ABOUT A CERTAIN GARDEN AND A DAMSEL--AND ALSO CONCERNING A LETTER AND A
RED LEATHERN BOX.
Several days passed smoothly away--Lord Aspenly was a perfect paragon
of politeness; but although his manner invariably assumed a peculiar
tenderness whenever he approached Miss Ashwoode, yet that young lady
remained in happy ignorance of his real intentions. She saw before her
a grotesque old fop, who might without any extraordinary parental
precocity have very easily been her grandfather, and in his airs and
graces, his rappee and his rouge (for his lordship condescended to
borrow a few attractions from art), and in the thousand-and-one _et
ceteras_ of foppery which were accumulated, with great exactitude and
precision, on and about his little person, she beheld nothing more than
so many indications of obstinate and inveterate celibacy, and, of
course, interpreted the exquisite attentions which were meant to
enchain her young heart, merely as so much of that formal target
practice in love's archery, in which gallant single gentlemen of
seventy, or thereabout, will sometimes indulge themselves. Emily
Copland, however, at a glance, saw and understood the nature of Lord
Aspenly's attentions, and she saw just as clearly the intended parts
and the real position of the other actors in this somewhat ill-assorted
drama, and thereupon she took counsel with herself, like a wise damsel,
and arrived at the conclusion, that with some little management she
might, very possibly, play her own cards to advantage among them.
We must here, however, glance for a few minutes at some of the
subordinate agents in our narrative, whose interposition, nevertheless,
deeply, as well as permanently, affected the destinies of more
important personages.
It was the habit of the beautiful Mistress Betsy Carey, every morning,
weather permitting, to enjoy a ramble in the grounds of Morley Court;
and as chance (of course it was chance) would have it, this early
ramble invariably led her through several quiet fields, and over a
stile, into a prettily-situated, but neglected flower-garden, which was
now, however, undergoing a thorough reform, according to the Dutch
taste, under the presiding inspiration of Tobias Potts. Now Tobias
Potts was a widower, having been in the course of his life twice
disencumbered. The last Mrs. Potts had disappeared some five winters
since, and Tobias was now well stricken in years; he possessed the eyes
of an owl, and the complexion of a turkey-cock, and was, moreover,
extremely hard of hearing, and, withal, a man of few words; he was,
however, hale, upright, and burly--perfectly sound in wind and limb,
and free from vice and children--had a snug domicile, consisting of two
rooms and a loft, enjoyed a comfortable salary, and had, it was
confidently rumoured, put by a good round sum of money somewhere or
other. It therefore struck Mrs. Carey very forcibly, that to be Mrs.
Potts was a position worth attaining; and accordingly, without
incurring any suspicion--for the young women generally regarded Potts
with awe, and the young men with contempt--she began, according to the
expressive phrase in such case made and provided, to set her cap at
Tobias.
In this, his usual haunt, she discovered the object of her search,
busily employed in superintending the construction of a terrace walk,
and issuing his orders with the brevity, decision, and clearness of a
consummate gardener.
"Good-morning, Mr. Potts," said the charming Betsy. Mr. Potts did not
hear. "Good-morning, Mr. Potts," repeated the damsel, raising her voice
to a scream.
Tobias touched his hat with a gruff acknowledgment.
"Well, but how beautiful you are doing it," shouted the handmaid again,
gazing rapturously upon the red earthen rampart, in which none but the
eye of an artist could have detected the rudiments of a terrace, "it's
wonderful neat, all must allow, and indeed it puzzles my head to think
how you can think of it all; it _is_ now, _raly_ elegant, so it is."
Tobias did not reply, and the maiden continued, with a sentimental air,
and still hallooing at the top of her voice--
"Well, of all the trades that is--and big and little, there's a plenty
of them--there's none I'd choose, if I was a man, before the trade of a
gardener."
"No, you would not, _I'm_ sure," was the laconic reply.
"Oh, but I declare and purtest _I would_ though," bawled the young
woman; "for gardeners, old or young, is always so good-humoured, and
pleasant, and fresh-like. Oh, dear, but I would like to be a gardener."
"Not an _old_ one, howsomever," growled Mr. Potts.
"Yes, but I would though, I declare and purtest to goodness gracious,"
persisted the nymph; "I'd rather of the two perfer to be an _old_
gardener" (this was a bold stroke of oratory; but Potts did not hear
it); "I'd rather be an _old_ gardener," she screamed a second time;
"I'd rather be an _old_ gardener of the two, so I would."
"That's more than _I_ would," replied Potts, very abruptly, and with an
air of uncommon asperity, for he silently cherished a lingering belief
in his own juvenility, and not the less obstinately that it was fast
becoming desperate--a peculiarity of which, unfortunately, until that
moment the damsel had never been apprised. This, therefore, was a turn
which a good deal disconcerted the young woman, especially as she
thought she detected a satirical leer upon the countenance of a young
man in crazy inexpressibles, who was trundling a wheelbarrow in the
immediate vicinity; she accordingly exclaimed not loud enough for
Tobias, but quite loud enough for the young man in the infirm breeches
to hear,--
"What an old fool. I purtest it's meat and drink to me to tease him--so
it is;" and with a forced giggle she tripped lightly away to retrace
her steps towards the house.
As she approached the stile we have mentioned, she thought she
distinguished what appeared to be the inarticulate murmurings of some
subterranean voice almost beneath her feet. A good deal startled at so
prodigious a phenomenon, she stopped short, and immediately heard the
following brief apostrophe delivered in a rich brogue:--
"Aiqually beautiful and engaging--vartuous Betsy Carey--listen to the
voice of tindher emotion."
The party addressed looked with some alarm in all directions for any
visible intimation of the speaker's presence, but in vain. At length,
from among an unusually thick and luxuriant tuft of docks and other
weeds, which grew at the edge of a ditch close by, she beheld something
red emerging, which in a few moments she clearly perceived to be the
classical countenance of Larry Toole.
"The Lord _purtect_ us all, Mr. Toole. Why in the world do you frighten
people this way?" ejaculated the nymph, rather shrilly.
"Whist! most evangelical iv women," exclaimed Larry in a low key, and
looking round suspiciously--"whisht! or we are ruined."
"La! Mr. Laurence, what _are_ you after?" rejoined the damsel, with a
good deal of asperity. "I'll have you to know I'm not used to talk with
a man that's squat in a ditch, and his head in a dock plant. That's not
the way for to come up to an honest woman, sir--no more it is."
"I'd live ten years in a ditch, and die in a dock plant," replied Larry
with enthusiasm, "for one sight iv you."
"And is that what brought you here?" replied she, with a toss of her
head. "I purtest some people's quite overbearing, so they are, and
knows no bounds."
"Stop a minute, most beautiful bayin'--for one instant minute pay
attintion," exclaimed Mr. Toole, eagerly, for he perceived that she had
commenced her retreat. "Tare an' owns! divine crature, it's not _goin'_
you are?"
"I have no notions, good or bad, Mr. Toole," replied the young lady,
with great volubility and dignity, "and no idaya in the wide world for
to be standing here prating, and talking, and losing my time with such
as you--if my business is neglected, it is not on your back the blame
will light. I have my work, and my duty, and my business to mind, and
if I do not mind them, no one else will do it for me; and I am
astonished and surprised beyant telling, so I am, at the impittence of
some people, thinking that the likes of me has nothing else to be doing
but listening to them discoorsing in a dirty ditch, and more particular
when their conduct has been sich as some people's that is old enough at
any rate to know better."
The fair handmaiden had now resumed her retreat; so that Larry, having
raised himself from his lowly hiding-place, was obliged to follow for
some twenty yards before he again came up with her.
"Wait one half second--stop a bit, for the Lord's sake," exclaimed he,
with most earnest energy.
"Well, wonst for all, Mr. Laurence," exclaimed Mistress Carey severely,
"what _is_ your business with me?"
"Jist this," rejoined Larry, with a mysterious wink, and lowering his
voice--"a letter to the young mistress from"--here he glanced jealously
round, and then bringing himself close beside her, he whispered in her
ear--"from Mr. O'Connor--whisht--not a word--into her own hand, mind."
The young woman took the letter, read the superscription, and forthwith
placed it in her bosom, and rearranged her kerchief.
"Never fear--never fear," said she, "Miss Mary shall have it in half an
hour. And how," added she, maliciously, "_is_ Mr. O'Connor? He is a
lovely gentleman, is not he?"
"He's uncommonly well in health, the Lord be praised," replied Mr.
Toole, with very unaccountable severity.
"Well, for my part," continued the girl, "I never seen the man yet to
put beside him--unless, indeed, the young master may be. He's a very
pretty young man--and so shocking agreeable."
Mr. Toole nodded a pettish assent, coughed, muttered something to
himself, and then inquired when he should come for an answer.
"I'll have an answer to-morrow morning--maybe this evening," pursued
she; "but do not be coming so close up to the house. Who knows who
might be on our backs in an instant here? I'll walk down whenever I get
it to the two mulberries at the old gate; and I'll go there either in
the morning at this hour, or else a little before supper-time in the
evening."
Mr. Toole, having gazed rapturously at the object of his tenderest
aspirations during the delivery of this address, was at its termination
so far transported by his feelings, as absolutely to make a kind of
indistinct and flurried attempt to kiss her.
"Well, I purtest, this is overbearing," exclaimed the virgin; and at
the same time bestowing Mr. Toole a sound box on the ear, she tripped
lightly toward the house, leaving her admirer a prey to what are
usually termed conflicting emotions.
When Sir Richard returned to his dressing-room at about noon, to
prepare for dinner, he had hardly walked to the toilet, and rung for
his Italian servant, when a knock was heard at his chamber door, and,
in obedience to his summons, Mistress Carey entered.
"Well, Carey," inquired the baronet, as soon as she had appeared, "do
you bring me any news?"
The lady's-maid closed the door carefully.
"News?" she repeated. "Indeed, but I do, Sir Richard--and bad news, I'm
afeard, sir. Mr. O'Connor has written a great long letter to my
mistress, if you please, sir."
"Have you gotten it?" inquired the baronet, quickly.
"Yes, sir," rejoined she, "safe and sound here in my breast, Sir
Richard."
"Your young mistress has not opened it--or read it?" inquired he.
"Oh, dear! Sir Richard, it is after all you said to me only the other
day," rejoined she, in virtuous horror. "I hope I know my place better
than to be fetching and carrying notes and letters, and all soarts,
unnonst to my master. Don't I know, sir, very well how that you're the
best judge what's fitting and what isn't for the sight of your own
precious child? and wouldn't I be very unnatural, and very hardened and
ungrateful, if I was to be making secrets in the family, and if any
ill-will or misfortunes was to come out of it? I purtest I never--never
would forgive myself--never--no more I ought--never."
Here Mistress Carey absolutely wept.
"Give me the letter," said Sir Richard, drily.
The damsel handed it to him; and he, having glanced at the seal and the
address, deposited the document safely in a small leathern box which
stood upon his toilet, and having locked it safely therein, he turned
to the maid, and patting her on the cheek with a smile, he remarked,--
"Be a good girl, Carey, and you shall find you have consulted your
interest best."
Here Mistress Carey was about to do justice to her own
disinterestedness in a very strong protestation, but the baronet
checked her with an impatient wave of the hand, and continued,--
"Say not on any account one word to any person touching this letter,
until you have your directions from me. Stay--this will buy you a
ribbon. Good-bye--be a good girl."
So saying, the baronet placed a guinea in the girl's hand, which, with
a courtesy, having transferred to her pocket, she withdrew rather
hurriedly, for she heard the valet in the next room.