vacated it, she seemed glad that the youth should be
so provided for.
She bade Harry Esmond pay her a visit whenever he passed through London,
and carried her graciousness so far as to send a purse with twenty
guineas for him to the tavern where he and his lord were staying, and
with this welcome gift sent also a little doll for Beatrix, who, however,
was growing beyond the age of dolls by this time, and was almost as tall
as Lady Isabella.
After seeing the town, and going to the plays, my Lord Castlewood and
Esmond rode together to Cambridge, spending two pleasant days upon the
journey. Those rapid new coaches that performed the journey in a single
day were not yet established, but the road was pleasant and short enough
to Harry Esmond, and he always gratefully remembered that happy holiday
which his kind patron gave him.
Henry Esmond was entered at Trinity College, Cambridge, to which famous
college my lord had also in his youth belonged. My Lord Viscount was
received with great politeness by the head master, as well as by Mr.
Bridge, who was appointed to be Harry's tutor. Tom Tusher, who was by
this time a junior Soph, came to take Harry under his protection; and
comfortable rooms being provided for him, Harry's patron took leave of
him with many kind words and blessings, and an admonition to have to
behave better at the University than my lord himself had ever done.
Thus began Harry Esmond's college career, which was in no wise different
from that of a hundred other young gentlemen of that day. Meanwhile,
while he was becoming used to the manners and customs of his new life and
enjoying it thoroughly in his quiet way; at Castlewood Hall life was not
so cheerful as it had been when he was there to note his mistress' sorrow
or joy and act according to her need.
Coming home to his dear Castlewood in the third year of his academic
course, Harry was overjoyed to see again the kind blue eyes of his
mistress, when she and the children came to greet him. He found Frank
shooting up to be like his gallant father in looks and in tastes. He had
his hawks, and his spaniel dog, his little horse, and his beagles; had
learned to ride and to shoot flying, and had a small court made up of
the sons of the huntsmen and woodsmen, over whom he ruled as imperiously
as became the heir-apparent.
As for Beatrix, Esmond found her grown to be taller than her mother, a
slim and lovely young girl, with cheeks mantling with health and roses;
with eyes like stars shining out of azure, with waving bronze hair
clustered about the fairest young forehead ever seen; and a mien and
shape haughty and beautiful, such as that of the famous antique statue of
the huntress Diana.
This bright creature was the darling and torment of father and mother.
She intrigued with each secretly, and bestowed her fondness and withdrew
it, plied them with tears, smiles, kisses, caresses; when the mother was
angry, flew to the father; when both were displeased, transferred her
caresses to the domestics, or watched until she could win back her
parents' good graces, either by surprising them into laughter and
good-humour, or appeasing them by submissive and an artful humility. She
had been a coquette from her earliest days; had long learned the value of
her bright eyes, and tried experiments in coquetry upon rustics and
country 'squires until she should have opportunity to conquer a larger
world in later years.
When, then, Harry Esmond came home to Castlewood for his last vacation he
found his old pupil shot up into this capricious beauty; her brother, a
handsome, high-spirited, brave lad, generous and frank and kind to
everybody, save perhaps Beatrix, with whom he was perpetually at war, and
not from his, but her, fault; adoring his mother, whose joy he was. And
Lady Castlewood was no whit less gracious and attractive to Harry than in
the old days when as a lad he had first kissed her fair, protecting hand.
Such was the group who welcomed Henry Esmond on his return from college.
Not anticipating the future, not looking ahead, let us leave beautiful
Beatrix, imperious young Frank, sweet Lady Castlewood, giving a glad
welcome to their old friend and tutor. Truly we carry away a pretty
picture as we finish this chapter of Esmond's youth.