Tales And Novels, Volume 1 by Maria Edgeworth

M >> Maria Edgeworth >> Tales And Novels, Volume 1

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"Is not this an odd rencontre?" whispered Mrs. Holloway to Mr. Supine, as
she drew him to a recessed window, commodious for gossiping: "I shall be
called a tell-tale, I know, at Westminster; but I shall tell our story,
notwithstanding. I would keep any other boy's secret; but Howard is such
a saint: and I hate saints."

A knock at the door interrupted Mrs. Holloway; she looked out of the
window. "Oh, here he comes, up the steps," continued she, "after his
sober evening promenade, and _his_ Mr. Russell with--and, I declare, the
mulatto woman with him. Now for it!"

Howard entered the room, went up to his aunt, and said, in a low voice,--

"Ma'am, poor Cuba is come; she is rather tired with walking, and she is
gone to rest herself in the front parlour."

"Her lameness, though," pursued little Oliver, who followed Howard into
the room, "is almost well. I just asked her how high she thought the
coach was from which she was--"

A look from Howard made Oliver stop short; for though he did not
understand the full meaning of it, he saw it was designed to silence him.
Howard was afraid of betraying Holloway's secret to Mr. Supine or to Mrs.
Holloway: his aunt sent him out of the room with some message to Cuba,
which gave Mrs. Holloway an opportunity of opening her business.

"Pray," said she, "might I presume to ask--for I perceive the young
gentleman has some secret to keep from me, which he may have good reasons
for--may I, just to satisfy my own mind, presume to ask whether, as her
name leads one to guess, your Cuba, Mrs. Howard, is a mulatto woman?"

Surprised by the manner of the question, Mrs. Howard coldly replied,
"Yes, madam--a mulatto woman."

"And she is lame, I think, sir, you mentioned?" persisted the curious
lady, turning to little Oliver.

"Yes, she's a little lame still; but she will soon be quite well."

"Oh! then, her lameness came, I presume, from an accident, sir, and not
from her birth?"

"From an accident, ma'am."

"Oh! an accident--a fall--a fall from a coach--from a stage-coach,
perhaps," continued Mrs. Holloway, smiling significantly at Mr. Supine:
"you take me for a conjuror, young gentleman, I see by your
astonishment," continued she to Oliver; "but a little bird told me the
whole story; and I see Mrs. Howard knows how to keep a secret as well as
myself."

Mrs. Howard looked for an explanation.

"Nay," said Mrs. Holloway, "you know best, Mrs. Howard; but as we're all
_out of school_ now, I shall not be afraid to mention such a little
affair, even before the doctor's lady; for, to be sure, she would never
let it reach the doctor's ears."

"Really, ma'am," said Mrs. Howard, "you puzzle me a little; I wish you
would explain yourself: I don't know what it is that you would not have
reach the doctor's ears."

"You don't?--well, then, your nephew must have been very clever, to have
kept you in the dark; mustn't he, Mr. Supine?"

"I always, you know, thought the young gentleman very _clever_, ma'am,"
said Mr. Supine, with a malicious emphasis.

Mrs. Howard's colour now rose, and with a mixture of indignation and
anxiety she pressed both Mr. Supine and Mrs. Holloway to be explicit. "I
hate mysteries!" said she. Mrs. Holloway still hung back, saying it was a
tender point; and hinting, that it would lessen her esteem and confidence
in one most dear to her, to hear the whole truth.

"Do you mean Howard, ma'am?" exclaimed little Oliver: "oh, speak! speak!
it's impossible Charles Howard can have done any thing wrong."

"Go for him, my dear," said Mrs. Howard, resuming her composure; "let him
be present. I hate mysteries."

"But, my dear Mrs. Howard," whispered Mrs. Holloway, "you don't consider;
you'll get your nephew into a shocking scrape; the story will infallibly
go from Mrs. B. to Dr. B. You are warm, and don't consider consequences."

"Charles," said Mrs. Howard to her nephew, the moment he appeared, "from
the time you were five years old, till this instant, I have never known
you tell a falsehood; I should, therefore, be very absurd, as well as
very unjust, if I were to doubt your integrity. Tell me--have you got
into any difficulties? I would rather hear of them from yourself, than
from any body else. Is there any mystery about overturning a stage-coach,
that you know of, and that you have concealed from me?"

"There is a mystery, ma'am, about overturning a stage-coach," replied
Howard, in a firm tone of voice; "but when I assure you that it is no
mystery of mine--nothing in which I have myself any concern--I am sure
that you will believe me, my dear aunt, and that you will press me no
further."

"Not a word further, not a frown further," said his aunt, with a smile of
entire confidence; in which Mr. Russell joined, but which appeared
incomprehensible to Mr. Supine.

"Very satisfactory indeed!" said that gentleman, leaning back in the
chair; "I never heard any thing more satisfactory to my mind!"

"Perfectly satisfactory, upon my word!" echoed Mrs. Holloway; but no
looks, no inuendoes, could now disturb Mrs. Howard's security, or
disconcert the resolute simplicity which appeared in her nephew's
countenance. Mrs. Holloway, internally devoured by curiosity, was
compelled to submit in silence. This restraint soon became so irksome to
her, that she shortened her visit as much as she decently could.

In crossing the passage, to go to her carriage, she caught a glimpse of
the mulatto woman, who was going into a parlour. Resolute, at all
hazards, to satisfy herself, Mrs. Holloway called to the retreating
Cuba--began by asking some civil questions about her health; then spoke
of the accident she had lately met with; and, in short, by a skilful
cross-examination, drew her whole story from her. The gratitude with
which the poor woman spoke of Howard's humanity was by no means pleasing
to Mr. Supine.

"Then it was not he who overturned the coach?" said Mrs. Holloway.

The woman eagerly replied, "Oh no, madam!" and proceeded to draw, as well
as she could, a description of the youth who had been mounted upon the
coach-box: she had seen him only by the light of the moon, and afterwards
by the light of a lantern; but she recollected his figure so well, and
described him so accurately, that Mr. Supine knew the picture instantly,
and Mrs. Holloway whispered to him, "Can it be Augustus?"

"Mr. Holloway!--Impossible!--I suppose--"

But the woman interrupted him by saying that she recollected to have
heard the young gentleman called by that name by the coachman.

The mother and the tutor were nearly alike confounded by this discovery.
Mrs. Holloway got into her carriage, and, in their way home, Mr. Supine
represented, that he should be ruined for ever with the alderman, if this
transaction came to his knowledge; that, in fact, it was a mere boyish
frolic; but that the alderman might not consider it in that light, and
would, perhaps, make Mr. Augustus feel his serious displeasure. The
foolish mother, out of mistaken good-nature, at length promised to be
silent upon the subject. But, before he slept, Alderman Holloway heard
the whole story. The footman, who had attended the carriage, was at the
door when Mrs. Holloway was speaking to the mulatto woman, and had
listened to every word that was said. This footman was in the habit of
telling his master, when he attended him at night, all the news which he
had been able to collect in the day. Mr. Supine was no favourite of his;
because, whenever the tutor came to the house, he gave a great deal of
trouble, being too indolent to do any thing for himself, and yet not
sufficiently rich, or sufficiently generous, to pay the usual premiums
for the active civility of servants. This footman was not sorry to have
an opportunity of repeating any story that might injure Mr. Supine with
his master. Alderman Holloway heard it under the promise of concealing
the name of the person who had given him the information, and resolved to
discover the truth of the affair the next day, when he was to visit his
son at Westminster.

But we must now return to Mrs. Howard's. We mentioned that Mrs. B. spent
the evening with her. Dr. B., soon after Mrs. Holloway went away, called
to take his lady home: he had been engaged to spend the evening at a card
assembly; but, as he was a man who liked agreeable conversation better
than cards, he had made his escape from a rout, to spend half an hour
with Mrs. Howard and Mr. Russell. The doctor was a man of various
literature; able to appreciate others, he was not insensible to the
pleasure of seeing himself appreciated. Half an hour passes quickly in
agreeable conversation: the doctor got into an argument, concerning the
propriety of the distinction made by some late metaphysical writers,
between imagination and fancy. Thence he was led to some critical remarks
upon Warton's beautiful Ode to Fancy; then to the never-ending debate
upon original genius; including also the doctrine of hereditary temper
and dispositions, which the doctor warmly supported, and which Mrs.
Howard coolly questioned.

In the midst of their conversation, they were suddenly interrupted by a
groan. They all looked round to see whence it came. It came from little
Oliver: he was sitting at a little table at the farther end of the room,
reading so intently in a large book that he saw nothing else: a long
unsnuffed candle, with a perilous fiery summit to its black wick, stood
before him, and his left arm embraced a thick china jar, against which he
leaned his head. There was, by common consent, a general silence in the
room, whilst every one looked at Oliver, as at a picture. Mrs. Howard
moved gently round behind his chair, to see what he was reading: the
doctor followed her. It was the account of the execution of two rebel
Koromantyn negroes, related in Edwards's History of the West Indies[7].
To try whether it would interrupt Oliver's deep attention, Mrs. Howard
leaned over him, and snuffed his dim candle; but the light was lost upon
him--he did not feel the obligation. Dr. B. then put his hand upon the
jar, which he pulled from Oliver's embrace. "Be quiet! I must finish
this!" cried Oliver, still holding fast the jar, and keeping his eyes
upon the book. The doctor gave a second pull at the jar, and the little
boy made an impatient push with his elbow; then casting his eye upon the
large hand which pulled the jar, he looked up, surprised, in the doctor's
face.

[Footnote 7: Vol. ii. p. 57, second edition.]

The nice china jar, which Oliver had held so sturdily, was very precious
to him. His uncle had just sent him two jars of fine West India
sweetmeats. One of these he had shared with his companions: the other he
had kept, to give to Mrs. Howard, who had once said, in his hearing, that
she was fond of West India sweetmeats. She accepted Oliver's little
present. Children sometimes feel as much pleasure in giving away
sweetmeats as in eating them; and Mrs. Howard too well understood the art
of education, even in trifles, to deny to grateful and generous feelings
their natural and necessary exercise. A child can show gratitude and
generosity only in trifles.

"Are these all the sweetmeats that you have left, Oliver?" said Mrs.
Howard.

"Yes--all."

"Was not Rousseau wrong, Dr. B.," said Mrs. Howard, "when he asserted,
that no child ever gives away _his last mouthful_ of any thing good?"

"Of any thing _good_!" said the doctor, laughing; "when I have tasted
these sweetmeats, I shall he a better judge."

"You shall taste them this minute, then," said Mrs. Howard; and she rang
for a plate, whilst the doctor, to little Oliver's great amusement,
exhibited various pretended signs of impatience, as Mrs. Howard
deliberately untied the cover of the jar. One cover after another she
slowly took off; at length the last transparent cover was lifted up: the
doctor peeped in; but lo! instead of sweetmeats there appeared nothing
but paper. One crumpled roll of paper after another Mrs. Howard pulled
out; still no sweetmeats. The jar was entirely stuffed with paper, to the
very bottom. Oliver was silent with amazement.

"The sides of the jar are quite clean," said Howard.

"But the inside of the paper that covered it is stained with sweetmeats,"
said Dr. B.

"There must have been sweetmeats in it lately," said Mrs. Howard,"
because the jar smells so strongly of them."

Amongst the pieces of crumpled paper which had been pulled out of the
jar, Dr. B. espied one, on which there appeared some writing: he looked
it over.

"Humph! What have we here? What's this? What can this he about a
lottery?--tickets, price half a guinea--prizes-gold watch!--silver
ditto--chased tooth-pick case--buckles--knee-buckles. What is all
this?--April 10th, 1797--the drawing to begin--prizes to be delivered at
Westminster school, by Aaron Carat, jeweller? Hey, young gentlemen,"
cried Dr. B., looking at Oliver and Charles, "do you know any thing of
this lottery?"

"I have no concern in it, sir, I assure you," said Howard.

"Nor I, thank goodness--I mean, thank you, Charles," exclaimed Oliver;
"for you hindered me from putting into the lottery: how very lucky I was
to take your advice!"

"How very wise, you should say, Oliver," said Dr. B. "I must inquire into
this business; I must find out who ordered these things from Mr. Aaron
Carat. There shall be no lotteries, no gaming at Westminster school,
whilst I have power to prevent it. To-morrow morning I'll inquire into
this affair; and to-morrow morning we shall also know, my little fellow,
what became of your sweetmeats."

"Oh, never mind _that_," cried the good-natured Oliver; "don't say any
thing, pray, sir, about my sweetmeats: I don't mind about them; I know
already--I guess now, who took them; therefore you need not ask; I dare
say it was only meant for a joke."

Dr. B. made no reply; but folded up the paper which he had been reading,
put it into his pocket, and soon after took his leave.

Lord Rawson was one of those young men who measure their own merit and
felicity by the number of miles which their horses can go in a day; he
undertook to drive his friend up from Marryborough to Westminster, a
distance of forty miles, in five hours. The arrival of his lordship's gig
was a signal, for which several people were in waiting at Westminster
school. The stage-coachman was impatiently waiting to demand his money
from Holloway. Mr. Carat, the jeweller, was arrived, and eager to settle
with Mr. Holloway about the lottery: he had brought the prizes in a small
case, to be delivered, upon receiving from Holloway the money for all the
tickets of which he had disposed. Dr. B. was waiting for the arrival of
Mr. Holloway, as he had determined to collect all his pupils together,
and to examine into the lottery business. Little Oliver was also watching
for Holloway, to prevent mischief, and to assure him of forgiveness about
the sweetmeats.

Lord Rawson's dog-cart arrived. Holloway saw the stage-coachman as he
alighted, and, abruptly turning from him, shook hands with little Oliver,
saying, "You look as if you had been waiting for me."

"Yes," said Oliver: "but I can't say what I want to say before every
body."

"I'll wait upon you presently," said Holloway, escaping from the
coachman. As he crossed the hall, he descried Mr. Carat, and a crowd of
boys surrounding him, crying, "Mr. Carat's come--he has brought the
prizes!--he has brought the prizes! he'll show them all as soon as you've
settled with him." Holloway called to the Jew; but little Oliver insisted
upon being heard first.

"You must hear me: I have something to say to you about the prizes--about
the lottery."

The words arrested Holloway's attention: he followed Oliver; heard with
surprise and consternation the history of the paper which had been found
in the jar, by Dr. B. "I've done for myself, now, faith!" he exclaimed;
"I suppose the doctor knows all about the hand _I_ have in the lottery."

"No," replied Oliver, "he does not."

"Why, _you_ must have known it; and did not he question you and Howard?"

"Yes; but when we told him that we had nothing to do with it, he did not
press us farther."

"You are really a noble little fellow," exclaimed Holloway, "to bear
me no malice for the many ill turns I have done you: this last has
fallen upon myself, as ill-luck would have it: but before we go any
farther--your sweetmeats are safe in the press, in my room; I didn't mean
to steal them; only to plague you, child:--but you have your revenge
now."

"I don't want any revenge, indeed," said Oliver, "for I'm never happy
when I've quarrelled with any body: and even when people quarrel with me,
I don't feel quite sure that I'm in the right, which makes me
uncomfortable; and, besides, I don't want to find out that they are quite
in the wrong; and that makes me uncomfortable the other way. After all,
quarrelling and bearing malice are very disagreeable things, somehow or
other. Don't you, when you have made it up with people, and shaken hands,
Holloway--don't you feel quite light, and ready to jump again? So shake
hands, if you are not above shaking hands with such a little boy as I am;
and I shall never think again about the sweetmeats, or old _fag_ times."

Holloway could not help feeling touched. "Here's my hand," cried he, "I'm
sorry I've tormented you so often; I'll never plague you any more. But
now--I don't know what upon earth to do. Where's Charles Howard? If he
can't help me, I'm undone. I have got into more scrapes than I can get
out of, I know. I wish I could see Howard."

"I'll run and bring him to you; he's the best person at knowing what
should be done--at least for me, I know--that ever I saw."

Holloway abruptly began, as soon as Howard came up to him: "Howard," said
he, "you know this plaguy lottery business--but you don't know half yet:
here's Carat come to be paid for his tickets; and here's that dunning
stage-coachman sticks close to me for his five guineas; and not one
farthing have I upon earth."

"Not a farthing! but you don't mean that you have not the money for Mr.
Carat?"

"But I _do_ though."

"Why, you cannot have spent it since yesterday morning?"

"No; but I have lost half and lent half; and the half that I have lent is
gone for ever, I am afraid, as much as that which I lost."

"Whom did you lend the money to? How did you lose it?"

"I lost part to Sir John O'Shannon, last night, at billiards--more fool I
to play, only because I wanted to cut a figure amongst those fine people
at Marryborough. I wonder my father lets me go there; I know I sha'n't go
back there this Easter, unless Lord Rawson makes me an apology, I can
tell him. I've as good a right to be upon my high horse as he has; for
though his father's an earl, my father's a great deal richer, I know; and
has lent him a great deal of money, too, and that's the only reason he's
civil to us; but I can tell him--"

Here Howard brought the angry Holloway from his high horse, by asking
what all this had to do with Mr. Carat, who was waiting to be paid?

"Why, don't I explain to you," said Holloway, "that I lent _him_--Lord
Rawson, I mean--all the money I had left yesterday, and I couldn't get it
out of him again, though I told him my distress about the stage-coachman?
Did you ever know any thing so selfish? Did you ever know any thing so
shabby, so shameful? And then to make me his butt, as he did last night
at supper, because there were two or three dashing young men by; I think
more of _that_ than all the rest. Do you know, he asked me to eat custard
with my apple-pie, just to point me out for an alderman's son; and when I
only differed from him about Captain Shouldham's puppy's ears, Lord
Rawson said, to be sure, I must know about dog's ears, just to put me in
mind that I was a school-boy; but I'll never go to Marryborough any more,
unless he begs my pardon. I've no notion of being a humble friend; but it
does not signify being in a passion about it now," continued Holloway.
"What I want you, Howard, to do for me is, just to think; for I can't
think at present, I'm in such a hurry, with all these things coming
across me at once. What can I do to find money for the stage-coachman and
for Mr. Carat? Why both together come to fifteen guineas. And what can I
do about Dr. B.? And, do you know, my father is coming here this very
morning. How shall I manage? He'd never forgive me: at least he'd not
give me any money for I don't know how long, if these things were to come
out. What would you advise me to do?"

Howard, with his usual honest policy, advised Holloway at once to tell
all the circumstances to his father. Holloway was at first much alarmed
at this proposal, and insisted upon it that this method would not _do at
all_ with the alderman, though it might do very well with such a woman as
Mrs. Howard. At length, however, overcome, partly by the arguments, and
partly by the persuasion of his new adviser, Holloway determined upon his
confession.

Alderman Holloway arrived, and was beginning to talk to Dr. B. of his
son's proficiency in his studies, when the young gentleman made his
appearance, with a countenance extremely embarrassed and agitated. The
sight of Dr. B. deprived Holloway of courage to speak. The doctor fixed
his penetrating eye upon the pale culprit, who immediately stopped short
in the middle of the room, stammering out, "I came to speak, sir--I had
something to say to my father, sir--I came, if you please, to speak to my
father, sir." To Holloway's utter astonishment, Dr. B.'s countenance and
manner suddenly changed at these words; all his severity vanished; and,
with a look and voice the most encouraging, he led the abashed youth
towards his father.

"You came to speak to your father, sir? Speak to him then without fear,
without reserve: you will certainly find in a father your most indulgent
friend. I'll leave you together."

This opening of the case by Dr. B. was of equal advantage both to the
father and to the son. Alderman Holloway, though without literature, was
not without understanding: his affection for his son made him quickly
comprehend the good sense of the doctor's hint. The alderman was not
_surprised_ by the story of the overturn of the stage-coach, because he
had heard it before from his footman. But the lottery transaction with
the Jew--and, above all, with the loss and loan of so much money to his
friend, Lord Rawson--struck him with some astonishment; yet he commanded
his temper, which was naturally violent; and, after a constrained
silence, he begged his son to summon Mr. Supine. "At least," cried the
alderman, "I've a right to be in a passion with that careless, indolent,
dilettanti puppy, whom I've been paying all this while for taking such
care of you. I wish I had hold of his German flute at this instant. You
are very right, Augustus, to come like a man, and tell me all these
things; and now I must tell you, that some of them I had heard of
before. I wish I had that Jew, that Mr. Carat of yours, here! and that
stage-coachman, who had the impertinence to take you out with him at
night. But it's all Mr. Supine's fault--and mine, for not choosing a
better tutor for you. As to Lord Rawson, I can't blame you either much
for that, for I encouraged the connexion, I must own. I'm glad you have
quarrelled with him, however; and pray look out for a better friend as
fast as possible. You were very right to tell me all these things; on
that consideration, and that only, I'll lend my hand to getting you out
of these scrapes."

"For that," cried Holloway, "I may thank Howard, then; for he advised and
urged me to tell you all this at once."

"Call him; let me thank him," said the alderman; "he's an excellent young
man then--call him."

Dr. B. now entered the room with little Oliver.

When Holloway returned with Howard, he beheld the stage-coachman standing
silent on one side of his father; Mr. Carat, the Jew, on the other side,
jabbering an unintelligible vindication of himself; whilst Dr. B. was
contemplating the box of lottery prizes, which lay open upon the table.
Mr. Supine, leaning against the chimney-piece, appeared in the attitude
of an Antinous in despair.

"Come, my little friend," said Dr. B. to Oliver, "you did not put into
the lottery, I understand. Choose from amongst these things whatever you
please. It is better to trust to prudence than fortune, you see. Mr.
Howard, I know that I am rewarding you, at this instant, in the manner
you best like, and best deserve."

There was a large old-fashioned chased gold toothpick-case, on which
Oliver immediately fixed his eye. After examining it very carefully, he
drew the doctor aside, and, after some consultation, Oliver left the room
hastily; whilst the alderman, with all the eloquence of which he was
master, expressed his gratitude to Howard for the advice which he had
given his son. "Cultivate this young gentleman's friendship," added he,
turning to Holloway: "he has not a title; but even _I_, Augustus, am now
ready to acknowledge he is worth twenty Lord Rawsons. Had he a title, he
would grace it; and that's as much as I can say for any man."

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