CHAPTER TENTH.
And now, will pardon, comfort, kindness, draw The youth from vice? will honour, duty, law? Crabbe.
Jeanie arose from her seat, and made her quiet reverence, when the elderMr. Staunton entered the apartment. His astonishment was extreme atfinding his son in such company.
"I perceive, madam, I have made a mistake respecting you, and ought tohave left the task of interrogating you, and of righting your wrongs, tothis young man, with whom, doubtless, you have been formerly acquainted."
"It's unwitting on my part that I am here;" said Jeanie; "the servanttold me his master wished to speak with me."
"There goes the purple coat over my ears," murmured Tummas. "D--n her,why must she needs speak the truth, when she could have as well saidanything else she had a mind?"
"George," said Mr. Staunton, "if you are still, as you have everbeen,--lost to all self-respect, you might at least have spared yourfather and your father's house, such a disgraceful scene as this."
"Upon my life--upon my soul, sir!" said George, throwing his feet overthe side of the bed, and starting from his recumbent posture.
"Your life, sir?" interrupted his father, with melancholysternness,--"What sort of life has it been?--Your soul! alas! whatregard have you ever paid to it? Take care to reform both ere offeringeither as pledges of your sincerity."
"On my honour, sir, you do me wrong," answered George Staunton; "I havebeen all that you can call me that's bad, but in the present instance youdo me injustice. By my honour you do!"
"Your honour!" said his father, and turned from him, with a look of themost upbraiding contempt, to Jeanie. "From you, young woman, I neitherask nor expect any explanation; but as a father alike and as a clergyman,I request your departure from this house. If your romantic story has beenother than a pretext to find admission into it (which, from the societyin which you first appeared, I may be permitted to doubt), you will finda justice of peace within two miles, with whom, more properly than withme, you may lodge your complaint."
"This shall not be," said George Staunton, starting up to his feet."Sir, you are naturally kind and humane--you shall not become crueland inhospitable on my account. Turn out that eaves-dropping rascal,"pointing to Thomas, "and get what hartshorn drops, or what better receiptyou have against fainting, and I will explain to you in two words theconnection betwixt this young woman and me. She shall not lose her faircharacter through me. I have done too much mischief to her familyalready, and I know too well what belongs to the loss of fame."
"Leave the room, sir," said the Rector to the servant; and when the manhad obeyed, he carefully shut the door behind him. Then, addressing hisson, he said sternly, "Now, sir, what new proof of your infamy have youto impart to me?"
Young Staunton was about to speak, but it was one of those moments whenthose, who, like Jeanie Deans, possess the advantage of a steady courageand unruffled temper, can assume the superiority over more ardent butless determined spirits.
"Sir," she said to the elder Staunton, "ye have an undoubted right to askyour ain son to render a reason of his conduct. But respecting me, I ambut a wayfaring traveller, no ways obligated or indebted to you, unlessit be for the meal of meat which, in my ain country, is willingly gien byrich or poor, according to their ability, to those who need it; and forwhich, forby that, I am willing to make payment, if I didna think itwould be an affront to offer siller in a house like this--only I dinnaken the fashions of the country."
"This is all very well, young woman," said the Rector, a good dealsurprised, and unable to conjecture whether to impute Jeanie's languageto simplicity or impertinence; "this may be all very well--but let mebring it to a point. Why do you stop this young man's mouth, and preventhis communicating to his father and his best friend, an explanation(since he says he has one) of circumstances which seem in themselves nota little suspicious?"
"He may tell of his ain affairs what he likes," answered Jeanie; "but myfamily and friends have nae right to hae ony stories told anent themwithout their express desire; and, as they canna be here to speak forthemselves, I entreat ye wadna ask Mr. George Rob--I mean Staunton, orwhatever his name is, ony questions anent me or my folk; for I maun befree to tell you, that he will neither have the bearing of a Christian ora gentleman, if he answers you against my express desire."
"This is the most extraordinary thing I ever met with," said the Rector,as, after fixing his eyes keenly on the placid, yet modest countenance ofJeanie, he turned them suddenly upon his son. "What have you to say,sir?"
"That I feel I have been too hasty in my promise, sir," answered GeorgeStaunton; "I have no title to make any communications respecting theaffairs of this young person's family without her assent."
The elder Mr. Staunton turned his eyes from one to the other with marksof surprise.
"This is more, and worse, I fear," he said, addressing his son, "than oneof your frequent and disgraceful connections--I insist upon knowing themystery."
"I have already said, sir," replied his son, rather sullenly, "that Ihave no title to mention the affairs of this young woman's family withouther consent."
"And I hae nae mysteries to explain, sir," said Jeanie, "but only to prayyou, as a preacher of the gospel and a gentleman, to permit me to go safeto the next public-house on the Lunnon road."
"I shall take care of your safety," said young Staunton "you need askthat favour from no one."
"Do you say so before my face?" said the justly-incensed father."Perhaps, sir, you intend to fill up the cup of disobedience andprofligacy by forming a low and disgraceful marriage? But let me bid youbeware."
"If you were feared for sic a thing happening wi' me, sir," said Jeanie,"I can only say, that not for all the land that lies between the twa endsof the rainbow wad I be the woman that should wed your son."
"There is something very singular in all this," said the elder Staunton;"follow me into the next room, young woman."
"Hear me speak first," said the young man. "I have but one word to say. Iconfide entirely in your prudence; tell my father as much or as little ofthese matters as you will, he shall know neither more nor less from me."
His father darted at him a glance of indignation, which softened intosorrow as he saw him sink down on the couch, exhausted with the scene hehad undergone. He left the apartment, and Jeanie followed him, GeorgeStaunton raising himself as she passed the door-way, and pronouncing theword, "Remember!" in a tone as monitory as it was uttered by Charles I.upon the scaffold. The elder Staunton led the way into a small parlour,and shut the door.
"Young woman," said he, "there is something in your face and appearancethat marks both sense and simplicity, and, if I am not deceived,innocence also--Should it be otherwise, I can only say, you are the mostaccomplished hypocrite I have ever seen.--I ask to know no secret thatyou have unwillingness to divulge, least of all those which concern myson. His conduct has given me too much unhappiness to permit me to hopecomfort or satisfaction from him. If you are such as I suppose you,believe me, that whatever unhappy circumstances may have connected youwith George Staunton, the sooner you break them through the better."
"I think I understand your meaning, sir," replied Jeanie; "and as ye aresae frank as to speak o' the young gentleman in sic a way, I must needssay that it is but the second time of my speaking wi' him in our lives,and what I hae heard frae him on these twa occasions has been such that Inever wish to hear the like again."
"Then it is your real intention to leave this part of the country, andproceed to London?" said the Rector.
"Certainly, sir; for I may say, in one sense, that the avenger of bloodis behind me; and if I were but assured against mischief by the way"
"I have made inquiry," said the clergyman, "after the suspiciouscharacters you described. They have left their place of rendezvous; butas they may be lurking in the neighbourhood, and as you say you havespecial reason to apprehend violence from them, I will put you und
er thecharge of a steady person, who will protect you as far as Stamford, andsee you into a light coach, which goes from thence to London."
"A coach is not for the like of me, sir," said Jeanie, to whom the ideaof a stage-coach was unknown, as, indeed, they were then only used in theneighbourhood of London.
Mr. Staunton briefly explained that she would find that mode ofconveyance more commodious, cheaper, and more safe, than travelling onhorseback. She expressed her gratitude with so much singleness of heart,that he was induced to ask her whether she wanted the pecuniary means ofprosecuting her journey. She thanked him, but said she had enough for herpurpose; and, indeed, she had husbanded her stock with great care. Thisreply served also to remove some doubts, which naturally enough stillfloated in Mr. Staunton's mind, respecting her character and realpurpose, and satisfied him, at least, that money did not enter into herscheme of deception, if an impostor she should prove. He next requestedto know what part of the city she wished to go to.
"To a very decent merchant, a cousin o' my ain, a Mrs. Glass, sir, thatsells snuff and tobacco, at the sign o' the Thistle, somegate in thetown."
Jeanie communicated this intelligence with a feeling that a connection sorespectable ought to give her consequence in the eyes of Mr. Staunton;and she was a good deal surprised when he answered--
"And is this woman your only acquaintance in London, my poor girl? andhave you really no better knowledge where she is to be found?"
"I was gaun to see the Duke of Argyle, forby Mrs. Glass," said Jeanie;"and if your honour thinks it would be best to go there first, and getsome of his Grace's folk to show me my cousin's shop"
"Are you acquainted with any of the Duke of Argyle's people?" said theRector.
"No, sir."
"Her brain must be something touched after all, or it would be impossiblefor her to rely on such introductions.--Well," said he aloud, "I must notinquire into the cause of your journey, and so I cannot be fit to giveyou advice how to manage it. But the landlady of the house where thecoach stops is a very decent person; and as I use her house sometimes, Iwill give you a recommendation to her."
Jeanie thanked him for his kindness with her best courtesy, and said,"That with his honour's line, and ane from worthy Mrs. Bickerton, thatkeeps the Seven Stars at York, she did not doubt to be well taken out inLunnon."
"And now," said he, "I presume you will be desirous to set outimmediately."
"If I had been in an inn, sir, or any suitable resting-place," answeredJeanie, "I wad not have presumed to use the Lord's day for travelling butas I am on a journey of mercy, I trust my doing so will not be imputed."
"You may, if you choose, remain with Mrs. Dalton for the evening; but Idesire you will have no farther correspondence with my son, who is not aproper counsellor for a person of your age, whatever your difficultiesmay be."
"Your honour speaks ower truly in that," said Jeanie; "it was not with mywill that I spoke wi' him just now, and--not to wish the gentlemanonything but gude--I never wish to see him between the een again."
"If you please," added the Rector, "as you seem to be a seriouslydisposed young woman, you may attend family worship in the hall thisevening."
"I thank your honour," said Jeanie; "but I am doubtful if my attendancewould be to edification."
"How!" said the Rector; "so young, and already unfortunate enough to havedoubts upon the duties of religion!"
"God forbid, sir," replied Jeanie; "it is not for that; but I have beenbred in the faith of the suffering remnant of the Presbyterian doctrinein Scotland, and I am doubtful if I can lawfully attend upon your fashionof worship, seeing it has been testified against by many precious soulsof our kirk, and specially by my worthy father."
"Well, my good girl," said the Rector, with a good-humoured smile, "farbe it from me to put any force upon your conscience; and yet you ought torecollect that the same divine grace dispenses its streams to otherkingdoms as well as to Scotland. As it is as essential to our spiritual,as water to our earthly wants, its springs, various in character, yetalike efficacious in virtue, are to be found in abundance throughout theChristian world."
"Ah, but," said Jeanie, "though the waters may be alike, yet, with yourworship's leave, the blessing upon them may not be equal. It would havebeen in vain for Naaman the Syrian leper to have bathed in Pharpar andAbana, rivers of Damascus, when it was only the waters of Jordon thatwere sanctified for the cure."
"Well," said the Rector, "we will not enter upon the great debate betwixtour national churches at present. We must endeavour to satisfy you, that,at least, amongst our errors, we preserve Christian charity, and a desireto assist our brethren."
He then ordered Mrs. Dalton into his presence, and consigned Jeanie toher particular charge, with directions to be kind to her, and withassurances, that, early in the morning, a trusty guide and a good horseshould be ready to conduct her to Stamford. He then took a serious anddignified, yet kind leave of her, wishing her full success in the objectsof her journey, which he said he doubted not were laudable, from thesoundness of thinking which she had displayed in conversation.
Jeanie was again conducted by the housekeeper to her own apartment. Butthe evening was not destined to pass over without farther torment fromyoung Staunton. A paper was slipped into her hand by the faithful Tummas,which intimated his young master's desire, or rather demand, to see herinstantly, and assured her he had provided against interruption.
"Tell your young master," said Jeanie, openly, and regardless of all thewinks and signs by which Tummas strove to make her comprehend that Mrs.Dalton was not to be admitted into the secret of the correspondence,"that I promised faithfully to his worthy father that I would not see himagain."
"Tummas," said Mrs. Dalton, "I think you might be much more creditablyemployed, considering the coat you wear, and the house you live in, thanto be carrying messages between your young master and girls that chanceto be in this house."
"Why, Mrs. Dalton, as to that, I was hired to carry messages, and not toask any questions about them; and it's not for the like of me to refusethe young gentleman's bidding, if he were a little wildish or so. Ifthere was harm meant, there's no harm done, you see."
"However," said Mrs. Dalton, "I gie you fair warning, Tummas Ditton, thatan I catch thee at this work again, his Reverence shall make a clearhouse of you."
Thomas retired, abashed and in dismay. The rest of the evening passedaway without anything worthy of notice.
Jeanie enjoyed the comforts of a good bed and a sound sleep with gratefulsatisfaction, after the perils and hardships of the preceding day; andsuch was her fatigue, that she slept soundly until six o'clock, when shewas awakened by Mrs. Dalton, who acquainted her that her guide and horsewere ready, and in attendance. She hastily rose, and, after her morningdevotions, was soon ready to resume her travels. The motherly care of thehousekeeper had provided an early breakfast, and, after she had partakenof this refreshment, she found herself safe seated on a pillion behind astout Lincolnshire peasant, who was, besides, armed with pistols, toprotect her against any violence which might be offered.
They trudged along in silence for a mile or two along a country road,which conducted them, by hedge and gate-way, into the principal highway,a little beyond Grantham. At length her master of the horse asked herwhether her name was not Jean, or Jane, Deans. She answered in theaffirmative, with some surprise. "Then here's a bit of a note as concernsyou," said the man, handing it over his left shoulder. "It's from youngmaster, as I judge, and every man about Willingham is fain to pleasurehim either for love or fear; for he'll come to be landlord at last, letthem say what they like."
Jeanie broke the seal of the note, which was addressed to her, and readas follows:--
"You refuse to see me. I suppose you are shocked at my character: but, inpainting myself such as I am, you should give me credit for my sincerity.I am, at least, no hypocrite. You refuse, however, to see me, and yourconduct may be natural--but is it wise? I have expressed my anxiety torepair your
sister's misfortunes at the expense of my honour,--myfamily's honour--my own life, and you think me too debased to be admittedeven to sacrifice what I have remaining of honour, fame, and life, in hercause. Well, if the offerer be despised, the victim is still equally athand; and perhaps there may be justice in the decree of Heaven, that Ishall not have the melancholy credit of appearing to make this sacrificeout of my own free good-will. You, as you have declined my concurrence,must take the whole upon yourself. Go, then, to the Duke of Argyle, and,when other arguments fail you, tell him you have it in your power tobring to condign punishment the most active conspirator in the Porteousmob. He will hear you on this topic, should he be deaf to every other.Make your own terms, for they will be at your own making. You know whereI am to be found; and you may be assured I will not give you the darkside of the hill, as at Muschat's Cairn; I have no thoughts of stirringfrom the house I was born in; like the hare, I shall be worried in theseat I started from. I repeat it--make your own terms. I need not remindyou to ask your sister's life, for that you will do of course; but maketerms of advantage for yourself--ask wealth and reward--office and incomefor Butler--ask anything--you will get anything--and all for deliveringto the hands of the executioner a man most deserving of his office;--onewho, though young in years, is old in wickedness, and whose most earnestdesire is, after the storms of an unquiet life, to sleep and be at rest."
This extraordinary letter was subscribed with the initials G. S.
Jeanie read it over once or twice with great attention, which the slowpace of the horse, as he stalked through a deep lane, enabled her to dowith facility.
When she had perused this billet, her first employment was to tear itinto as small pieces as possible, and disperse these pieces in the air bya few at a time, so that a document containing so perilous a secret mightnot fall into any other person's hand.
The question how far, in point of extremity, she was entitled to save hersister's life by sacrificing that of a person who, though guilty towardsthe state, had done her no injury, formed the next earnest and mostpainful subject of consideration. In one sense, indeed, it seemed as ifdenouncing the guilt of Staunton, the cause of her sister's errors andmisfortunes, would have been an act of just, and even providentialretribution. But Jeanie, in the strict and severe tone of morality inwhich she was educated, had to consider not only the general aspect of aproposed action, but its justness and fitness in relation to the actor,before she could be, according to her own phrase, free to enter upon it.What right had she to make a barter between the lives of Staunton and ofEffie, and to sacrifice the one for the safety of the other? Hisguilt--that guilt for which he was amenable to the laws--was a crimeagainst the public indeed, but it was not against her.
Neither did it seem to her that his share in the death of Porteous,though her mind revolted at the idea of using violence to any one, was inthe relation of a common murder, against the perpetrator of which everyone is called to aid the public magistrate. That violent action wasblended with many circumstances, which, in the eyes of those in Jeanie'srank of life, if they did not altogether deprive it of the character ofguilt, softened, at least, its most atrocious features. The anxiety ofthe government to obtain conviction of some of the offenders, had butserved to increase the public feeling which connected the action, thoughviolent and irregular, with the idea of ancient national independence.The rigorous measures adopted or proposed against the city of Edinburgh,the ancient metropolis of Scotland--the extremely unpopular andinjudicious measure of compelling the Scottish clergy, contrary to theirprinciples and sense of duty, to promulgate from the pulpit the rewardoffered for the discovery of the perpetrators of this slaughter, hadproduced on the public mind the opposite consequences from what wereintended; and Jeanie felt conscious, that whoever should lodgeinformation concerning that event, and for whatsoever purpose it might bedone, it would be considered as an act of treason against theindependence of Scotland. With the fanaticism of the ScottishPresbyterians, there was always mingled a glow of national feeling, andJeanie, trembled at the idea of her name being handed down to posteritywith that of the "fause Monteath," and one or two others, who, havingdeserted and betrayed the cause of their country, are damned to perpetualremembrance and execration among its peasantry. Yet, to part with Effie'slife once more, when a word spoken might save it, pressed severely on themind of her affectionate sister.
"The Lord support and direct me!" said Jeanie, "for it seems to be Hiswill to try me with difficulties far beyond my ain strength."
While this thought passed through Jeanie's mind, her guard, tired ofsilence, began to show some inclination to be communicative. He seemed asensible, steady peasant, but not having more delicacy or prudence thanis common to those in his situation, he, of course, chose the Willinghamfamily as the subject of his conversation. From this man Jeanie learnedsome particulars of which she had hitherto been ignorant, and which wewill briefly recapitulate for the information of the reader.
The father of George Staunton had been bred a soldier, and during servicein the West Indies, had married the heiress of a wealthy planter. By thislady he had an only child, George Staunton, the unhappy young, man whohas been so often mentioned in this narrative. He passed the first partof his early youth under the charge of a doting mother, and in thesociety of negro slaves, whose study it was to gratify his every caprice.His father was a man of worth and sense; but as he alone retainedtolerable health among the officers of the regiment he belonged to, hewas much engaged with his duty. Besides, Mrs. Staunton was beautiful andwilful, and enjoyed but delicate health; so that it was difficult for aman of affection, humanity, and a quiet disposition, to struggle with heron the point of her over-indulgence to an only child. Indeed, what Mr.Staunton did do towards counteracting the baneful effects of his wife'ssystem, only tended to render it more pernicious; for every restraintimposed on the boy in his father's presence, was compensated by treblelicense during his absence. So that George Staunton acquired, even inchildhood, the habit of regarding his father as a rigid censor, fromwhose severity he was desirous of emancipating himself as soon andabsolutely as possible.
When he was about ten years old, and when his mind had received all theseeds of those evil weeds which afterwards grew apace, his mother died,and his father, half heart-broken, returned to England. To sum up herimprudence and unjustifiable indulgence, she had contrived to place aconsiderable part of her fortune at her son's exclusive control ordisposal, in consequence of which management, George Staunton had notbeen long in England till he learned his independence, and how to abuseit. His father had endeavoured to rectify the defects of his education byplacing him in a well-regulated seminary. But although he showed somecapacity for learning, his riotous conduct soon became intolerable to histeachers. He found means (too easily afforded to all youths who havecertain expectations) of procuring such a command of money as enabled himto anticipate in boyhood the frolics and follies of a more mature age,and, with these accomplishments, he was returned on his father's hands asa profligate boy, whose example might ruin a hundred.
The elder Mr. Staunton, whose mind, since his wife's death, had beentinged with a melancholy, which certainly his son's conduct did not tendto dispel, had taken orders, and was inducted by his brother Sir WilliamStaunton into the family living of Willingham. The revenue was a matterof consequence to him, for he derived little advantage from the estate ofhis late wife; and his own fortune was that of a younger brother.
He took his son to reside with him at the rectory, but he soon found thathis disorders rendered him an intolerable inmate. And as the young men ofhis own rank would not endure the purse-proud insolence of the Creole, hefell into that taste for low society, which is worse than "pressing todeath, whipping, or hanging." His father sent him abroad, but he onlyreturned wilder and more desperate than before. It is true, this unhappyyouth was not without his good qualities. He had lively wit, good temper,reckless generosity, and manners, which, while he was under restraint,might pass well in society. But
all these availed him nothing. He was sowell acquainted with the turf, the gaming-table, the cock-pit, and everyworse rendezvous of folly and dissipation, that his mother's fortune wasspent before he was twenty-one, and he was soon in debt and in distress.His early history may be concluded in the words of our British Juvenal,when describing a similar character:--
Headstrong, determined in his own career, He thought reproof unjust, and truth severe. The soul's disease was to its crisis come, He first abused, and then abjured, his home; And when he chose a vagabond to be, He made his shame his glory, "I'll be free!"* [Crabbe's _Borough,_ Letter xii.]
"And yet 'tis pity on Measter George, too," continued the honest boor,"for he has an open hand, and winna let a poor body want an he has it."
The virtue of profuse generosity, by which, indeed, they themselves aremost directly advantaged, is readily admitted by the vulgar as a cloakfor many sins.
At Stamford our heroine was deposited in safety by her communicativeguide. She obtained a place in the coach, which, although termed a lightone, and accommodated with no fewer than six horses, only reached Londonon the afternoon of the second day. The recommendation of the elder Mr.Staunton procured Jeanie a civil reception at the inn where the carriagestopped, and, by the aid of Mrs. Bickerton's correspondent, she found outher friend and relative Mrs. Glass, by whom she was kindly received andhospitably entertained.