Tales and Novels Volume II Part 33

"It is very extraordinary that all your great relations show us so little civility, my dear. They do not seem to have much regard for you."

"They have regard enough for me, and showed it formerly; but of late, to be sure, I confess, things are altered. They never have been so cordial since my marriage, and, all things considered, I scarcely know how to blame them."

Mr. Germaine bowed, by way of thanking his lady for this compliment.

She besought him not to bow so like a man behind a counter, if he could possibly help it. He replied, it became him to submit to be schooled by a wife, who was often taken for his mother. At length, when every species of reproach, mental and personal, which conjugal antipathy could suggest, had been exhausted, the orators recurred to the business of the day, and to the question, "What is to be done with the children whilst we are at Lady Mary Crawley's?"

CHAPTER II.

In this embarra.s.sment we must leave the Germaines for the present, and refresh ourselves with a look at a happy circle--the family of Mr.

Darford, where there is no discordance of opinions, of tastes, or of tempers; none of those evils which arise sometimes from the disappointment and sometimes from the gratification of vanity and pride.

Mr. Darford succeeded beyond his most sanguine expectations in the management of his business. Wealth poured in upon him; but he considered wealth, like a true philosopher, only as one of the means of happiness: he did not become prodigal or avaricious; neither did he ever feel the slightest ambition to quit his own station in society. He never attempted to purchase from people of superior rank admission into their circles, by giving luxurious and ostentatious entertainments. He possessed a st.u.r.dy sense of his own value, and commanded a species of respect very different from that which is paid to the laced livery or the varnished equipage.

The firmness of his character was, however, free from all severity: he knew how to pardon in others the weakness and follies from which he was himself exempt. Though his cousin was of such a different character, and though, since his marriage, Mr. Germaine had neglected his old friends, William felt more compa.s.sion for his unhappiness than resentment for his faults. In the midst of his own family, William would often say, "I wish poor Charles may ever be as happy as we are!" Frequently, in his letters to London correspondents, he desired them to inquire, privately, how Mr.

Germaine went on.

For some time he heard of nothing but his extravagance, and of the entertainments given to the fine world by Mrs. Germaine; but in the course of a few years, his correspondents hinted that Mr. Germaine began to be distressed for money, and that this was a secret which had been scrupulously kept from his lady, as scrupulously as she concealed from him her losses at play. Mr. Darford also learned from a correspondent who was intimately acquainted with one of Mrs. Germaine's friends, that this lady lived upon very bad terms with her husband; and that her children were terribly spoiled by the wretched education they received.

These accounts gave William sincere concern: far from triumphing in the accomplis.h.i.+ng of his prophecies, he never once recalled them to the memory even of his own family; all his thoughts were intent upon saving his friend from future pain.

One day, as he was sitting with his family round their cheerful tea-table, his youngest boy, who had climbed upon his knees, exclaimed, "Papa! what makes you so very grave to-night? You are not at all like yourself! What can make you sorry?"

"My dear little boy," said his father, "I was thinking of a letter I received to-day from London."

"I wish those letters would never come, for they always make you look sad, and make you sigh! Mamma, why do you not desire the servants not to bring papa any more such letters? What did this letter say to you, papa, to make you so grave?"

"My dear," said his father, smiling at the child's simplicity, "this letter told me that your little cousin Charles is not quite so good a boy as you are."

"Then, papa, I will tell you what to do: send our Miss Locke to cousin Charles, and she will soon make him very good."

"I dare say she would," replied the father, laughing: "but, my dear boy, I cannot send Miss Locke; and I am afraid she would not like to go: besides, we should be rather sorry to part with her."

"Then, papa, suppose you were to send for my cousin; and Miss Locke could take care of him here, without leaving us?"

"Could take care of him--true; but would she? If you can prevail upon her to do so, I will send for your cousin."

The proposal, though playfully made, was seriously accepted by Miss Locke: and the more willingly, as she remembered, with grat.i.tude, the attention Mr. Germaine had paid to her some years before, when with poor relations in London.

Mr. Darford wrote immediately, to invite his cousin's children to his house; and the invitation was most gladly accepted, for it was received the very day when Mr. and Mrs. Germaine were so much embarra.s.sed by Lady Mary Crawley's absolute refusal to admit these children into her house.

Mrs. Germaine was not too proud to accept of favours from those whom she had treated as beneath her acquaintance, "quite out of her line of life!" She despatched her children directly to Mr. Darford's; and Miss Locke undertook the care of them. It was not an easy or agreeable task; but she had great obligations to Mrs. Darford, and was rejoiced at finding an opportunity of showing her grat.i.tude.

Miss Locke was the young woman whose painting of an iris had been admired by Charles and by Miss Maude Germaine when they visited the china works, thirteen or fourteen years before this time. She was at that period very ill, and in great distress: her father had been a bankrupt, and to earn bread for herself and her sisters she was obliged to work harder than her health and strength allowed. Probably she would have fallen a sacrifice to her exertions, if she had not been saved by the humanity of Mr. Darford; and, fortunately for him, he was married to a woman who sympathized in all his generous feelings, and who a.s.sisted him in every benevolent action.

Mrs. Darford, after making sufficient inquiries as to the truth of the story, and the character of the girl, was so much pleased with all she heard of her merit, and so much touched by her misfortunes, that she took Miss Locke into her family to teach her daughters to draw. She well knew that a sense of dependence is one of the greatest evils; and she was careful to relieve the person whom she obliged from this painful feeling, by giving her an opportunity of being daily useful to her benefactress. Miss Locke soon recovered her health: she perceived she might be serviceable in teaching the children of the family many things besides drawing; and, with unremitting perseverance, she informed her own mind, that she might be able to instruct her pupils. Year after year she pursued this plan; and was rewarded by the esteem and affection of the happy family in which she lived.

But though Miss Locke was a woman of great abilities, she had not the magical powers attributed to some characters in romance; she could not instantaneously produce a total reformation of manners. The habits of spoiled children are not to be changed by the most skilful preceptress, without the aid of time. Miss Maude Germaine and her brother had tempers which tried Miss Locke's patience to the utmost; but, gradually, she acquired some influence over these wayward spirits. She endeavoured with her utmost skill to eradicate the jealousy which had been implanted in the minds of the brother and sister. They found that they were now treated with strict impartiality, and they began to live together more peaceably.

Time was willingly allowed to Miss Locke by their parents, who were glad to be disenc.u.mbered of their children. Eighteen months pa.s.sed away, and no news were heard of Mr. and Mrs. Germaine, except that they continued the same extravagant, dissipated course of life, and that they began to be much embarra.s.sed in their circ.u.mstances. At last Mr. Darford received a letter which informed him that an execution was laid on Mr. Germaine's fine house in town; and that he and his family were all in the greatest distress and affliction.

William hastened immediately to London. He was denied admittance at Mr.

Germaine's: the porter, with an air of mystery, said that his master was ill, and did not choose to see any body. William, however, forced his way up stairs.

Charles, at the sight of him, stepped back, exclaiming, "May I believe my eyes? William! Is it you?"

"Yes, it is William; your old friend William," said Mr. Darford, embracing him affectionately. Pride and shame struggled in the mind of Charles; and, turning aside to repress the tears, which in the first instance of emotion had started into his eyes, he went to the farthest end of the room for an arm-chair for his cousin, placed it with awkward ceremony, and said, "Won't you be seated, cousin Darford? I am sure Mrs. Germaine and I are much indebted to you and Mrs. Darford, for your goodness to our children. I was just thinking of writing to you about them;--but we are in sad confusion here, just at this moment. I am quite ashamed--I did not expect--Why did you never honour us with a visit before? I am sure you could not possibly have hit upon a more unlucky moment for a visit--for yourself, I mean." "If it proves lucky to you, my dear Charles," replied William mildly, "I shall think it the most fortunate moment I could possibly have chosen."

Vanquished by the tone of this reply, our hero burst into tears: he squeezed his friend's hand, but could not speak. Recovering himself, after a few minutes, he said, "You are too good, cousin William, and always were! I thought you called in by accident; I had no supposition that you came on purpose to a.s.sist me in this moment of distress--embarra.s.sment, I ought to say; for, in fact, it is only a mere temporary embarra.s.sment."

"I am heartily glad to hear it. But, speak to me freely, Charles: do not conceal the real state of your affairs from your best friend. What tendency could this have but to plunge you into irretrievable ruin?"

Charles paused for a minute. "The truth of the matter is, my dear William," continued he, "that there are circ.u.mstances in this business which I should be sorry reached Mrs. Germaine's ear, or any of her cursed proud relations; for if once they heard of it, I should have no peace for the rest of my life. Indeed, as to peace, I cannot boast of much as it is: but it might be worse, much worse, if the whole truth came out. To you, however, I can trust it; though in your line of life, it would be counted a shocking thing: but still you are so indulgent----"

William listened without being able to guess where this preamble would end.

"In the first place," continued Charles, "you know--Mrs. Germaine is almost ten years older than I am."

"Six years, I thought you formerly told me?"

"I beg your pardon, ten--ten--within a few months. If I said six, it was before our marriage, when I knew no better. She owns to seven: her own relations say eight; her nurse said nine; and I say ten."

"Well, ten let it be, since you will have it so."

"I should be very glad to have it otherwise, I promise you, if I could: for it is not very pleasant to a man like me, to be _quizzed_ by half the young men of fas.h.i.+on in town, for having married a woman old enough to be my mother."

"Not quite old enough to be your mother," said his cousin, in a conciliatory tone; "these young men of fas.h.i.+on are not the best calculators. Mrs. Germaine could not well have been your mother, since at the worst, by your own account, there is only ten years difference between you."

"Oh, but that is not all; for, what is still worse, Mrs. Germaine, thanks to the raking hours she keeps, and gaming and fretting, looks full ten years older than she is: so that you see, in fact, there are twenty years between us."

"I do not see it, indeed," replied William, smiling; "but I am bound to believe what you a.s.sert. Let me ask you, to what does this discussion, concerning poor Mrs. Germaine's age, tend?"

"To justify, or at least to excuse, poor Mr. Germaine for keeping a mistress, who is something younger, something prettier, and, above all, something more good-humoured, than his wife."

"Perhaps the wife would be as good-humoured as the mistress, if she were as happy in possessing her husband's affections."

"Affections! Oh, Lord! Affections are out of the question, Mrs. Germaine does not care a straw about my affections."

"And yet you dread that she should have the least hint of your having a mistress."

"Of course. You don't see my jet. You don't consider what a devil of a handle that would give her against me. She has no more love for me than this table; but she is jealous beyond all credibility, and she knows right well how to turn her jealousy to account. She would go caballing amongst her tribes of relations, and get all the women and all the world on her side, with this hue and cry of a mistress; and then I should be branded as the worst husband upon earth. That indeed I should laugh at, because all the young men in town would keep me in countenance; but Mrs.

Germaine would rummage out the history of the sums of money I have given this girl, and then would set those against her play-debts, and I should have no more hold over her; for, you know, if I should begin to reproach her with the one, she would recriminate. She is a devil of a hand at that work! Neither you nor any man on earth, except myself, can form any idea of the temper of Mrs. Germaine! She is--to you, my dear friend, I may have the relief of saying so--she is, without exception, the most proud, peevish, selfish, unreasonable, extravagant, tyrannical, unfeeling woman in Christendom!"

"In Christendom! Oh, you exaggerate, Charles!"

"Exaggerate! Upon my soul, I do not: she is all I have said, and more."