“I found the young spark who had taken Lydia’s fancy was William, who was with us at Fairfield Hall, and whom we all liked, as a very sober well behaved young man. His sister, my wife’s favourite maid, introduced him to us some time before we went to Bath. She said he was like many foolish young men, tired of being remote from temptation; and that he had gained, with much difficulty, her father’s consent to seek a place in London, as a valet, or a butler, being well qualified for both; she was quite unhappy that he should be left to his own guidance till he was fixed in a sober family; seeing he was a very likely young man, and quite a stranger. So my wife, who never is behind hand in good nature, said he might come to Putney, and we were well pleased with him, and engaged him to attend us to Bath. Poor Lydia has been honest with Mrs. Tomkins. The young fellow was not so much in fault as herself: she confessed that she sought him. However, this was not the question with me; we might perhaps have hushed up this business; such things are done, as they say, every day: but what follows? a crime, in my opinion, ten times worse than Lydia’s; being, as it were, committed in cool blood; for what can be more dishonest than passing off a deluded girl for a chaste one? and depriving a poor innocent babe of a father, and a name. I could not do such an act of injustice; being convinced that it would be doing what I should not think just in another to do by me.
I consulted our friend counsellor Steadman, however, on this vexatious business; for notwithstanding I have little to be proud of as one may say, yet it went some how to my heart, that a child of mine should be pointed at by scorn and derision. He is a worthy and a wise man, and agrees with Mr. Tomkins, that the best thing I can do, is to let these young simpletons be married; the girl being half distracted with the fear of losing sight of William; and he being willing to take her, as he told the friend we employed, Mrs. Tomkins’s mother, that he would work for her to his life’s end, and show his good master that it was not his money he wished for. I find his parents are honest people, though low in the world; they had a farm within six miles of York, but by losses amongst their cattle things went backward, and being in arrears for rent when their lease expired, they lost the farm. William was then about eighteen, had received good learning, and was a sober, steady lad; but a little pride made him discontented; and he did not like to work as a gardener, in a piece of ground, which his father cultivated in that way, near York, and which, as he says, in excuse for his leaving his parents, could only produce a maintenance for them, and that he was only a burden on the ground. So all was fixed for the marriage, and we thought no time was to be lost.
I am not quite pleased with my wife, Sir Murdoch, although I know she is as harmless as an infant; yet it grieves me to see that she will always be an infant. She was absent a whole month from Putney; and whilst Caroline was thus employed, and thus disturbed, she was taking her pleasure with people she knew nothing of, and whom all honest and sober minded persons would shun. During eight days she waited forsooth, for the captain, who could not think it proper for Mrs. Serge to travel without an escort, as he calls a puppy. I remembered the time, when much younger, she could travel by land and by water without such a conundrum in her head. However they arrived here, and the captain, to my great satisfaction, refused to lodge with us, pleading business in town; and intending to be absent only three days from his Nora and his friends.
I shall say nothing of my poor wife’s hysterics, when I told her how matters stood with Lydia. She was terribly bad indeed! But, thank God, these fits are not dangerous, as the doctors say; and experience seems to justify them in their opinion; for, I know one of my wife’s old friends, who has been subject to them twenty years. No sooner had my poor Lydia got the better of hers on this trying occasion, than she lamented her hard case, saying, with many tears and much anger, that she should never be able to shew her face again amongst fashionable people; and that no one but myself would ever have thought of sinking their family by such a dunghill connexion. I lost my temper, Sir Murdoch, for it frets a man to be always doing for the best, and who is said never to do right. And I very roundly told her, that all the plagues of my life were owing to fashionable people, as she called gamblers and pickpockets; and if, added I, that were all the mischief, I should be tempted to thank William Willet for his good services. You have now, continued I, been a month under a roof which the honest would shun; whilst under your own, Mrs. Serge, the prop and stay of my life, is sinking to the grave. You might have learned a lesson of more value than what your fashionable people at Reveland Park have been teaching you. She looked confounded, and wept in silence. No man loves peace more than I do; my heart relented; and I only added, that she knew this was my temper; that, whatever I thought, or rather felt to be right, that I would do; and that the following morning Lydia would be Mrs. Willet. I kept my word, Sir Murdoch, and last Thursday by means of a licence, I saw the young couple united. I do not know how it was, but they quite softened me by their tears and thanks. Mrs. Tomkins was so good as to accompany them to her mother’s; they set out as soon as the ceremony was over, and I returned to Putney to dinner, contented and relieved in my mind. On entering the parlour I found my fashionable son-in-law there; he was reading the newspaper, and I asked him, by way of saying something, “what news?” “None,” replied he, “of importance; but I understand, Sir, we may expect a curious article to-morrow.” He smiled, and, as I thought, insolently; adding, “Miss Lydia Serge, second daughter to Jeremiah Serge, Esq. married to William Willet, late butler and gardener at Putney in her father’s house, will make a curious paragraph!” “Very likely,” answered I gravely; “and the article may farther say, that the marriage ceremony was performed in St. Martin’s Church, by the minister of the parish, and in the presence of the bride’s father. I shall contentedly leave to the public their opinions; some may be found who will perceive nothing wonderful in a marriage between Serge the taylor’s daughter, and Willet the farmer’s son.” “You are to judge for yourself, Sir,” replied he, “but I conceive few will think Miss Lydia’s character redeemed by this twofold disgrace to herself and family. Upon my honour I pity Mrs. Serge; and I dread the effects of this intelligence on Mrs. Fairly.” “Look ye, captain!” answered I, “neither your mode, nor William Willet’s, of getting a footing in my family has been such as will make either of you my counsellors or guides. I shall act as I please, do as I please; but as I am a just man, be it your case so to conduct yourself, as to make it pleasant to me to be your friend. My children, except one, who is too good for this miserable world, have both chosen for themselves. The same lenity has been employed for the one, whom weakness has betrayed to folly, as to the other, whom vanity and presumption rendered ungrateful and disobedient.” “I hope, Sir,” returned he with a fierce air, “you do not pretend to compare—” “We will do what is better,” answered I, ringing the bell, “we will drop the enquiry, and have our dinner.” My gentleman was surprised, I believe; by my manner he took the hint, however, and followed me to the dining parlour. Our meal was not a cheerful one, and I went to my dear girl the moment the cloth was withdrawn.
I see, Sir Murdoch, how things are turning. My wife is cajoled and flattered by this fellow to such a degree as would surprise you; she fancies he has done her a great favour by running away with her daughter! Poor soul! it will be well if he does not run away with her simple understanding! However, all these troubles call upon me for diligence in the settling my worldly concerns, as well as those, for another and a better state. I have already spoke to counsellor Steadman on this subject. My property is very considerable, and much caution is necessary in the disposal of it, so as to render it a lasting benefit to my family. Now, my good Sir Murdoch, I think nothing would give me more comfort in my last hour, I believe it is not far distant, than to know that I had left you, and my dear friend Mr. Malcolm with Mr. Steadman, guardians and trustees for the support of the ignorant and helpless, and a wall of defence for the innocents who may spring from my daughter’s imprudent marriages. I am led to hope that you will not refuse me this kindness. You shall hear from the counsellor when all is prepared. He has been my right hand lately; I am directed by him in all that relates to William’s settlement; but Lydia shall have the same allowance as Nora; and we are on the look-out for something for her husband.
God preserve you all in health,
prays your faithful friend,
Jeremiah Serge.
P. S. My wife begs to be remembered, she is out of spirits, and fancies the air of Putney unwholesome. My Caroline is a miracle! It is astonishing to think how nature is supported! I am far from being well; you will not wonder at this.