CHAPTER LV. Between Brothers
Of course our young men had had their private talk about home, and allthe people and doings there, and each had imparted to the other fullparticulars of his history since their last meeting. How were Harry'sdogs, and little Dempster, and good old Nathan, and the rest of thehousehold? Was Mountain well, and Fanny grown to be a pretty girl? SoParson Broadbent's daughter was engaged to marry Tom Barker of Savannah,and they were to go and live in Georgia! Harry owns that at one periodhe was very sweet upon Parson Broadbent's daughter, and lost agreat deal of pocket-money at cards, and drank a great quantity ofstrong-waters with the father, in order to have a pretext for being nearthe girl. But, Heaven help us! Madam Esmond would never have consentedto his throwing himself away upon Polly Broadbent. So Colonel G.Washington's wife was a pretty woman, very good-natured and pleasant,and with a good fortune? He had brought her into Richmond, and paid avisit of state to Madam Esmond. George described, with much humour, theawful ceremonials at the interview between these two personages, and thekilling politeness of his mother to Mr. Washington's young wife. "Nevermind, George, my dear!" says Mrs. Mountain. "The Colonel has takenanother wife, but I feel certain that at one time two young gentlemen Iknow of ran a very near chance of having a tall stepfather six feet twoin his boots." To be sure, Mountain was for ever match-making in hermind. Two people could not play a game at cards together, or sit downto a dish of tea, but she fancied their conjunction was for life. It wasshe--the foolish tattler--who had set the report abroad regarding thepoor Indian woman. As for Madam Esmond, she had repelled the insinuationwith scorn when Parson Stack brought it to her, and said, "I should assoon fancy Mr. Esmond stealing the spoons, or marrying a negro womanout of the kitchen." But, though she disdained to find the poor Bicheguilty, and even thanked her for attending her son in his illness, shetreated her with such a chilling haughtiness of demeanour, that theIndian slunk away into the servants' quarters, and there tried to drownher disappointments with drink. It was not a cheerful picture that whichGeorge gave of his two months at home. "The birthright is mine, Harry,"he said, "but thou art the favourite, and God help me! I think my motheralmost grudges it to me. Why should I have taken the pas, and precededyour worship into the world? Had you been the eider, you would have hadthe best cellar, and ridden the best nag, and been the most popularman in the country, whereas I have not a word to say for myself, andfrighten people by my glum face: I should have been second son, and setup as lawyer, or come to England and got my degrees, and turned parson,and said grace at your honour's table. The time is out of joint, sir. Ocursed spite, that ever I was born to set it right!"
"Why, Georgy, you are talking verses, I protest you are!" says Harry.
"I think, my dear, some one else talked those verses before me," saysGeorge, with a smile.
"It's out of one of your books. You know every book that ever was wrote,that I do believe!" cries Harry, and then told his brother how he hadseen the two authors at Tunbridge, and how he had taken off his hat tothem. "Not that I cared much about their books, not being clever enough.But I remembered how my dear old George used to speak of 'em," saysHarry, with a choke in his voice, "and that's why I liked to see them. Isay, dear, it's like a dream seeing you over again. Think of that bloodyIndian with his knife at my George's head! I should like to give thatMonsieur de Florac something for saving you--but I haven't got much now,only my little gold knee-buckles, and they ain't worth two guineas."
"You have got the half of what I have, child, and we'll divide as soonas I have paid the Frenchman," George said.
On which Harry broke out not merely into blessings but actualimprecations, indicating his intense love and satisfaction; and he sworethat there never was such a brother in the world as his brother George.Indeed, for some days after his brother's arrival his eyes followedGeorge about: he would lay down his knife and fork, or his newspaper,when they were sitting together, and begin to laugh to himself. When hewalked with George on the Mall or in Hyde Park, he would gaze round atthe company, as much as to say, "Look here, gentlemen! This is he.This is my brother, that was dead and is alive again! Can any man inChristendom produce such a brother as this?"
Of course he was of opinion that George should pay to Museau's heirsthe sum which he had promised for his ransom. This question had been thecause of no small unhappiness to poor George at home. Museau dead, MadamEsmond argued with much eagerness, and not a little rancour, the bargainfell to the ground, and her son was free. The man was a rogue in thefirst instance. She would not pay the wages of iniquity. Mr. Esmond hada small independence from his father, and might squander his patrimonyif he chose. He was of age, and the money was in his power; but shewould be no party to such extravagance, as giving twelve thousand livresto a parcel of peasants in Normandy with whom we were at war, and whowould very likely give it all to the priests and the pope. She would notsubscribe to any such wickedness. If George wanted to squander away hisfather's money (she must say that formerly he had not been so eager,and when Harry's benefit was in question had refused to touch a penny ofit!)--if he wished to spend it now, why not give it to his own flesh andblood, to poor Harry, who was suddenly deprived of his inheritance, andnot to a set of priest-ridden peasants in France? This dispute had ragedbetween mother and son during the whole of the latter's last daysin Virginia. It had never been settled. On the morning of George'sdeparture, Madam Esmond had come to his bedside after a sleepless night,and asked him whether he still persisted in his intention to fling awayhis father's property?
He replied in a depth of grief and perplexity, that his word was passed,and he must do as his honour bade him. She answered that she wouldcontinue to pray that Heaven might soften his proud heart, and enableher to bear her heavy trials: and the last view George had of hismother's face was as she stood yet a moment by his bedside, pale andwith tearless eyes, before she turned away and slowly left his chamber.
"Where didst thou learn the art of winning over everybody to thy side,Harry?" continued George; "and how is it that you and all the worldbegin by being friends? Teach me a few lessons in popularity, nay,I don't know that I will have them; and when I find and hear certainpeople hate me, I think I am rather pleased than angry. At first, atRichmond, Mr. Esmond Warrington, the only prisoner who had escaped fromBraddock's field--the victim of so much illness and hardship--was afavourite with the town-folks, and received privately and publicly withno little kindness. The parson glorified my escape in a sermon; theneighbours came to visit the fugitive; the family coach was ordered out,and Madam Esmond and I paid our visits in return. I think some prettylittle caps were set at me. But these our mother routed off, andfrightened with the prodigious haughtiness of her demeanour; and mypopularity was already at the decrease before the event occurred whichput the last finishing stroke to it. I was not jolly enough for theofficers, and didn't care for their drinking-bouts, dice-boxes, andswearing. I was too sarcastic for the ladies, and their tea and tattlestupefied me almost as much as the men's blustering and horse-talk. Icannot tell thee, Harry, how lonely I felt in that place, amidst thescandal and squabbles: I regretted my prison almost, and found myselfmore than once wishing for the freedom of thought, and the silent easeof Duquesne. I am very shy, I suppose: I can speak unreservedly to veryfew people. Before most, I sit utterly silent. When we two were at home,it was thou who used to talk at table, and get a smile now and then fromour mother. When she and I were together we had no subject in common,and we scarce spoke at all until we began to dispute about law anddivinity.
"So the gentlemen had determined I was supercilious, and a dullcompanion (and, indeed, I think their opinion was right), and the ladiesthought I was cold and sarcastic,--could never make out whether I wasin earnest or no, and, I think, generally voted I was a disagreeablefellow, before my character was gone quite away; and that went with theappearance of the poor Biche. Oh, a nice character they made for me, mydear!" cried George, in a transport of wrath, "and a pretty life theyled me after Museau's unlucky mes
senger had appeared amongst us! Theboys hooted the poor woman if she appeared in the street; the ladiesdropped me half-curtseys, and walked over to the other side. Thatprecious clergyman went from one tea-table to another preaching on thehorrors of seduction, and the lax principles which young men learned inpopish countries and brought back thence. The poor Fawn's appearanceat home a few weeks after my return home, was declared to be a schemebetween her and me; and the best informed agreed that she had waited onthe other side of the river until I gave her the signal to come andjoin me in Richmond. The officers bantered me at the coffee-house, andcracked their clumsy jokes about the woman I had selected. Oh, the worldis a nice charitable world! I was so enraged that I thought of going toCastlewood and living alone there,--for our mother finds the place dull,and the greatest consolation in precious Mr. Stack's ministry,--whenthe news arrived of your female perplexity, and I think we were all gladthat I should have a pretext for coming to Europe."
"I should like to see any of the infernal scoundrels who said wordagainst you, and break their rascally bones," roars out Harry, stridingup and down the room.
"I had to do something like it for Bob Clubber."
"What! that little sneaking, backbiting, toad-eating wretch, who isalways hanging about my lord at Greenway Court, and spunging on everygentleman in the country? If you whipped him, I hope you whipped himwell, George?"
"We were bound over to keep the peace; and I offered to go into Marylandwith him and settle our difference there, and of course the good folksaid, that having made free with the seventh commandment I was inclinedto break the sixth. So, by this and by that--and being as innocent ofthe crime imputed to me as you are--I left home, my dear Harry, with asawful a reputation as ever a young gentleman earned."
Ah, what an opportunity is there here to moralise! If the esteemedreader and his humble servant could but know--could but write down ina book--could but publish, with illustrations, a collection of thelies which have been told regarding each of us since we came to man'sestate,--what a harrowing and thrilling work of fiction that romancewould be! Not only is the world informed of everything about you, butof a great deal more. Not long since the kind postman brought a papercontaining a valuable piece of criticism, which stated--"This authorstates he was born in such and such a year. It is a lie. He was born inthe year so and so." The critic knew better: of course he did. Another(and both came from the country which gave MULLIGAN birth) warned somefriend, saying, "Don't speak of New South Wales to him. He has a brotherthere, and the family never mention his name." But this subject is toovast and noble for a mere paragraph. I shall prepare a memoir, or letus have rather, par une societe de gens de lettres, a series ofbiographies, of lives of gentlemen, as told by their dear friends whomthey don't know.
George having related his exploits as champion and martyr, of courseHarry had to unbosom himself to his brother, and lay before his elderan account of his private affairs. He gave up all the family ofCastlewood--my lord, not for getting the better of him at play; forHarry was a sporting man, and expected to pay when he lost, and receivewhen he won; but for refusing to aid the chaplain in his necessity, anddismissing him with such false and heartless pretexts. About Mr. Will hehad made up his mind, after the horse-dealing matter, and freelymarked his sense of the latter's conduct upon Mr. Will's eyes and nose.Respecting the Countess and Lady Fanny, Harry spoke in a manner moreguarded, but not very favourable. He had heard all sorts of storiesabout them. The Countess was a card-playing old cat; Lady Fanny was adesperate flirt. Who told him? Well, he had heard the stories from aperson who knew them both very well indeed. In fact, in those daysof confidence, of which we made mention in the last volume, Maria hadfreely imparted to her cousin a number of anecdotes respecting herstepmother and her half-sister, which were by no means in favour ofthose ladies.
But in respect to Lady Maria herself, the young man was staunch andhearty. "It may be imprudent: I don't say no, George. I may be a fool:I think I am. I know there will be a dreadful piece of work at home, andthat Madam and she will fight. Well! we must live apart. Our estate isbig enough to live on without quarrelling, and I can go elsewhere thanto Richmond or Castlewood. When you come to the property, you'll give mea bit--at any rate, Madam will let me off at an easy rent--or I'll makea famous farmer or factor. I can't and won't part from Maria. She hasacted so nobly by me, that I should be a rascal to turn my back on her.Think of her bringing me every jewel she had in the world, dearbrave creature! and flinging them into my lap with her lastguineas,--and--and--God bless her!" Here Harry dashed his sleeve acrosshis eyes, with a stamp of his foot, and said, "No, brother, I won't partwith her--not to be made Governor of Virginia tomorrow; and my dearestold George would never advise me to do so, I know that."
"I am sent here to advise you," George replied. "I am sent to break themarriage off, if I can: and a more unhappy one I can't imagine. But Ican't counsel you to break your word, my boy."
"I knew you couldn't! What's said is said, George. I have made my bed,and must lie on it," says Mr. Harry, gloomily.
Such had been the settlement between our two young worthies, whenthey first talked over Mr. Harry's love affair. But after George'sconversation with his aunt, and the further knowledge of his family,which he acquired through the information of that keen old woman of theworld, Mr. Warrington, who was naturally of a sceptical turn, began todoubt about Lady Maria, as well as regarding her brothers and sister,and looked at Harry's engagement with increased distrust and alarm. Wasit for his wealth that Maria wanted Harry? Was it his handsome youngperson that she longed after? Were those stories true which AuntBernstein had told of her? Certainly he could not advise Harry tobreak his word; but he might cast about in his mind for some scheme forputting Maria's affection to the trial; and his ensuing conduct, whichappeared not very amiable, I suppose resulted from this deliberation.