Fortune, as if she had been piqued by Mr. Percy’s disdain, and jealous
of his professed reliance upon the superior power of her rival,
Prudence, seemed now determined to humble him and all his family, to try
if she could not force him to make some of the customary sacrifices of
principle to propitiate her favour.
Unsuspicious of the designs that were carrying forward against him in
secret, Mr. Percy had quite forgotten his fears that his wicked relation
Sir Robert Percy, and Solicitor Sharpe, might take advantage of the loss
of that deed which had never been found since the night of the fire at
Percy-hall. It was nearly two years afterwards that Mr. Percy received
a letter from his cousin, Sir Robert, informing him that he had been
advised to dispute the title to the Percy estate, that he had the
opinion of the first lawyers in England in his favour, and that he had
given directions to his solicitor, Mr. Sharpe, to commence a suit to
reinstate the lawful heir in the property of his ancestors.--Sir Robert
Percy added something about his reluctance to go to law, and a vast
deal about candour, justice, and family friendship, which it would be
needless and unreasonable to repeat.
Fresh search was now made for the lost deed, but in vain; and in vain
Rosamond reproached herself with having betrayed the secret of that loss
to the revengeful attorney.--The ensuing post brought notice from Mr.
Sharpe that proceedings were commenced.--In Sir Robert’s letter, though
not in the attorney’s, there was obviously left an opening for an offer
to compromise; this was done either with intent to lure Mr. Percy on to
make an offer, which might afterwards appear against him, or it was done
in the hope that, intimidated by the fear of an expensive and hazardous
suit, Mr. Percy might give up half his estate, to secure the quiet
possession of the remainder. But they knew little of Mr. Percy who
argued in this manner: he was neither to be lured nor intimidated from
his right--all compromise, “all terms of commerce he disdained.” He sent
no answer, but prepared to make a vigorous defence. For this purpose he
wrote to his son Alfred, desiring him to spare no pains or expense,
to engage the best counsel, and to put them in full possession of the
cause. Alfred regretted that he was not of sufficient standing at the
bar to take the lead in conducting his father’s cause: he, however,
prepared all the documents with great care and ability. From time to
time, as the business went on, he wrote to his father in good spirits,
saying that he had excellent hopes they should succeed, notwithstanding
the unfortunate loss of the deed; that the more he considered the case,
the more clearly the justice of their cause and the solidity of their
right appeared. Alas! Alfred showed himself to be but a young lawyer,
in depending so much upon right and justice, while a point of law
was against him. It is unnecessary, and would be equally tedious and
unintelligible to most readers, to dwell upon the details of this suit.
Contrary to the usual complaints of the law’s delay, this cause went
through the courts in a short time, because Mr. Percy did not make use
of any subterfuge to protract the business. A decree was given in favour
of Sir Robert Percy, and he became the legal possessor of the great
Percy estate in Hampshire, which had been so long the object of his
machinations.
Thus, at one stroke, the Percy family fell from the station and
affluence which they had so long, and, in the opinion of all who knew
them, so well enjoyed. Great was the regret among the higher classes,
and great, indeed, the lamentations of the poor in the neighbourhood,
when the decree was made known. It seemed as if the change in their
situation was deplored as a general misfortune, and as if it were felt
by all more than by the sufferers themselves, who were never seen to
give way to weak complaints, or heard to utter an invective against
their adversary. This magnanimity increased the public sympathy, and
pity for them was soon converted into indignation against Sir Robert
Percy. Naturally insolent, and now elated with success, he wrote post
after post to express his impatience to come and take possession of his
estate, and to hasten the departure of his relations from the family
seat. This was as cruel as it was unnecessary, for from the moment when
they learnt the event of the trial, they had been occupied with the
preparations for their departure; for the resignation of all the
conveniences and luxuries they possessed, all the pleasures associated
with the idea of home; for parting with all the animate and inanimate
objects to which they had long and early habits of affection and
attachment. This family had never been proud in prosperity, nor were
they abject in adversity: they submitted with fortitude to their fate;
yet they could not, without regret, leave the place where they had spent
so many happy years.
It had been settled that the improvements which Mr. Percy had made on
the estate, the expense of the buildings and furniture at Percy-hall, of
which a valuation had been made, should be taken in lieu of all arrears
of rent to which Sir Robert might lay claim. In consequence of this
award, Mr. Percy and his family were anxious to leave every thing about
the house and place in perfect order, that they might fulfil punctually
their part of the agreement. The evening before they were to quit
Percy-hall, they went into every room, to take a review of the whole.
The house was peculiarly convenient and well arranged. Mr. Percy had
spared nothing to render it in every respect agreeable, not only to his
guests, but to his family, to make his children happy in their home. His
daughters’ apartments he had fitted up for them in the neatest manner,
and they had taken pleasure in ornamenting them with their own work and
drawings. They felt very melancholy the evening they were to take leave
of these for ever. They took down some of their drawings, and all the
little trophies preserved from childhood, memorials of early ingenuity
or taste, which could be of no use or value to any one except to
themselves; every thing else they agreed to leave as usual, to show how
kind their father had been to them--a sentiment well suited to their
good and innocent minds. They opened their writing-tables and their
drawing-boxes for the last time; for the last time they put fresh
flowers into their flower-pots, and, with a sigh, left their little
apartments.
All the family then went out to walk in the park and through the
shrubberies. It was a delightful summer’s evening; the birds were
singing--“Caring little,” as Rosamond said, “for our going away.” The
sun was just setting, and they thought they had never seen the place
look so beautiful. Indeed Mr. and Mrs. Percy had, for many years,
delighted in cultivating the natural beauties of this picturesque
situation, and their improvements were now beginning to appear to
advantage. But they were never to enjoy the success of their labours!
The old steward followed the family in this walk. He stopped every now
and then to deplore over each fine tree or shrub as they passed, and
could scarcely refrain from bursting into invectives against _him_ that
was coming after them into possession.
“The whole country cries shame upon the villain,” John began; but Mr.
Percy, with a smile, stopped him.
“Let us bear our misfortunes, John, with a good grace; let us be
thankful for the happiness which we have enjoyed, and submit
ourselves to the will of Providence. Without any hypocrisy or affected
resignation, I say, at this instant, what with my whole heart I feel,
that I submit, without repining, to the will of God, and firmly believe
that all is for the best.”
“And so I strive to do,” said John. “But only, I say, if it had pleased
God to order it otherwise, it’s a pity the wicked should come _just_
after us to enjoy themselves, when they have robbed us of all.”
“Not of all,” said Mr. Percy.
“What is it they have not robbed us of?” cried John: “not a thing but
they must have from us.”
“No; the best of all things we keep for ourselves--it cannot be taken
from us--a good conscience.”
“Worth all the rest--that’s true,” said John; “and that is what he will
never have who is coming here to-morrow--never--never! They say he don’t
sleep at nights. But I’ll say no more about him, only--he’s not a good
man.”
“I am sure, John, you are not a good courtier,” said Mrs. Percy,
smiling: “you ought to prepare to pay your court to your new master.”
“_My_ new master!” cried John, growing red: “the longest day ever I
live, I’ll never have a new master! All that I have in the world came
from you, and I’ll never have another master. Sure you will let me
follow you? I will be no trouble: though but little, may be I can do
something still. Surely, madam--surely, sir--young ladies, you’ll speak
for me--I shall be let to follow the fortunes of the family, and go
along with you into _banishment_.”
“My good John,” said Mr. Percy, “since you desire to follow us into
_banishment_, as you call it, you shall; and as long as we have any
thing upon earth, you shall never want. You must stay here to-morrow,
after we are gone, to give up possession.” (John could not stand
this, but turned away to hide his face.) “When your business is done,”
continued Mr. Percy, “you may set out and follow us as soon as you
please.”
“I thank you, sir, kindly,” said John, with a most grateful bow, that
took in all the family, “that’s new life to me.”
He said not a word more during the rest of the walk, except just as he
passed near the beach where the ship was wrecked, he exclaimed, “There
was the first beginning of all our misfortune: who would have thought
that when we gave them shelter we should be turned out so soon
ourselves? ‘twas that drunken rascal of a Dutch carpenter was the cause
of all!”
The next morning the whole family set out in an open carriage, which
had been made for the purpose of carrying as many of the young people
as possible upon excursions of pleasure. It was a large sociable, which
they used to call their _caravan_.
At the great gate of the park old John stopped the carriage, and leaning
over to his master, whispered, “I beg your pardon, sir, but God bless
you, and don’t drive through the village: if you please, take the back
road; for I’ve just learned that _he_ is on the great road, and as
near hand as the turn at the school-house, and they say he wants to be
driving in his coach and four through the village as you are all going
out--now I wouldn’t for any thing he had that triumph over us.”
“Thank you, good John,” said Mr. Percy, “but such triumphs cannot
mortify us.”
Poor John reluctantly opened the gate and let the carriage pass--they
drove on--they cast a lingering look behind as they quitted the park--
--“Must I then leave thee, Paradise?”--
As they passed through the village the poor people came out of their
houses to take leave of their excellent landlord; they flocked round the
carriage, and hung upon it till it stopped, and then, with one voice,
they poured forth praises, and blessings, and prayers for better days.
Just at this moment Sir Robert Percy made his appearance. His equipage
was splendid; his coachman drove his four fine horses down the street,
the middle of which was cleared in an instant. The crowd gazed at the
show as it passed--Sir Robert gave a signal to his coachman to drive
slower, that he might longer enjoy the triumph--he put his head out of
the coach window, but no one cried, “God bless him!” His insolence was
obviously mortified as he passed the Percy family, for Mr. Percy bowed
with an air of dignity and cheerfulness which seemed to say, “My fortune
is yours--but I am still myself.” Some of the spectators clapped their
hands, and some wept.
Mr. Percy seemed to have prepared his mind for every circumstance of
his departure, and to be perfectly composed, or at least master of his
feelings; but a small incident, which had not been foreseen, suddenly
moved him almost to tears: as they crossed the bridge, which was at the
farthest end of the village, they heard the muffled bells of the church
toll as if for a public calamity [Footnote: On Mr. Morris’s departure
from Piercefield the same circumstance happened.]. Instantly
recollecting the resentment to which these poor people were exposing
themselves, by this mark of their affection and regret, Mr. Percy went
by a short path to the church as quickly as possible, and had the bells
unmuffled.