Chapter XIX.
The Vigil.
"That's as good-looking a young Man," says my Father, "as ever I saw—quite a Mate for Gatty."
"Hush, Father, he'll hear you," says Prue softly.
"He can't," says Father, lowering his Voice, however.
"How provoking it must be to Gatty," says Prue, "to know he is here, and yet be kept in attendance on my Lady!"
"Tush, Child, she'd rather know he was here than not.... Well, Mr. Heavitree," (when our Visitor returned,) "have you considered where you are to get a Bed to-night?"
"Why, no, Sir, really I have not."
"Then I'll tell you! You may take your Choice of all the Beds in this House except Lady Betty's; for we are all going to sit up!"
"Why, then, Sir, with your Leave, I'll sit up too!"
"Do so, young Gentleman, and welcome. You see, we have quality Lodgers in the House, who keep late Hours; and as they require a good Deal of waiting on, we think it best to sit up—'Tis but for one Night."
"Besides which," put in my Mother, "though we are not ourselves apprehensive of an Earthquake this Night any more than any other, yet having such a fresh Recollection of the Terror we experienced during the last Shock, and knowing that so many Thousands of People are in distressing Apprehension of a similar and more terrible Occurrence, it seems unfeeling to think of sleeping and taking one's natural Rest, instead of watching with others, and sympathising with them."
"I think precisely as you do, Madam," said Mr. Heavitree; "I assure you that though I am not of those who expect the Earthquake, I am disposed for Anything but Levity, and feel this to be an impressive Occasion."
So, this being his acknowledged Feeling, we sate about the Fire and fell into a somewhat graver Strain of Conversation than usual; and I was glad to find that the young Man could talk seriously as well as pleasantly. Though he had not let fall a Word about want of Refreshment, I knew he must have been fasting for some Time, and therefore helped him plentifully to cold Beef with his Tea and Bread and Butter, which he pronounced very acceptable. While he was eating, Gatty returned, all Smiles, and said, "I am glad to see you doing so well, Mr. Heavitree!" but just as he had made Room for her beside him, tinkle went the Bell, and away she was obliged to run again.
"Can't we muffle that Bell?" says he, somewhat impatiently.
"Then my Lady would hammer on the Floor," said I, "and would keep her up-Stairs altogether."
"Yes," says Father, "that would answer as ill as the two Housemaids in Æsop's Fables, that killed the Cock for waking their Mistress."
"Well," says Mr. Heavitree, "it won't be for long, that's one Blessing. Her Time's up on Monday, and I shall stay in Town till then, and take her down with me in the old Coach."
"I hope you won't have so many overturns this Time," said my Mother.
"Why, no," said he smiling, "we can dispense with them now; but I protest that Snow-Journey was the pleasantest I ever had in my Life."
"You are going to possess a Treasure, Sir," said my Father energetically.
"Indeed I think so, Sir! I was not aware you so well knew her Value."
"Always took to her, Mr. Heavitree, from the very first; Didn't I, Girls?"
"Indeed you did, Father."
"And when is it to be?" says my Father significantly.
"Nay, Sir," said Mr. Heavitree with a little Embarrassment, "I've not got Gatty to name the Day yet, but I hope it will be before long; and as my Sister Clarissa is shortly to be married, which will deprive Roaring House of its present Mistress, perhaps we may arrange to have two Weddings on the same Day."
"Was that poor Wayfarer found under the Snow?" said my Mother.
"Oh no, Ma'am, we conclude she accomplished her Journey in Safety."
By-and-by, Gatty joined us again; and we all sate chatting till Twelve o'Clock. Then my Lady's Supper went up, and then we had our own; a pretty substantial one, as watching makes People hungry.
After Supper, we, according to Custom, had Prayers; and I thought it not amiss to select for our Evening Portion the twenty-fourth Chapter of St. Matthew, which speaks of Famines, Pestilences, and Earthquakes. After this, we again drew round the Fire; for Watching makes people chilly: and Mr. Heavitree began to repeat some Reports he had gathered, of the wretched State our Gaols were in, at that Time, overflowing with the Refuse of our Army and Navy, who, for Want of honest Employment, were perishing miserably amidst the Stench and Horrors of noisome Dungeons.
"That they are," says my Father; "and as for Newgate, it is now in so pestilential a State of Infection from the overcrowding together of dirty, starving Felons, that the Effluvium they have brought into Court on their Trials hath cost us the Lives of a Lord Mayor, an Alderman, two Judges, divers Lawyers, the greater Part of the Jury, and I know not how many of the Bystanders. This Spread of the Gaol Fever among the upper Classes will do more to get the Abuse remedied than the Deaths of Hundreds of Criminals in their Cells; but yet I can't for the Life of me help regretting that so many able-bodied Men, whose Labour might be serviceable to the Community, should be idling at the public Expense in Prison."
Mr. Heavitree was silent, and Gatty presently asked him what he was musing about. He said, "Those Rogues who pulled me into the dark Cellar said I was not the right Man. I was wondering if they have found him yet, and what they have done to him."
This led to sundry dismal Stories, of Footpads and Street-Assassins; and of Lord Harborough's being beset by Robbers in Piccadilly in broad Daylight, and one of the Chairmen pulling a Pole out of his Lordship's Chair and knocking down one of the Villains, while the Earl, leaping out, and drawing his Sword, put the Rest to flight. Then we wondered whether Times could get worse, and whether they would ever mend, and whether the next Generation would listen to such Facts as idle Tales, or whether Abuses would increase to that Degree as to bring down a Providential Judgment on the City, like that which overtook Gomorrah, or like that which we were now expecting.
Soon after this, my Father fell fast asleep, and my Mother began to nod. Prudence was knitting with all her Might, and I took up my Mother's Knotting, and on Pretence of getting nearer the Light, edged my Chair further off from Gatty, who continued conversing with Mr. Heavitree in an under Tone, which became lower and lower. I am persuaded neither of them felt in the least sleepy, nor had the smallest Apprehensions of the Earthquake; but Prue yawned awfully from Time to Time, and I was profoundly silent and very serious.
All at once, Lady Betty's Bell rang violently, and Gatty ran up Stairs. The Wax Lights had burned out, and at first it seemed that there were no others, which put my Lady into a sad Taking. The Idea of her being left in the Dark with an Earthquake! Happily, another Pacquet of Wax Candles was found, and, after Ratafia had been served round, they fell to their Card-playing again; but Gatty affirmed that my Lady changed Colour, and laid down her Hand on Mr. Sandys's roguishly shaking the Table.
At Length, all the Clocks struck Five; at which Hour everybody conceived themselves safe, as witlessly as they had previously held themselves to be in Danger. The Card-Party now broke up; Gatty went to undress my Lady, and I went to lock out the Gentlemen, who departed in a Body, looking fagged and haggard enough. Just as Mr. Caryl was going forth, he paused for a Moment and said, "By-the-bye, this is where Mr.—Mr. what's his Name? Mr. Fenwick lodged—Can you tell me where he is at present, Mrs. Patty?"
I coolly answered, "With his poor People in Shoreditch, Sir."
"Shoreditch? Shoreditch? Ha, I'll try to remember that," says he carelessly; and turned on his Heel. I thought to myself, I don't believe you will; your Cue is to forget.
Then I went to get my Father and Mother to Bed, and send off Prue, and lastly, to go to Bed myself. As for Mr. Heavitree, he was content with a couple of Chairs by the Fire. Gatty slept with my Lady, who did not feel brave enough to be alone.
The Watch made us all latish, and arise yawnish. Peter told me the Roads were all astir before Light, with People returning to their Homes; and that the Preachers were trying to enforce on their Penitents that they had had an Answer to Prayer. Lady Betty did not rise till Noon; what with her Vapours, her Whims, and her Breakfast, she did not depart till two o'Clock. We had scarcely a Word of Gatty, but she ran in to us just at last, and kissed us all round, taking Leave of us once for all, and receiving our good Wishes for her future Happiness with many Blushes and Smiles. Mr. Heavitree had already gone off; and as soon as we had tidied my Lady's Rooms, we all subsided into our usual Quiet.
The following Day, about Noon, I was behind the Counter, when I received a great Shock by hearing a Customer say casually, "Dr. Elwes is dead—he went off quite suddenly at six this Morning."
I could hardly go on weighing some Comfits, the Tears crowded so fast into my Eyes at the unexpected Loss of our old Friend. I remained but to have the ill News confirmed and gather the Particulars, and then went up to break them to my Mother, who was sitting with my Father in their own Chamber. She was a good deal affected, and my Father undertook the Office of Consoler with great Kindliness. After a While I went down and asked Prue, who felt less Concern than I did for the Doctor, to take my Place a little While in the Shop. Then I went and sate down in the Parlour, and thought over his various Acts of Kindness to me, and shed some Tears of unaffected Regret. He had never been a decidedly religious Character, but was much liked by his Patients, deservedly loved by the Poor, and to us had been a tried and valued Friend.
While I was in this sorrowful Mood, in comes Mr. Fenwick, so flushed with Exercise and good Spirits as to look quite handsome. Feeling so low as I did just then, I did not reciprocate his Salutation quite so cheerfully as he seemed to expect; and he, on his Part, on finding that my Father and Mother were well, paid less Attention to my Depression than he might have done; and, for the first Time in my Life, I thought him a little selfish.
"I have some good News," said he.
"I am glad to hear it," said I, "for I have some bad News."
"What's that?" said he.
"Our dear Friend Dr. Elwes is dead;" and I put the Corner of my Apron to my Eyes.
"Well,—I am sorry to hear it," resumes he, after a Pause; "he was not, I fear, a very thoughtful Man."
"A very good Man," said I, warming.
"A very kindly, attentive Man in a Sick-room," says he, "and a pleasant Companion, which is all I know about him."
"We knew a good Deal more," said I, "and know that his Loss won't be soon supplied. We shall miss him very much. He was truly benevolent, whatever you may think."
"I don't deny it, I assure you," said he, looking surprised at my Heat, "I only wished there had been a more Christian Basis for his many good Qualities."
"It is not very Christian, I think, to depreciate them, especially at a Time like this."
"My dear Patty, I stand reproved. I did not sufficiently consider, nor, indeed, sufficiently know the Wound your Feelings had just experienced."
This touched me, and I said, "We will speak of it no more, Sir. I am glad to see you looking so well. You told me, I think, you had heard some good News."
"Yes, from Mr. Caryl."
"Quack!" said I hastily; losing my Temper and good Manners in my revived Impression of that Gentleman's Duplicity and Hollowness.
"Patty!" said Mr. Fenwick, in a Tone of mild Surprise.
"I beg your Pardon, Sir," said I, ashamed of myself, "but you know I never can hear that Gentleman's Name with Patience."
"I do know it," said he, smiling very pleasantly, "and should retort on you the Accusation of Uncharitableness, or else endeavour to laugh you out of your singular Prejudice against him, but that I feel Something in it so flattering to myself, that I am disarmed. However, I have that to tell you of him now, which will, I fancy, alter your Opinion."
"Nothing will alter my Opinion of him," persisted I, "no Good will ever come to you from that Quarter."
"Why not?"
"Because I know him better than you do." He laughed.
"You may laugh, Sir," said I, "but you'll see in Time that I am right. Have you seen him lately?"
"Not since I was in this House."
"Ah, well, I have seen him more than once—I've seen him and heard him among his own Set, when he didn't know I was by, and he said Things that ... convinced me he was a false Friend to you."
"What were those Things?"
"I'm not clear that I have a Right to repeat them."
"An accused Party has always a Right to have the Charge against him substantiated. You are silent?—Well, Mrs. Patty, since you are so inveterate against this poor Gentleman, I shall only irritate you, I am afraid, by acquainting you with Anything in his Favour, and therefore I'll keep my News to myself—"
"Just tell me one Thing—Has he sent you back your Poem?"
"My Poem! No—you know he accidently burnt that, Months ago."
"Pshaw!"
"You never will believe it," continued he laughing, "nor forgive him for it. Why, I have forgiven him, this long While; and if I have, can't you?"
"No."
"Well, Patty, this Interest in the Fate of my unlucky Manuscript is, as I have before told you, very gratifying to me; but still, I should be more gratified if you would do Justice to an innocent Man."
"Why, he was here, the Night before last, Sir! and from the careless Way in which he inquired for you, I could see he did not value you a Straw! I really wonder at you, Mr. Fenwick."
"Nay, I must say I wonder at you, Mrs. Patty; but since we are getting rather too warm upon it, I'll wish you Good-bye for the Present, and converse with you some other Time on what is in my Mind, but which I fear would just now meet with an unfavourable Hearing." Saying which, he took up his Hat, and was going away quite formally, when, turning short about, he looked full into my Face for a Minute, and said with an inexpressible Sweetness of Reproach:
"Why, Patty! I didn't think you could be so cross!"
