The Rosebud of Ashburn possessed a female friend. Caroline Selby was
the daughter of Sir Thomas Crawley’s agent. Sir Thomas Crawley was the
rich man of the neighbourhood, lord of the manor, patron of the living,
and owner of a splendid place about a mile from the village; but
although Ashburn Priory was an old family seat, the present owner of the
property had by no means always been the great man he was at present;
indeed, it may be doubted whether, in justice, he had any right to be
so at all; though, unfortunately, in law he possessed a very sufficient
one. The former possessor of Ashburn Priory, an irritable, perverse
old man, had, in a moment of passion, disinherited an only son (who had
committed the unpardonable crime of consulting his heart, rather than
his pocket, in the choice of a wife), making a will in favour of a
relative whom he had never seen, and of whom the little he had heard was
unfavourable. It is true, he never intended this will to take effect;
meaning, when he had sufficiently consulted his dignity, and marked
his disapproval of the sin against Mammon which his son had committed,
graciously to receive him into favour again; but Death, who has no more
respect for ill-temper than for many more amiable qualities, did not
allow him time to repair the injustice he had committed, cutting him off
with an attack of bronchitis, and his son with a shilling, at one fell
stroke. The son, an amiable man, with a large family (a conjunction so
often to be observed, that, to a speculative mind, it almost assumes the
relation of cause and effect), soon spent his shilling, and, overtasking
his strength to replace it, ere long followed his unjust father, though
we can scarcely imagine that he travelled by the same road. Before this
latter event took place, however, Mr. Thomas Crawley made his first
appearance as lord of the manor of Ashburn, and master of the Priory;
and everybody was so well aware what he was, that they carefully
abstained from inquiring what he had been. To those capable of judging,
however, one thing was unmistakably apparent; namely, that neither in
the past nor in the present could his manners and appearance entitle
him to the designation of a gentleman. That he himself entertained
an uncomfortable suspicion of this fact, might be gathered from the
indefatigable perseverance with which he pursued the object of attaining
to the rank of knighthood. Up the rounds of a ladder of gold he climbed
into Parliament; once there, if he voted according to his conscience,
that inward monitor must have been of a decidedly versatile temperament;
for the way in which he wheeled about, and turned about, on every
occasion, conceivable and inconceivable, was without precedent, save
in the cases of Jim Crow of giddy memory, and of Weathercock _versus_
Boreas and Co. At last a crisis arrived; votes were worth more than the
men who gave them: a minister stayed in who should have gone out;
and Mr. Crawley became Sir Thomas. And this was the man who, with a
rent-roll of £15,000 a-year, was about to avail himself of a legal
quibble, in order to extort from a widow and orphans a share of the
little pittance that remained to them. His agent Mr. Selby, was a better
man than his master; and might have been better still, if “his poverty,
and not his will,” had not led him to consent to be the instrument
wherewith Sir Thomas Crawley, M.P., transacted much dirty work in
Ashburn and its vicinity. At the time we treat of the will had so often
yielded that it had quite lost the habit of asserting itself; and the
poverty, profiting by this inertness, had gradually disappeared, till
Mr. Selby was generally looked upon as a man well to do in the world,
and respected accordingly.
And this brings us back to the point from whence we originally started;
namely, that the Rosebud of Ashburn possessed a female friend. Now,
the office of female friend to a Rosebud, romantic and poetical as
it sounds, was by no means a sinecure; indeed, from the confidant of
Tilburnia downwards, these sympathisers of all work have hard places
of it. Still, there appears to be no lack of amiable creatures ready to
devote themselves to the cause of friendship; the supply seems always
to equal the demand. Possibly occasional perquisites, in the shape of a
heart caught in the rebound, as in the case of a discarded lover, or the
reversion of some _bon parti_, rejected for a more eligible offer, may
have something to do with it--of this we cannot pretend to judge.
That any such sordid notions influenced Caroline Selby in her devotion
to Emily Colville, we do not believe: on the contrary, the friendship
arose from, and was cemented by, the Jack-Sprat-and-his-wife-like
suitableness of their respective natures; Caroline having a decided call
to look up to and worship somebody, while Emily experienced an equally
strenuous necessity for being worshipped and looked up to. But the
Rosebud was subject also to other necessities, which effectually
preserved her friend from falling into the snares of idleness. First,
she had a chronic necessity for “talking confidence,”--though how,
in the quiet village of Ashburn, she contrived to obtain a supply
of mysteries to furnish forth subjects for these strictly private
colloquies, was the greatest mystery of all. Then privy councils were
held upon dress, in all its branches, from staylaces up to _blonde
Berthes_; and committees of ways and means had to combat and arrange
financial difficulties. Again, the affairs of their poorer neighbours
required much talking about, and speculating upon; and their little
charities Nor, despite sundry small weaknesses and frivolities natural
to their age, or rather youth, and sex, the friends were thoroughly
kind-hearted, amiable girls, could not be planned, or executed, without
a _necessary_ amount of conversation. Then there was a town, three miles
off by the road, and two and a half by the fields, where everything came
from; for, though Ashburn boasted a “general” shop, yet those who were
rash enough to particularise any article they might require, beyond
the inevitable bacon, cheese, soap, bad tea, worse sugar, starch,
and; hobnailed shoes, upon which agricultural life is supported, only
prepared for themselves a disappointment.
This obliging town the Rosebud had a call to visit, on an average, three
times a week at the very least; and of course, when the pony-chaise
could not be had, which--as Hugh, by the agency of that much-enduring
pony, existed rather as a centaur than a biped--was almost always the
case, Caroline Selby was required as a walking companion.
Having thus enlightened the reader as to the nature of the friendship
existing between these young ladies, together with other particulars,
which, at the risk of being considered prosy, we felt bound to
communicate to him, we resume the thread of our narrative.
Three weeks had elapsed since Mrs. Colville had accepted her brother’s
offer, and the day approached when Percy and Hugh were to quit the home
of their happy childhood, never again to return to it. Mrs. Colville
seldom alluded to the subject; busying herself in preparing their
clothes, and in other necessary duties appertaining to the mistress of a
family.
Now it happened that Master Hugh wore turn-over collars, famous for two
peculiarities, viz., the moment they were put on, clean and smooth, they
became rumpled and dirty--and the strings by which they were fastened,
were the victims to a suicidal propensity for tearing themselves
violently off, so that the amount of starch, labour, and tape, required
to preserve these collars in an efficient condition, formed a serious
item in the household expenditure.
Although the excellent factotum, Sarah, declared upon oath (not a _very_
naughty one) that she had reviewed the delinquents cautiously that day
fortnight, and been able to report them fitted for service, yet, at the
eleventh hour, when she was actually packing Hugh’s box, there were
only three strings and a quarter remaining among the twelve collars,
and there was no reliance to be placed even upon them. Moreover, on
examination, there was discovered to have been such a run upon tape, of
late, that not an inch of that useful article was forthcoming throughout
the entire establishment. Under these appalling circumstances, Emily
nobly volunteered to go to Flatville, and invest capital in the purchase
of a “whole piece of tape.” But the boys were absent on a skating
expedition; and the roads were slippery, and the pony had not been
roughed, and Emily, not liking to walk by herself, set off, no way loth,
to enlist Caroline Selby as her companion.
Here, however, a difficulty arose. Mr. Selby was just starting in
his phaeton, to drive over to the railroad station, two miles beyond
Flatville, and his daughter was going with him, for the sake of a drive.
Caroline was perplexed: had it been only to give up her own plans, she
would gladly have done so; but between her father and her friend, a
double sacrifice was required of her, and being only a single woman,
she was unable to meet the demand. Mr. Selby, happily, hit upon an
expedient. He proposed a compromise: Miss Colville should do him the
honour to take a seat in his phaeton (he called it ph_ee-a_ton), _he_
would drive her as far as Flatville; his _daughter_ should alight with
her: they should make their _little_ purchases (the words in italics he
uttered in a tone of the tenderest affection); and the ph_ee-a_ton, in
returning from the station, should call and pick them up.
Mr. Selby was a very polite man; and perpetually rubbed his hands
together, as though he were playing at washing them, a habit possibly
induced by a consciousness of all the dirty work he had performed. Emily
patronised him, steadily disbelieving everything that was hinted against
him, because he was Caroline’s father,--a piece of scepticism, amiable,
illogical, and womanly, which we rather admire in the young lady than
otherwise.
Accordingly, favouring him with a bewitching smile, that a better man
than he might have been proud to win, she scarcely touched the hand he
held out to assist her (which he carefully dry-washed afterwards, as
though the contact even of her fairy fingers had dissolved the spell of
its prudish purity), and sprang lightly into the “ph_ee-a_ton.”
Half an hour’s drive brought them to Flatville, where Mr. Selby, so to
speak, washed his hands of them, and went on to the railroad station.
Then began the shopping, that most mysterious and deeply-seated passion
of the female heart--the one master vice which serves the ladies of
England, instead of the turf, the wine-cup, and the gaming table,
which mislead their lords. There can be little doubt who first invented
shopping! The same hand which launched that arrow into the bosom of
private life, gave to the child-woman, Eve, the apple that betrayed
her--an apple which contained the seeds of shopping. It is such a
seductive, hypocritical sin, too, this same shopping--one which is so
easily dressed up to resemble a virtue--that it is almost impossible to
distinguish its true character _till the bill comes in_: that, like the
touch of Ithuriel’s spear, reveals the fiend in all its deformity. Every
woman (that we have known) is more or less addicted to this ruinous
practice, but some appear especially gifted with the fatal talent,
and, if the truth must be told, our little heroine was one of these
unfortunates. The amount of shopping she would contrive to get, even out
of a piece of tape, was fearful to reflect upon. In the first place,
it was to be of a particular (_very_ particular) texture, neither too
coarse nor too fine; then society would probably be uprooted, and the
Thames be set on fire, if it were a shade too wide, or, worse still, too
narrow. Again, tape was useless without needles and thread, wherewith to
operate upon it; and for some time--indeed, till the obsequious parrot
of a shopman had gone through his whole vocabulary of persuasion, and
become cynical and monosyllabic--_all_ the needles were too large; and,
that difficulty being overcome, the thread (sewing cotton Emily called
it) took a perverse turn, and would by no means sympathise with the eyes
of the selected needles, till the harassed shopman muttered a private
aspiration in regard to those useful orifices, which would have cost
him five shillings in any court of justice. But he took his revenge,
did that cunning shopman, for, no sooner had Emily bought all that she
required, than he suddenly recovered his good humour and loquacity, and
placed before her exactly the very articles she most desired, and had
not funds to purchase withal, till Tantalus himself might have
appeared a gentleman who lived at home at ease, in comparison with that
sorely-tempted “Rose-bud.”
Still, what woman could do, she did, for she firmly resisted everything,
till an unlucky remnant of magpie-coloured ribbon, the “very thing she
should want when she changed her mourning, and which she _knew_ she
could never meet with again,” a ribbon so cheap that the shopman
declared he was “giving it away,” at the very moment when he was adding
two shillings to the bill on the strength of it; though this reductive
ribbon beguiled her, the little concession only proved that she was not
above humanity. With which fact we are well contented, because, enjoying
but a very distant and limited acquaintance with such higher circles
as she would otherwise have mixed in, we might never have heard of her
existence, That she possessed some power of self-denial she proved,
by paying her bill and quitting the shop the moment that ribbon had
conquered her; the next best thing to resisting temptation being to fly
from it.
“Why, Caroline dear, we must have been an age in that shop, it is nearly
five o’clock! What can have become of your father’s carriage?” exclaimed
Emily, glancing in dismay at the hands of the old church clock, which
pointed to a quarter to five.
“Really I can’t conceive,” was the reply: “something must have occurred
to delay it, I suppose; it will be growing dusk before we can get home
if we have to walk by the road, and we can scarcely attempt the fields
so late by ourselves.”
“Mamma will be so frightened,” suggested Emily, “if it gets at all dark
before we return--had we not better start at once, and walk on till the
carriage overtakes us?”
Caroline agreed to this plan, merely proposing the emendation that
they should leave word they had done so, and that the groom, if he ever
appeared, was to follow and endeavour to overtake them. For this purpose
they re-entered the linen-draper’s shop, where, while they paused for
a moment to deliver the message, that vindictive shopman actually
was scoundrel enough to display at arm’s length a flimsy black scarf
(_barege_ we believe the villain called it), which, down to the
very pattern itself (opaque spots of the same material, representing
apparently a turnip with a cocked hat on, though we can scarcely bring
ourselves to believe the draughtsman could seriously have thus planned
the design), Emily had dreamed of only the night before: such is the
heartlessness of men--at least of shopmen.
The two girls, having nobly withstood the scarf, started energetically
on their homeward walk, nor were their tongues less active than their
feet, but then they had so much to talk about. The linen-draper’s stock
was first done ample justice to; that “dear” silver grey _mousseline de
soie_, which wasn’t dear at all, but as cheap as--(the ribbon, perhaps,
on which the shop-keeper only realised some fifty per cent., but then it
was a remnant, and given away)--and then those gloves, French kid, oh!
they must have been smuggled; how wrong it was to smuggle, at least
papa (Selby) always said so, but really the price was quite ridiculous;
didn’t Emily think so?
Emily did not know about its being ridiculous, but it was dreadfully
tempting; and if she had not made up her mind irrevocably against
changing any one of the three sovereigns she had in her purse, and
which must last her for pocket-money for the next two months, she should
decidedly have bought a pair, really, for the sake of economy.
This fruitful and edifying topic lasted them a good mile and a half,
and was not yet exhausted, when Emily interrupted herself by
exclaiming--“Upon my word it’s growing quite dusk; I wonder whether that
carriage is ever coming?”
“I’m sure I hope so, for I’m getting dreadfully frightened; ah! what’s
that?” replied her companion with a sudden start; “Oh! it’s only a post,
how silly I am! I declare I thought it was a man with a pistol
hooked--no--what is it they call it when they’re dangerous and mean to
go off, dear?”
“Cocked,” returned Emily; “but surely that is a man, and a very
uncomfortable looking one too; walk on quickly, and seem as if you did
not perceive him; perhaps he may not take any notice of us.”
The advice was sound, but, unfortunately, the plan did not prove as
successful as it deserved to be; the individual in question, who, when
they first came in sight, was lying apparently asleep upon some fallen
timber by the road-side, rose as they came near, and approaching them,
began in a tone half-impertinent, half-imploring, to beg of them. He was
a stout, ruffianly-looking fellow, dressed in a style which accorded
with his profession. The poor girls were considerably frightened:
they were quite a mile from Ashburn, in a lonely part of the road; the
evening was closing in rapidly, and there was no human being in sight,
except their persecutor, who, walking beside them, grew every minute
more pertinacious and imperative. With a most transparent attempt at
dignified composure, Emily drew out her purse, and, taking a shilling
from it, handed it to him, saying--
“There, that is as much as we shall give you, so you need not follow us
any further--good evening.”
Taking the shilling, with a look of sulky dissatisfaction, the fellow
paused for a moment in irresolution; but, unfortunately, when Emily
produced her purse, his eye had caught the sparkle of gold, and his
cupidity was too deeply excited to be so easily satisfied: looking
up and down the road, to assure himself that no one was at hand to
interfere with his designs, he again followed the trembling girls; and,
coming up with them, exclaimed--
“What! will you only give a poor fellow that’s starving, a shilling? and
you with a purse full of money in your pocket--and you calls yourselves
ladies too? It would only serve you right to show you that ladies was
no better than other people.” As he spoke, he pressed rudely against
Caroline Selby, who, shrinking from him, whispered in an agony of
terror--
“Emily, what _will_ become of us? Pray give him some more money, and
entreat him to go away.”
Thus urged, Emily again drew forth her purse, and, trembling at her own
temerity, said in an authoritative tone of voice--
“There’s half-a-crown for you, and now go away, and don’t annoy us any
more.”
“Not without something better worth taking with me,” was the insolent
reply, as, catching her wrist, he attempted to force the purse from her
grasp; but Emily, although greatly alarmed, had a brave little heart of
her own, and held on stoutly, till the unmanly ruffian, provoked at her
pertinacity, used so much force that she relinquished the purse; while
at the same moment, partly through pain, partly through fright, she
uttered piercing scream.
Now, albeit insolent lords of the creation exulting in strong nerves,
and not possessing soprano voices, are accustomed to regard screaming
as a feeble-minded practice, equally useless and ridiculous, yet in the
instance before us it proved of the highest benefit, and by far the best
thing, which, under the circumstances, Emily could have done; for, as
if he were some good genius evoked by the Rosebud’s appeal, suddenly
and unexpectedly a tall, agile figure sprang through a gap in the hedge,
cleared the intervening space at a bound, and, almost before the footpad
was aware of his approach, struck the scoundrel, with a stick which he
carried, so severe a blow over the knuckles, that he dropped the purse;
while, at the same moment, seizing him by the throat, he forced him
backwards, and, putting out his leg, tripped him up, and flung him
heavily to the ground. Placing his foot upon the breast of his fallen
foe, to prevent his rising, he turned towards the frightened girls,
find, lifting his hat courteously, thereby revealing his dark chestnut
curls, he said--
“Do not be alarmed, ladies, I am quite able to protect you.” Then,
pointing to the fallen man with his stick, which he slightly shook at
him with a menacing gesture, he continued--“Has the scoundrel robbed you
of anything but the purse?” As she turned to answer, Emily raised her
eyes to the speaker’s face. He was young, apparently not more than five
or six and twenty; the exertion he had undergone had caused a bright
flush to overspread his usually pale features; even at that moment his
look was calm and spiritual; the prevailing expression of his face was
power, which revealed itself in his flashing eyes and stern, compressed
mouth; his voice, when he spoke, sounded peculiarly rich and sweet. When
Emily had informed him that, with the exception of the purse, they had
sustained no loss, he continued--
“But he was struggling with you when I came up; he must, surely, have
hurt you; are you quite uninjured?”
Both the gils having assured him that they were merely frightened,
and that until the moment before he appeared, the man had simply been
begging of them, the stranger turned to his prostrate foe, saying--
“It would only serve you right for your unmanly attack on two
defenceless women, if I were to avail myself of the advantage I have
gained over you to take you into custody and have you punished for the
offence you have committed; but as I wish to spare these ladies the
alarm of witnessing any further struggle between us, I shall, with their
permission, let you go; but mind this, I shall give a description
of your appearance at the nearest police-station; and if you do not
immediately quit this part of the country, you will have rather more
attention paid you than you will find by any means agreeable. So now
take yourself off while you may.”
As he spoke, he removed his foot from the scoundrels breast, and with
difficulty restraining an impulse to bestow upon him a parting kick,
allowed him to rise and slink doggedly away. And now the Rosebud,
who, between alarm, and gratitude, and shyness, and an embarrassing
consciousness that their champion was young and handsome, was altogether
in a great state of agitation and excitement, felt it incumbent upon
her, as spokeswoman, to express her sentiments as best she might.
Accordingly, with some hesitation and many blushes, which unfortunately
the increasing darkness rendered invisible, she informed the stranger
how very much obliged to him they were: and impressed upon his mind
the state of abject terror from which he had relieved them, glancing
slightly at the anxiety they felt for the favourable termination of the
combat, and their admiration of, and gratitude for, his heroic conduct.
The stranger received her acknowledgments with a quiet smile, partly
pleased, partly amused by the young girl’s eagerness; then, in a few
simple, courteous, well-chosen words, he expressed the pleasure he had
felt in having been able to render them such a slight service; adding,
he should always consider it a most fortunate occurrence that, owing to
a fancy which had seized him, to find his way from the railroad-station
across the fields, he had been enabled to arrive just at the most
critical moment.
The Rosebud listened to him attentively. One thing was quite evident, be
he whom he might, both his language and manner proved him a gentleman.
Mysterious and deeply interesting! Could it be Prince Albert, wandering
about the country in disguise, for some inexplicable purpose connected
with political economy, or the Admirable Crichton, suddenly “come
alive,” to seek for a wife in the nineteenth century?
The arrival of the “Ph_ee-a_ton,” which had been taken poorly, and
obliged to have its wheel oiled,--a process which, owing to the
inefficiency of the blacksmith who (_faute de mieux_) had been called
in to attend the patient, had occupied a longer portion of time than was
by any means necessary,--interrupted Emily’s conjectures.
The mysterious stranger, as soon as he understood the connection between
the vehicle and the damsels he had rescued, politely handed them in;
and, refusing Caroline’s timid offer of a seat, again raised his hat,
and the carriage driving on, was soon lost to sight.
“Oh, Emily, what a brave, handsome, courteous, interesting creature!”
exclaimed Caroline, enthusiastically; “who can he be?”
“I can’t conceive; but we shall be sure to find out, for he is walking
in the direction of Ashburn,” was the reply. “He certainly knocked that
dreadful man down very cleverly, and was extremely kind and good-natured
to us; but do you think him so very handsome?”
“Oh, there can’t be a doubt about it! Those pale, interesting
features--that lofty brow--those splendid flashing eyes--the dark
clusters of his waving hair!”
“Carry, you’ve fallen in love with the man at first sight, and are a
susceptible little goose; he is by no means the Adonis you make out;
and, remember, we know nothing about him; he may be a bagman for
anything we can tell to the contrary,” rejoined Emily.
“No, I’m quite certain he is a gentleman, and most likely something
better still. He spoke just like Lord Adolphus Fitztoplofty, when I
danced with him at the race-ball, and he asked me whether I’d seen the
‘Prophète,’ and if I didn’t doat upon that dear Mario (so lucky that he
should fix upon the only opera I’d ever heard, wasn’t it?), and yet you
pretend to believe he’s a bagman; but I know you only say so to plague
me, you naughty thing;” and thus speaking, Caroline relieved her
overwrought feelings by giving her friend a playful blow, which the most
fragile fly might have endured unshrinkingly.
“My dear child, I never hinted anything of the kind,” returned
Emily; “_au contraire_, I believe Lord Adolphus to be a thoroughly
well-authenticated young nobleman, and consider him the most gentlemanly
puppy I have ever met.”
“Tiresome girl; you know I don’t mean Lord Fitz. But I’ll stake my
penetration on the stranger’s gentility; you only abuse him because you
admire him so much that you are ashamed to own it, you mean, deceitful
girl!”
“Silly child, how can you be so absurd!” said the Rosebud; but although
it was so dark that, if she _had_ blushed, her friend could never have
discovered it, she turned away her head as she spoke.