Chapter Forty One.
In which our Hero has his Head turned the Wrong Way.
Although it may be very proper, when an offence has been offered us, to show that we feel the injury, it often happens that we act too much upon impulse and carry measures to extremities; and this our hero felt as the coach wheeled him along, every second increasing his distance from Emma Phillips; twenty times he was inclined to take a postchaise and return, but the inconsistency would have been so glaring, that shame prevented him; so he went on until he reached the metropolis, and on arriving there, having nothing better to do, he went to bed. The next day he booked himself for the following day’s coach to Manstone, and having so done, he thought he would reconnoitre the domicile of Major and Mrs McShane, and, now that Furness was no longer to be dreaded, make his existence known to them. He went to Holborn accordingly, and found the shop in the same place, with the usual enticing odour sent forth from the grating which gave light and air to the kitchen; but he perceived that there was no longer the name of McShane on the private door, and entering the coffee-room, and looking towards the spot where Mrs McShane usually stood carving the joint, he discovered a person similarly employed whose face was unknown to him; in fact, it could not be Mrs McShane, as it was a man. Our hero went up to him, and inquired if the McShanes still carried on the business, and was told that they had sold it some time back. His next inquiry, as to what had become of them, produced an “I don’t know,” with some symptoms of impatience at being interrupted. Under such circumstances, our hero had nothing more to do but either to sit down and eat beef or to quit the premises. He preferred the latter, and was once more at the hotel, where he dedicated the remainder of the day to thinking of his old friends, as fate had debarred him from seeing them.
The next morning Joey set off by the coach, and arrived at Manstone a little before dusk. He remained at the principal inn of the village, called the Austin Arms, in honour of the property in the immediate vicinity; and, having looked at the various quarterings of arms that the signboard contained, without the slightest idea that they appertained to himself, he ordered supper, and looking out of the window of the first floor, discovered, at no great distance down the one street which composed the village, the small ale-house where he had before met Mary. Our hero no longer felt the pride of poverty; he had resented the treatment he had received at the Hall when friendless, but, now that he was otherwise, he had overcome the feeling, and had resolved to go up to the Hall on the following day, and ask for Mary. He was now well dressed and with all the appearance and manners of a gentleman: and, moreover, he had been so accustomed to respect from servants, that he had no idea of being treated otherwise. The next morning, therefore, he walked up to the Hall, and, knocking at the door, as soon as it was opened, he told the well-powdered domestics that he wished to speak a few words to Miss Atherton, if she still lived with Mrs Austin. His appearance was considered by these gentlemen in waiting as sufficient to induce them to show him into a parlour, and to send for Mary, who in a few minutes came down to him, and embraced him tenderly. “I should hardly have known you, my dear boy,” said she, as the tears glistened in her eyes; “you have grown quite a man. I cannot imagine, as you now stand before me, that you could have been the little Joey that was living at Mrs Chopper’s.”
“We are indebted to that good woman for our prosperity,” replied Joey. “Do you know, Mary, that your money has multiplied so fast that I almost wish that you would take it away, lest by some accident it should be lost? I have brought you an account.”
“Let me have an account of yourself, my dear brother,” replied Mary; “I have no want of money; I am here well and happy.”
“So you must have been, for you look as young and handsome as when I last saw you, Mary. How is your mistress?”
“She is well, and would, I think, be happy, if it were not for the strange disease of Mr Austin, who secludes himself entirely, and will not even go outside of the park gates. He has become more overbearing and haughty than ever, and several of the servants have quitted within the last few months.”
“I have no wish to meet him, dear Mary, after what passed when I was here before? I will not put up with insolence from any man, even in his own house,” replied our hero.
“Do not speak so loud, his study is next to us, and that door leads to it,” replied Mary; “he would not say anything to you, but he would find fault with me.”
“Then you had better come to see me at the Austin Arms, where I am stopping.”
“I will come this evening,” replied Mary.
At this moment the door which led to the study was opened, and a voice was heard—
“Mary, I wish you would take your sweethearts to a more convenient distance.”
Joey heard the harsh, hollow voice, but recognised it not; he would not turn round to look at Mr Austin, but remained with his back to him, and the door closed again with a bang.
“Well,” observed Joey, “that is a pretty fair specimen of what he is, at all events. Why did you not say I was your brother?”
“Because it was better to say nothing,” replied Mary; “he will not come in again.”
“Well, I shall leave you now,” said Joey, “and wait till the evening; you will be certain to come?”
“O yes, I certainly shall,” replied Mary. “Hush! I hear my mistress with Mr Austin. I wish you could see her, you would like her very much.”
The outer door of the study was closed to, and then the door of the room in which they were conversing was opened, but it was shut again immediately.
“Who was that?” said our hero, who had not turned round to ascertain. “Mrs Austin; she just looked in, and seeing I was engaged, she only nodded to me to say that she wanted me, I presume, and then went away again,” replied Mary. “You had better go now, and I will be sure to come in the evening.”
Our hero quitted the hall; he had evidently been in the presence of his father and mother without knowing it, and all because he happened on both occasions to have his face turned in a wrong direction, and he left the house as unconscious as he went in. As soon as our hero had left the hall, Mary repaired to her mistress.
“Do you want me, madam?” said Mary, as she went to her mistress.
“No, Mary, not particular, but Mr Austin sent for me; he was annoyed at your having a strange person in the house, and desired me to send him away.”
“It was my brother, madam,” replied Mary.
“Your brother! I am very sorry, Mary, but you know how nervous Mr Austin is, and there is no reasoning against nerves. I should have liked to have seen your brother very much; if I recollect rightly, you told me he was doing well at Portsmouth, is he not?”
“Yes, madam; he is now a partner in one of the first houses there.”
“Why, Mary, he will soon have you to keep his own house, I presume, and I shall lose you; indeed, your are more fit for such a situation than your present one, so I must not regret it if you do.”
“He has no idea of taking a house, madam,” replied Mary, “nor have I any of quitting you; your place is quite good enough for me. I promised to go down and meet him this evening, with your permission, at the Austin Arms.”
“Certainly,” replied Mrs Austin; and then the conversation dropped.
Our hero remained at the inn two days, a portion of which Mary passed with him, and then he set off for Dudstone; he did not make Mary a confident of his attachment to Emma Phillips, although he imparted to her the death of Furness, and the relief it had afforded him, promising to return to see her before he went back to Portsmouth.
Joey once more set off on his travels, and without incident arrived at the good old town of Dudstone, where he put up at the Commercial Hotel; his only object was, to ascertain the condition of his lodgings: for the first two years he had sent the rent of the room to the old woman to whom the house belonged, but latterly no application had been made for it, although his address had been given; and, occupied by other business more important, our hero had quite forgotten the affair, or if he did occasionally recall it to his memory, it was soon dismissed again. His key he had brought with him, and he now proceeded to the house and knocked at the door, surmising that the old woman was possibly dead, and his property probably disposed of; the first part of the surmise was disproved by the old woman coming to the door; she did not recognise our hero, and it was not until he produced the key of his room that she was convinced that he was the lawful owner of its contents. She told him she could not write herself, and that the party who had written to Portsmouth for her was dead, and that she felt sure he would come back at some time and settle with her; and, moreover, she was afraid that the furniture would be much injured by having been shut up so long, which was not only very likely, but proved to be the case when the door was opened; she also said that she could have made money for him, had he allowed her to let the lodgings furnished, as she had had several applications. Our hero walked into his apartment, which certainly had a very mothy and mouldy appearance. As soon as a fire had been lighted, he collected all that he wanted to retain for himself, the books, plate, and some other articles, which he valued for Spikeman’s sake, and as old reminiscences, and putting them up in a chest, requested that it might be sent to the inn; and then, upon reflection, he thought he could do no better with the remainder than to make them a present to the old woman, which he did, after paying up her arrears of rent, and by so doing made one person, for the time, superlatively happy, which is something worth doing in this chequered world of ours. Joey, as soon as he had returned to the inn, sat down to write to Spikeman, and also to Mr Small, at Portsmouth, and having posted his letters, as he did not quit Dudstone until the next morning, he resolved to pay a visit to his former acquaintances, Miss Amelia and Miss Ophelia. His knock at the door was answered by Miss Amelia, as usual, but with only one arm unoccupied, a baby being in the other, and the squalling in the little parlour gave further evidence of matrimony. Our hero was obliged to introduce himself, as he was stared at as an utter stranger; he was then immediately welcomed, and requested to walk into the parlour. In a few minutes the whole of the family history was communicated. The old lady had been dead three years, and at her death the young ladies found themselves in possession of one thousand pounds each. This thousand pounds proved to them that husbands were to be had, even at Dudstone and its vicinity. Miss Amelia had been married more than two years to a master builder, who had plenty of occupation, not so much in building new houses at Dudstone as in repairing the old ones, and they were doing well, and had two children. Her sister had married a young farmer, and she could see her money every day in the shape of bullocks and sheep upon the farm; they also were doing well. Joey remained an hour: Mrs Potts was very anxious that he should remain longer, and give her his opinion of her husband; but this, Joey declined, and, desiring to be kindly remembered to her sister, took his leave, and the next morning was on his way to London.