Roger Kyffin's Ward

by William Henry Giles Kingston

The evening was spent very pleasantly, for although the young Baron was sad at heart, he endeavoured to overcome his feelings, for the sake of entertaining his guests, and music and pleasant conversation made the hours pass rapidly away. The officers of the foreign legion had neither the inclination nor the means of imitating the example of British military officers, who at that time, and on such an occasion, would have spent the evening in a carouse. A few glasses of lemonade was probably the extent of the entertainment afforded by the host, or expected by the guests.

The next morning Harry found himself on the box of Lady Tryon’s coach, rumbling away towards London. Her lady’s-maid was inside. The footman sat on the box with Harry. Even the beautiful forest scenery through which they passed failed to raise Harry’s spirits. He was constantly looking back in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the chimneys of Stanmore; not that he could really have seen them, by-the-bye, but his heart flew, at all events, in the direction of his eye. He thought, too, of dear sweet Lucy lying on her sick-bed, too likely, he feared, to prove her death-bed.

The road was none of the best in those days, and Harry and the footman had often to get off and help the carriage along. This was a relief, however. They each had a brace of pistols, and a blunderbuss was strung at the back of the box. Harry, however, had a strong suspicion that Simon, the footman, would be very unwilling to use it, even in defence of the matured charms of Miss Betsy Frizzle, her ladyship’s much suffering and much enduring handmaiden. Sometimes the journey occupied three days, but her ladyship was in a hurry, and her carriage being unusually light, and the roads in tolerably good order, they were only to sleep one night on the road.

Harry had been so constantly away from home for the last few days, that he had had no conversation with his grandmother. As they were seated at tea in their inn, the old lady again spoke of his marriage with Mabel.

“I told you, Harry, that the Colonel’s daughter would die. I knew it long ago. I saw it in her eye, and her voice told me that she was not to live many years in this world. Thus, mark me, Miss Mabel will become the mistress of Stanmore. Now, Harry, I intend to leave you all I have got, so that you may cut a figure in the world. You are like your father in face and figure, and I love you on that account. He was more a man of the world than you are, or will ever become, I suspect. Let me tell you it is an important thing to know the world well. I do, and have no great respect for it in consequence; but I know how to manage it, and that’s what I want you to do. You will have many opportunities in London; I must beg that you will not throw them away. You may be the possessor of a large fortune, and yet unless you know how to manage it, it may be of little use to you. Many a man, with three or four thousand a year, does more than others with thirty or forty thousand. I would have you also, Harry, pay every attention to the wishes of your guardian, Mr Kyffin. He is a very respectable man, and will probably save money, and as far as I can learn, as he has no other relations of his own, he will undoubtedly leave it to you. Thus I hope that you may be very well off. Still both Mr Kyffin and I may live for a good many years. When he last called for you in London I examined his countenance, and considered him a remarkably hale and healthy man, while I myself feel as well as I ever did in my life. However, I don’t wish to think of the time when you will come into my property.”

Harry, of course, begged that the old lady would not think of such an event, and declared himself ready to enter some profession, by which he might make himself independent of the expected fortunes of his friends. He thought that he might like the law. Life in London and in dusty chambers was not exactly what he had been accustomed to, but still, where an important object was to be gained, he was ready to submit to anything. Lady Tryon laughed at the notion. He might certainly eat his dinners at the Inns of Court and live in dusty chambers, but as to making anything by so doing, the idea was preposterous. A young fellow like him, of good family and presentable appearance, must marry an heiress. He was fit for that, and nothing else.

Harry saw that there was no use discussing the matter with his grandmother. He resolved, however, to talk it over with his guardian as soon as they met. He saw that the old lady had some project in her head, which she had resolved to keep secret from him. It must be confessed, he was very glad when her ladyship rang for Betsy Frizzle, and retired to her room. They arrived next day late in the evening at Lady Tryon’s house, in the middle of — Street.

Harry set off the next day to visit Mr Roger Kyffin, of Hampstead. He found that the coach ran twice in the day to that far-distant suburb. It was a pleasant drive, among green fields, here and there a smiling villa, but otherwise with few buildings. Mr Kyffin had not come back from the city when Harry arrived, but his careful housekeeper received him with every attention, and insisted on his partaking of some of her preserves and home-made wine, just to give him an appetite for supper, as of course her master always dined in London.

At last Mr Kyffin arrived. He was much pleased with Harry’s appearance. They spent a very pleasant evening. Harry could not help contrasting the conversation of his guardian with that of his grandmother—the man of business, so unworldly, and with a heart so full of warm affection, anxious for the welfare of his fellow-creatures, while the old lady with one foot in the grave was truly of the earth—earthy. Harry did not exactly say as much as this to himself, but he felt it, notwithstanding. Roger Kyffin was very much pleased to hear of Harry’s wish to enter a profession. “I would not have you decide in a hurry,” he said, “and you must consider for what you are best fitted. You know that I, as far as I have the power, will help you to the utmost—on that you may depend. Further than that, Harry, I don’t wish to bias you.” Harry slept at Mr Kyffin’s, a pretty little cottage, and accompanied him the next day back to London. He found that the mornings hung somewhat heavily on his hands; the evenings, too, were not spent in a way particularly agreeable to him, as Lady Tryon insisted on his accompanying her to the routs and other parties she frequented. He had a dislike to cards, and could never learn to play, so she had not insisted on his joining her, but she spent the whole of the evening at the card-table. He saw, however, from the piles of gold placed before her that she was playing high; how high he could not tell; but very often she returned home in an unusually bad humour, when he found it safer to keep silence than to attempt any conversation with her.

At this time, ladies of fashion, as well as gentlemen, were fearfully addicted to the vice of gambling. The law was doing its utmost to put down public hells, but it was unable in general to stop the practice in private houses, in consequence of the difficulty of obtaining evidence.