Tales and Novels, Vol. VII by Maria Edgeworth

M >> Maria Edgeworth >> Tales and Novels, Vol. VII

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The next morning the family saw the melancholy spectacle of a heap of ruins
in the place of that library which they all loved so much. However, it was
their disposition to make the best of misfortunes; instead of deploring
what they had lost, they rejoiced in having suffered so little and saved so
much. They particularly rejoiced that no lives had been sacrificed;--Mr.
Percy declared, that for his own part, he would willingly undergo much
greater pecuniary loss, to have had the satisfaction of seeing in all his
family so much presence of mind, and so much freedom from selfishness, as
they had shown upon this occasion.

When he said something of this sort before his servants, who were all
assembled, it was observed that one of them, a very old nurse, looked
immediately at Caroline, then lifted up her hands and eyes to heaven, in
silent gratitude. Upon inquiry it appeared, that in the confusion and
terror, when the alarm had first been raised, the nurse had been forgotten,
or it had been taken for granted that she had gone home to her own cottage
the preceding evening.

Caroline, however, recollected her, and ran to her room, which was in the
attic story over the library.

When Caroline opened the door she could scarcely see the bed.--She made
her way to it, however, got old Martha out of the room, and with great
difficulty brought the bewildered, decrepit creature, safely down a small
staircase, which the flames had not then reached.--Nothing could exceed her
gratitude; with eyes streaming with tears, and a head shaking with strong
emotion, she delighted in relating all these circumstances, and declared
that none but Miss Caroline could have persuaded her to go down that
staircase, when she saw all below in flames.

Mr. Percy's first care was to look over his papers, to see whether any were
missing.--To his consternation, one valuable deed, a deed by which he held
the whole Percy estate, was nowhere to be found. He had particular reason
for being alarmed by the loss of this paper.--The heir-at-law to this
estate had long been lying in wait to make an attack upon him.--Aware of
this, Mr. Percy took all prudent means to conceal the loss of this paper,
and he cautioned his whole family never to mention it.

It happened about this time, that a poor old man, to whom Buckhurst
Falconer had given that puppy which his brother John had so bitterly
regretted, came to Mr. Percy to complain that the dog had brought him into
great trouble. The puppy had grown into a dog, and of this the old man had
forgotten to give notice to the tax-gatherer. Mr. Percy perceiving clearly
that the man had no design to defraud, and pitying him for having thus, by
his ignorance or carelessness, subjected himself to the heavy penalty of
ten pounds, which, without selling his only cow, he was unable to pay,
advised him to state the simple fact in a petition, and Mr. Percy promised
to transmit this petition to government, with a memorial against the
tax-gatherer, who had been accused, in many instances, of oppressive and
corrupt conduct. He had hitherto defied all complainants, because he was
armed strong in law by an attorney who was his near relation--an attorney
of the name of Sharpe, whose cunning and skill in the doubles and mazes of
his profession, and whose active and vindictive temper had rendered him the
terror of the neighbourhood. Not only the poor but the rich feared him,
for he never failed to devise means of revenging himself wherever he was
offended. He one morning waited on Mr. Percy, to speak to him about the
memorial, which, he understood, Mr. Percy was drawing up against Mr. Bates,
the tax-gatherer.

"Perhaps, Mr. Percy," said he, "you don't know that Mr. Bates is my near
relation?"

Mr. Percy replied, that he had not known it; but that now that he did, he
could not perceive how that altered the business; as he interfered, not
from any private motive, but from a sense of public justice, which made him
desire to remove a person from a situation for which he had shown himself
utterly unfit.

Mr. Sharpe smiled a malicious smile, and declared that, for his part, he
did not pretend to be a reformer of abuses: he thought, in the present
times, that gentlemen who wished well to their king and the peace of the
country ought not to be forward to lend their names to popular discontents,
and should not embarrass government with petty complaints. Gentlemen could
never foresee where such things would end, and therefore, in the _existing
circumstances_, they ought surely to endeavour to strengthen, instead of
weakening, the hands of government.

To this commonplace _cant_, by which all sorts of corruption and all public
delinquents might be screened, and by which selfishness and fraud hope to
pass for loyalty and love of the peace of the country, Mr. Percy did not
attempt, or rather did not deign, any reply.

Mr. Sharpe then insinuated that Lord Oldborough, who had put Bates into
his present situation, would be displeased by a complaint against him. Mr.
Sharpe observed, that Lord Oldborough was remarkable for standing steadily
by all the persons whom he appointed, and that, if Mr. Percy persisted
in this attack, he would probably not find himself thanked by his own
relations, the Falconers.

This hint produced no effect: so at last Mr. Sharpe concluded, by saying,
with an air of prodigious legal assurance, that for his own part he was
quite at ease about the result of the affair, for he was confident that,
when the matter came to be properly inquired into, and the witnesses to be
cross-examined, no malpractices could be brought home to his relation.

Then Mr. Percy observed, that a memorial, praying to have the circumstances
inquired into, could be no disadvantage to Mr. Bates, but the contrary, as
it would tend to prove his innocence publicly, and to remove the prejudice
which now subsisted against him.--Mr. Percy, who had the memorial at this
time in his hand, deliberately folded it up, and directed it.

"Then, sir," cried Mr. Sharpe, put off his guard by anger, "since you are
determined to throw away the scabbard, you cannot be surprised if I do the
same."

Mr. Percy, smiling, said that he feared no sword but the sword of justice,
which could not fall on his head, while he was doing what was just. As he
spoke, he prepared to seal the memorial.

Mr. Sharpe's habitual caution recurring in the space of a second or two, he
begged pardon if zeal for his relation had hurried him into any unbecoming
warmth of expression, and stretching out his hand eagerly to stop Mr.
Percy, as he was going to press down the seal, "Give me leave, sir," said
he, "give me leave to run my eye over that memorial--may I beg? before you
seal it."

"And welcome," said Mr. Percy, putting the paper into his hand: "all that I
do shall be done openly and fairly."

The attorney took possession of the memorial, and began to con it over. As
he was reading it, he happened to stand in a recessed window, so that he
could not easily be seen by any person who entered the room: at this moment
Rosamond came in suddenly, exclaiming, as she held up a huge unfolded
parchment, "I've found it!--I've found it, my dear father!--I do believe
this is Sir John Percy's deed that was lost!--I always said it was not
burned.--What's the matter?--What do you mean?--Nobody can hear me? the
outer door is shut--Perhaps this is only a copy.--It is not signed or
sealed, but I suppose--"

Here she stopped short, for she saw Mr. Sharpe--She looked so much
astounded, that even if he had not heard all she had said, her countenance
would have excited his curiosity. The attorney had heard every syllable
she had uttered, and he knew enough of Mr. Percy's affairs to comprehend
the full extent of the advantage that might be made of this discovery.
He coolly returned the memorial, acknowledging that it was drawn up with
much moderation and ability, but regretting that Mr. Percy should think it
necessary to send it; and concluding with a few general expressions of the
regard he had always felt for the family, he took his leave.

"All is safe!" cried Rosamond, as soon as she heard the house door shut
after he was gone. "All is safe, thank Heaven!--for that man's head was
luckily so full of this memorial, that he never heard one word I said."

Mr. Percy was of a different opinion: he was persuaded that the attorney
would not neglect so fine an opportunity of revenge. Sharpe had formerly
been employed in suits of Sir Robert Percy, the heir-at-law. Here was now
the promise of a lawsuit, that would at all events put a great deal of
money into the pockets of the lawyers, and a considerable gratuity would be
ensured to the person who should first inform Sir Robert of the loss of the
important conveyance.

Mr. Percy's opinion of the revengeful nature of Sharpe, and his perception
that he was in the solicitor's power, did not, however, make any change in
his resolution about the memorial.--It was sent, and Bates was turned out
of his office. For some time nothing more was heard of Mr. Sharpe.--Mr.
Percy, for many months afterward, was busied in rebuilding that part of
his house which had been destroyed by the fire; and as he was naturally
of a sanguine temper, little inclined to occupy himself with cabals and
quarrels, the transaction concerning Bates, and even the attorney's threat
of throwing away the scabbard, passed from his mind. The family pursued
the happy tenour of their lives, without remembering that there was such a
being as Mr. Solicitor Sharpe.

CHAPTER VI.

At the time of the fire at Percy-hall, a painted glass window in the
passage--we should say the gallery--leading to the study had been
destroyed.--Old Martha, whose life Caroline had saved, had a son, who
possessed some talents as a painter, and who had learnt the art of painting
on glass. He had been early in his life assisted by the Percy family,
and, desirous to offer some small testimony of his gratitude, he begged
permission to paint a new window for the gallery.--He chose for his subject
the fire, and the moment when Caroline was assisting his decrepit mother
down the dangerous staircase.--The painting was finished unknown to
Caroline, and put up on her birthday, when she had just attained her
eighteenth year. This was the only circumstance worth recording which the
biographer can find noted in the family annals at this period. In this
dearth of events, may we take the liberty of introducing, according to
the fashion of modern biography, a few private letters? They are written
by persons of whom the reader as yet knows nothing--Mr. Percy's second
and third sons, Alfred and Erasmus. Alfred was a barrister; Erasmus a
physician: they were both at this time in London, just commencing their
professional career. Their characters--but let their characters speak
for themselves in their letters, else neither their letters nor their
characters can be worth attention.

ALFRED PERCY TO HIS FATHER.

"MY DEAR FATHER,

"Thank you for the books--I have been reading hard lately, for I have
still, alas! leisure enough to read. I cannot expect to be employed, or to
have _fees_ for some time to come. I am armed with patience--I am told that
I have got through the worst part of my profession, the reading of dry law.
This is tiresome enough, to be sure; but I think the courting of attorneys
and solicitors is the worst part of the beginning of my profession: for
this I was not, and I believe I never shall be, sufficiently prepared. I
give them no dinners, and they neglect me; yet I hope I pay them proper
attention. To make amends, however, I have been so fortunate as to form
acquaintance with some gentlemen of the bar, who possess enlarged minds and
general knowledge: their conversation is of the greatest use and pleasure
to me. But many barristers here are men who live entirely among themselves,
with their heads in their green bags, and their souls narrowed to a point:
mere machines for drawing pleas and rejoinders.

"I remember Burke asserts (and I was once, with true professional
party-spirit, angry with him for the assertion) that the study of the law
has a contractile power on the mind; I am now convinced it has, from what
I see, and what I feel; therefore I will do all I can to counteract this
contraction by the expansive force of literature. I lose no opportunity
of making acquaintance with literary men, and cultivating their society.
The other day, at Hookham's library, I met with a man of considerable
talents--a Mr. Temple: he was looking for a passage in the life of the
lord-keeper Guildford, which I happened to know. This brought us into a
conversation, with which we were mutually so well pleased, that we agreed
to dine together, for further information--and we soon knew all that was to
be known of each other's history.

"Temple is of a very good family, though the younger son of a younger
brother. He was brought up by his grandfather, with whom he was a
favourite. Accustomed, from his childhood, to live with the rich and great,
to see a grand establishment, to be waited upon, to have servants, horses,
carriages at his command, and always to consider himself as a part of a
family who possessed every thing they could wish for in life; he says, he
almost forgot, or rather never thought of the time when he was to have
nothing, and when he should be obliged to provide entirely for himself.
Fortunately for him, his grandfather having early discerned that he had
considerable talents, determined that he should have all the advantages of
education, which he thought would prepare him to shine in parliament.--His
grandfather, however, died when Temple was yet scarcely eighteen.--He had
put off writing a codicil to his will, by which Temple lost the provision
intended for him.--All hopes of being brought into parliament were over.
His uncle, who succeeded to the estate, had sons of his own. There were
family jealousies, and young Temple, as having been a favourite, was
disliked.--Promises were made by other relations, and by former friends,
and by these he was amused and misled for some time; but he found he was
only wasting his life, attending upon these great relations. The unkindness
and falsehood of some, and the haughty neglect of others, hurt his high
spirit, and roused his strong indignation. He, in his turn, neglected
and offended, was cast off at last, or forgotten by most of the fine
promisers.--At which, he says, he has had reason to rejoice, for this threw
him upon his own resources, and made him exert his own mind.--He applied,
in earnest, to prepare himself for the profession for which he was best
fitted, and went to the bar.--Now comes the part of his history for which
he, with reason, blames himself. He was disgusted, not so much by the
labour, as by the many disagreeable circumstances, which necessarily occur
in the beginning of a barrister's course.--He could not bear the waiting
in the courts, or on circuit, without business, without notice. He thought
his merit would never make its way, and was provoked by seeing two or three
stupid fellows pushed on by solicitors, or helped up by judges.--He had so
much knowledge, talent, and eloquence, that he must in time have made a
great figure, and would, undoubtedly, have risen to the first dignities,
had he persevered; but he sacrificed himself to pique and impatience. He
quitted the bar, and the very summer after he had left it, the illness of a
senior counsel on that circuit afforded an opportunity where Temple would
have been called upon, and where he could fully have displayed his talents.
Once known, such a man would have been always distinguished.--He now
bitterly regrets that he abandoned his profession.--This imprudence gave
his friends a fair excuse for casting him off; but, he says, their neglect
grieves him not, for he had resolved never more to trust to their promises,
or to stoop to apply to them for patronage. He has been these last two
years in an obscure garret writing for bread. He says, however, that he is
sure he is happier, even in this situation, than are some of his cousins
at this instant, who are struggling in poverty to be genteel, or to keep
up a family name, and he would not change places with those who are in a
state of idle and opprobrious dependence. I understand (remember, this
is a secret between ourselves)--I understand that _Secretary_ Cunningham
Falconer has found him out, and makes _good use of his pen_, but pays
him shabbily. Temple is too much of a man of honour to _peach_. So Lord
Oldborough knows nothing of the matter; and Cunningham gets half his
business done, and supplies all his deficiencies, by means of this poor
drudging genius. Perhaps I have tired you with this history of my new
friend; but he has interested me extremely:--he has faults certainly,
perhaps too high a spirit, too much sensibility; but he has such strict
integrity, so much generosity of mind, and something so engaging in his
manners, that I cannot help loving, admiring, and pitying him--that last
sentiment, however, I am obliged to conceal, for he would not bear it.

"I see very little of Erasmus. He has been in the country this fortnight
with some patient. I long for his return.--I will make the inquiries you
desire about Buckhurst Falconer.

"Your affectionate son,

"ALFRED PERCY.

"P.S. Yes, my dear Rosamond, I _shall_ be obliged to you for the
flower-roots for my landlady's daughter."

LETTER FROM ERASMUS TO HIS FATHER.

"MY DEAR FATHER,

"Pray do not feel disappointed when I tell you that I am not getting
on quite so fast as I expected. I assure you, however, that I have not
neglected any honourable means of bringing myself into notice. But it is
very difficult for a young man to rise without puffing, or using low means.

"I met Lady Jane Granville a few days ago. She gave me a note to Sir Amyas
Courtney, a fashionable physician and a great favourite of hers.--She told
me that he had formerly been acquainted with some of my family, and she so
strongly urged me to wait upon him, that to avoid offending her ladyship, I
promised to avail myself of her introduction.

"I called several times before I found Sir Amyas at home. At last, by
appointment, I went to breakfast with him one morning when he was confined
to the house by an _influenza_. He received me in the most courteous
manner--recollected to have danced with my mother years ago, at a ball
at Lord Somebody's--professed the greatest respect for the name of
Percy--asked me various questions about my grandfather, which I could not
answer, and paid you more compliments than I can remember. Sir Amyas is
certainly the prettiest behaved physician breathing, with the sweetest
assortment of tittle-tattle, with an inexhaustible fund of anecdotes and
compliments for the great, and an intimate acquaintance with the fair and
fashionable. He has also the happiest art of speaking a vast deal, and
yet saying nothing; seeming to give an opinion, without ever committing
himself.--The address with which he avoids contested points of science, and
the art with which he displays his superficial knowledge, and conceals his
want of depth, is truly amusing. He slid away from science as soon as he
could, to politics, where he kept safe in commonplace newspaper-phrases;
and in the happy persuasion that every thing is for the best, and that
every man in power, let him be of what party he may, can do no wrong. He
did not seem quite satisfied with my countenance as he spoke, and once or
twice paused for my acquiescence--in vain.

"We were interrupted by the entrance of a Mr. Gresham, a rich merchant,
who came to look at a picture which Sir Amyas shows as a true Titian.
Mr. Gresham spoke, as I thought, with much good sense and taste about
it, and Sir Amyas talked a great deal of amateur-nonsense. Still in the
same namby-pamby style, and with the same soft voice and sweet smile,
Sir Amyas talked on of pictures and battles, and carnage and levees, and
drawing-rooms and balls, and butterflies.--He has a museum for the ladies,
and he took me to look at it.--Sad was the hour and luckless was the
day!--Among his shells was one upon which he peculiarly prided himself,
and which he showed me as an unique. I was, I assure you, prudently silent
till he pressed for my opinion, and then I could not avoid confessing that
I suspected it to be a _made_ shell--_made_, Caroline knows how, by the
application of acids. The countenance of Sir Amyas clouded over, and I saw
that I at this moment lost all chance of his future favour. He made me some
fine speeches, when I was going away, and dwelt upon his great desire to
oblige any friend of Lady Jane Granville's.

"A few days afterwards, I saw her ladyship again, and found, by her manner,
that she had not been satisfied by Sir Amyas Courtney's report of me. She
pressed me to tell her all that had passed between us. She was provoked by
my imprudence, as she called it, about the shell, and exhorted me to repair
it by future attentions and complaisance. When I declined paying court to
Sir Amyas, as inconsistent with my ideas and feelings of independence, her
ladyship grew angry--said that my father had inspired all his sons with
absurd notions of independence, which would prevent their rising in the
world, or succeeding in any profession. I believe I then grew warm in
defence of my father and myself. The conclusion of the whole was, that we
remained of our own opinions, and that her ladyship protested she would
never more attempt to serve us. Alfred has called since on Lady Jane, but
has not been admitted. I am sorry that I too have offended her, for I
really like her, and am grateful for her kindness, but I cannot court her
patronage, nor bend to her idol, Sir Amyas.--

"Your affectionate son,

"ERASMUS PERCY."

LETTER FROM ERASMUS PERCY TO HIS FATHER.

"MY DEAR FATHER,

"I told you in my last how I lost all hopes of favour from Sir Amyas
Courtney, and how determined I was not to bend to him.--On some occasion
soon afterwards this determination appeared, and recommended me immediately
to the notice of a certain Dr. Frumpton, who is the antagonist and sworn
foe to Sir Amyas.--Do you know who Dr. Frumpton is--and who he was--and how
he has risen to his present height?

"He was a farrier in a remote county: he began by persuading the country
people in his neighbourhood that he had a specific for the bite of a mad
dog.

"It happened that he cured an old dowager's favourite waiting-maid who had
been bitten by a cross lap-dog, which her servants pronounced to be mad,
that they might have an excuse for hanging it.

"The fame of this cure was spread by the dowager among her numerous
acquaintance in town and country.

"Then he took agues--and afterwards scrofula--under his protection;
patronized by his old dowager, and lucky in some of his desperate quackery,
Dr. Frumpton's reputation rapidly increased, and from different counties
fools came to consult him. His manners were bearish even to persons of
quality who resorted to his den; but these brutal manners _imposed_ upon
many, heightened the idea of his confidence in himself, and commanded the
submission of the timid.--His tone grew higher and higher, and he more and
more easily bullied the credulity of man and woman-kind.--It seems that
either extreme of soft and polished, or of rough and brutal manner, can
succeed with certain physicians.--_Dr._ Frumpton's name, and Dr. Frumpton's
wonderful cures, were in every newspaper, and in every shop-window. No
man ever puffed himself better even in this puffing age.--His success
was viewed with scornful yet with jealous eyes by the regularly bred
physicians, and they did all they could to keep him down--Sir Amyas
Courtney, in particular, who would never call him any thing but _that
farrier_, making what noise he could about Frumpton's practising without
a diploma. In pure spite, Frumpton took to learning--late as it was, he
put himself to school--with virulent zeal he read and _crammed_ till,
Heaven knows how! he accomplished getting a diploma--stood all prescribed
examinations, and has grinned defiance ever since at Sir Amyas.

"Frumpton, delighted with the story of the _made shell_, and conceiving
me to be the enemy of his enemy, resolved, as he declared, to take me
by the hand; and, such is the magical deception of self-love, that his
apparent friendliness towards me made him appear quite agreeable, and
notwithstanding all that I had heard and known of him, I fancied his
brutality was frankness, and his presumption strength of character.--I
gave him credit especially for a happy instinct for true merit, and an
honourable antipathy to flattery and meanness.--The manner in which he
pronounced the words, _fawning puppy!_ applied to Sir Amyas Courtney,
pleased me peculiarly--and I had just exalted Frumpton into a great man,
and an original genius, when he fell flat to the level, and below the level
of common mortals.

"It happened, as I was walking home with him, we were stopped in the street
by a crowd, which had gathered round a poor man, who had fallen from a
scaffold, and had broken his leg. Dr. Frumpton immediately said, 'Send for
Bland, the surgeon, who lives at the corner of the street.' The poor man
was carried into a shop; we followed him. I found that his leg, besides
being broken, was terribly bruised and cut. The surgeon in a few minutes
arrived. Mr. Bland, it seems, is a _protege_ of Frumpton's, who formerly
practised human farriery under him.