CHAPTER VIII.
AFTER GOOD FORTUNE COMES EVIL.
Since my Lady Mary Wortley Montagu brought home the custom ofinoculation from Turkey (a perilous practice many deem it, and only auseless rushing into the jaws of danger), I think the severity of thesmall-pox, that dreadful scourge of the world, has somewhat been abatedin our part of it; and remember in my time hundreds of the young andbeautiful who have been carried to the grave, or have only risen fromtheir pillows frightfully scarred and disfigured by this malady. Manya sweet face hath left its roses on the bed on which this dreadful andwithering blight has laid them. In my early days, this pestilence wouldenter a village and destroy half its inhabitants: at its approach, itmay well be imagined, not only the beautiful but the strongest werealarmed, and those fled who could. One day in the year 1694 (I have goodreason to remember it), Doctor Tusher ran into Castlewood House, with aface of consternation, saying that the malady had made its appearance atthe blacksmith's house in the village, and that one of the maids therewas down in the small-pox.
The blacksmith, besides his forge and irons for horses, had an ale-housefor men, which his wife kept, and his company sat on benches before theinn-door, looking at the smithy while they drank their beer. Now,there was a pretty girl at this inn, the landlord's men called NancySievewright, a bouncing, fresh-looking lass, whose face was as red asthe hollyhocks over the pales of the garden behind the inn. At this timeHarry Esmond was a lad of sixteen, and somehow in his walks and ramblesit often happened that he fell in with Nancy Sievewright's bonny face;if he did not want something done at the blacksmith's he would go anddrink ale at the "Three Castles," or find some pretext for seeing thispoor Nancy. Poor thing, Harry meant or imagined no harm; and she, nodoubt, as little, but the truth is they were always meeting--in thelanes, or by the brook, or at the garden-palings, or about Castlewood:it was, "Lord, Mr. Henry!" and "how do you do, Nancy?" many and many atime in the week. 'Tis surprising the magnetic attraction which drawspeople together from ever so far. I blush as I think of poor Nancy now,in a red bodice and buxom purple cheeks and a canvas petticoat; and thatI devised schemes, and set traps, and made speeches in my heart, whichI seldom had courage to say when in presence of that humble enchantress,who knew nothing beyond milking a cow, and opened her black eyes withwonder when I made one of my fine speeches out of Waller or Ovid. PoorNancy! from the midst of far-off years thine honest country face beamsout; and I remember thy kind voice as if I had heard it yesterday.
When Doctor Tusher brought the news that the small-pox was at the "ThreeCastles," whither a tramper, it was said, had brought the malady, HenryEsmond's first thought was of alarm for poor Nancy, and then of shameand disquiet for the Castlewood family, lest he might have brought thisinfection; for the truth is that Mr. Harry had been sitting in a backroom for an hour that day, where Nancy Sievewright was with a littlebrother who complained of headache, and was lying stupefied and crying,either in a chair by the corner of the fire, or in Nancy's lap, or onmine.
Little Lady Beatrix screamed out at Dr. Tusher's news; and my lord criedout, "God bless me!" He was a brave man, and not afraid of death inany shape but this. He was very proud of his pink complexion and fairhair--but the idea of death by small-pox scared him beyond all otherends. "We will take the children and ride away to-morrow to Walcote:"this was my lord's small house, inherited from his mother, near toWinchester.
"That is the best refuge in case the disease spreads," said Dr. Tusher."'Tis awful to think of it beginning at the ale-house; half the peopleof the village have visited that to-day, or the blacksmith's, which isthe same thing. My clerk Nahum lodges with them--I can never go into myreading-desk and have that fellow so near me. I WON'T have that man nearme."
"If a parishioner dying in the small-pox sent to you, would you not go?"asked my lady, looking up from her frame of work, with her calm blueeyes.
"By the Lord, I wouldn't," said my lord.
"We are not in a popish country; and a sick man doth not absolutelyneed absolution and confession," said the Doctor. "'Tis true they are acomfort and a help to him when attainable, and to be administered withhope of good. But in a case where the life of a parish priest in themidst of his flock is highly valuable to them, he is not called upon torisk it (and therewith the lives, future prospects, and temporal, evenspiritual welfare of his own family) for the sake of a single person,who is not very likely in a condition even to understand the religiousmessage whereof the priest is the bringer--being uneducated, andlikewise stupefied or delirious by disease. If your ladyship or hislordship, my excellent good friend and patron, were to take it . . ."
"God forbid!" cried my lord.
"Amen," continued Dr. Tusher. "Amen to that prayer, my very good lord!for your sake I would lay my life down"--and, to judge from the alarmedlook of the Doctor's purple face, you would have thought that thatsacrifice was about to be called for instantly.
To love children, and be gentle with them, was an instinct, rather thana merit, in Henry Esmond; so much so, that he thought almost with asort of shame of his liking for them, and of the softness into which itbetrayed him; and on this day the poor fellow had not only had hisyoung friend, the milkmaid's brother, on his knee, but had been drawingpictures and telling stories to the little Frank Castlewood, who hadoccupied the same place for an hour after dinner, and was never tiredof Henry's tales, and his pictures of soldiers and horses. As luck wouldhave it, Beatrix had not on that evening taken her usual place, whichgenerally she was glad enough to have, upon her tutor's lap. ForBeatrix, from the earliest time, was jealous of every caress which wasgiven to her little brother Frank. She would fling away even from thematernal arms, if she saw Frank had been there before her; insomuch thatLady Esmond was obliged not to show her love for her son in the presenceof the little girl, and embraced one or the other alone. She would turnpale and red with rage if she caught signs of intelligence or affectionbetween Frank and his mother: would sit apart, and not speak for a wholenight, if she thought the boy had a better fruit or a larger cake thanhers; would fling away a ribbon if he had one; and from the earliestage, sitting up in her little chair by the great fireplace opposite tothe corner where Lady Castlewood commonly sat at her embroidery, wouldutter infantine sarcasms about the favor shown to her brother. These, ifspoken in the presence of Lord Castlewood, tickled and amused his humor;he would pretend to love Frank best, and dandle and kiss him, and roarwith laughter at Beatrix's jealousy. But the truth is, my lord did notoften witness these scenes, nor very much trouble the quiet fireside atwhich his lady passed many long evenings. My lord was hunting all daywhen the season admitted; he frequented all the cock-fights and fairsin the country, and would ride twenty miles to see a main fought, or twoclowns break their heads at a cudgelling-match; and he liked better tosit in his parlor drinking ale and punch with Jack and Tom, than inhis wife's drawing-room: whither, if he came, he brought only too oftenbloodshot eyes, a hiccupping voice, and a reeling gait. The managementof the house, and the property, the care of the few tenants and thevillage poor, and the accounts of the estate, were in the hands of hislady and her young secretary, Harry Esmond. My lord took charge of thestables, the kennel, and the cellar--and he filled this and emptied ittoo.
So it chanced that upon this very day, when poor Harry Esmond had hadthe blacksmith's son, and the peer's son, alike upon his knee, littleBeatrix, who would come to her tutor willingly enough with her book andher writing, had refused him, seeing the place occupied by her brother,and, luckily for her, had sat at the further end of the room, away fromhim, playing with a spaniel dog which she had, (and for which, by fitsand starts, she would take a great affection,) and talking at HarryEsmond over her shoulder, as she pretended to caress the dog, sayingthat Fido would love her, and she would love Fido, and nothing but Fidoall her life.
When, then, the news was brought that the little boy at the "ThreeCastles" was ill with the small-pox, poor Harry Esmond felt a shock ofalarm, not so much for himself as for his mistress's son, who
m he mighthave brought into peril. Beatrix, who had pouted sufficiently, (and who,whenever a stranger appeared, began, from infancy almost, to play offlittle graces to catch his attention,) her brother being now gone tobed, was for taking her place upon Esmond's knee: for, though the Doctorwas very obsequious to her, she did not like him, because he had thickboots and dirty hands (the pert young miss said), and because she hatedlearning the catechism.
But as she advanced towards Esmond from the corner where she had beensulking, he started back and placed the great chair on which he wassitting between him and her--saying in the French language to LadyCastlewood, with whom the young lad had read much, and whom he hadperfected in this tongue--"Madam, the child must not approach me; I musttell you that I was at the blacksmith's to-day, and had his little boyupon my lap."
"Where you took my son afterwards," Lady Castlewood said, very angry,and turning red. "I thank you, sir, for giving him such company.Beatrix," she said in English, "I forbid you to touch Mr. Esmond. Comeaway, child--come to your room. Come to your room--I wish your Reverencegood-night--and you, sir, had you not better go back to your friends atthe ale-house?" her eyes, ordinarily so kind, darted flashes of angeras she spoke; and she tossed up her head (which hung down commonly) withthe mien of a princess.
"Hey-day!" says my lord, who was standing by the fireplace--indeedhe was in the position to which he generally came by that hour of theevening--"Hey-day! Rachel, what are you in a passion about? Ladies oughtnever to be in a passion. Ought they, Doctor Tusher? though it does goodto see Rachel in a passion--Damme, Lady Castlewood, you look dev'lishhandsome in a passion."
"It is, my lord, because Mr. Henry Esmond, having nothing to do withhis time here, and not having a taste for our company, has been to theale-house, where he has SOME FRIENDS."
My lord burst out, with a laugh and an oath--"You young slyboots, you'vebeen at Nancy Sievewright. D--- the young hypocrite, who'd have thoughtit in him? I say, Tusher, he's been after--"
"Enough, my lord," said my lady, "don't insult me with this talk."
"Upon my word," said poor Harry, ready to cry with shame andmortification, "the honor of that young person is perfectly unstainedfor me."
"Oh, of course, of course," says my lord, more and more laughing andtipsy. "Upon his HONOR, Doctor--Nancy Sieve-- . . ."
"Take Mistress Beatrix to bed," my lady cried at this moment to Mrs.Tucker her woman, who came in with her ladyship's tea. "Put her into myroom--no, into yours," she added quickly. "Go, my child: go, I say: nota word!" And Beatrix, quite surprised at so sudden a tone of authorityfrom one who was seldom accustomed to raise her voice, went out of theroom with a scared countenance, and waited even to burst out a-cryinguntil she got to the door with Mrs. Tucker.
For once her mother took little heed of her sobbing, and continuedto speak eagerly--"My lord," she said, "this young man--yourdependant--told me just now in French--he was ashamed to speak in hisown language--that he had been at the ale-house all day, where he hashad that little wretch who is now ill of the small-pox on his knee. Andhe comes home reeking from that place--yes, reeking from it--and takesmy boy into his lap without shame, and sits down by me, yes, by ME.He may have killed Frank for what I know--killed our child. Why was hebrought in to disgrace our house? Why is he here? Let him go--let himgo, I say, to-night, and pollute the place no more."
She had never once uttered a syllable of unkindness to Harry Esmond; andher cruel words smote the poor boy, so that he stood for some momentsbewildered with grief and rage at the injustice of such a stab from sucha hand. He turned quite white from red, which he had been.
"I cannot help my birth, madam," he said, "nor my other misfortune. Andas for your boy, if--if my coming nigh to him pollutes him now, it wasnot so always. Good-night, my lord. Heaven bless you and yours for yourgoodness to me. I have tired her ladyship's kindness out, and I willgo;" and, sinking down on his knee, Harry Esmond took the rough hand ofhis benefactor and kissed it.
"He wants to go to the ale-house--let him go," cried my lady.
"I'm d--d if he shall," said my lord. "I didn't think you could be sod--d ungrateful, Rachel."
Her reply was to burst into a flood of tears, and to quit the room witha rapid glance at Harry Esmond,--as my lord, not heeding them, andstill in great good-humor, raised up his young client from his kneelingposture (for a thousand kindnesses had caused the lad to revere my lordas a father), and put his broad hand on Harry Esmond's shoulder.
"She was always so," my lord said; "the very notion of a woman drivesher mad. I took to liquor on that very account, by Jove, for no otherreason than that; for she can't be jealous of a beer-barrel or a bottleof rum, can she, Doctor? D--- it, look at the maids--just look atthe maids in the house" (my lord pronounced all the wordstogether--just-look-at-the-maze-in-the-house: jever-see-such-maze?) "Youwouldn't take a wife out of Castlewood now, would you, Doctor?" and mylord burst out laughing.
The Doctor, who had been looking at my Lord Castlewood from under hiseyelids, said, "But joking apart, and, my lord, as a divine, Icannot treat the subject in a jocular light, nor, as a pastor of thiscongregation, look with anything but sorrow at the idea of so very younga sheep going astray."
"Sir," said young Esmond, bursting out indignantly, "she told me thatyou yourself were a horrid old man, and had offered to kiss her in thedairy."
"For shame, Henry," cried Doctor Tusher, turning as red as aturkey-cock, while my lord continued to roar with laughter. "If youlisten to the falsehoods of an abandoned girl--"
"She is as honest as any woman in England, and as pure for me," criedout Henry, "and, as kind, and as good. For shame on you to malign her!"
"Far be it from me to do so," cried the Doctor. "Heaven grant I maybe mistaken in the girl, and in you, sir, who have a truly PRECOCIOUSgenius; but that is not the point at issue at present. It appears thatthe small-pox broke out in the little boy at the 'Three Castles;' thatit was on him when you visited the ale-house, for your OWN reasons; andthat you sat with the child for some time, and immediately afterwardswith my young lord." The Doctor raised his voice as he spoke, andlooked towards my lady, who had now come back, looking very pale, with ahandkerchief in her hand.
"This is all very true, sir," said Lady Esmond, looking at the youngman.
"'Tis to be feared that he may have brought the infection with him."
"From the ale-house--yes," said my lady.
"D--- it, I forgot when I collared you, boy," cried my lord, steppingback. "Keep off, Harry my boy; there's no good in running into thewolf's jaws, you know."
My lady looked at him with some surprise, and instantly advancing toHenry Esmond, took his hand. "I beg your pardon, Henry," she said; "Ispoke very unkindly. I have no right to interfere with you--with your--"
My lord broke out into an oath. "Can't you leave the boy alone, mylady?" She looked a little red, and faintly pressed the lad's hand asshe dropped it.
"There is no use, my lord," she said; "Frank was on his knee as he wasmaking pictures, and was running constantly from Henry to me. The evilis done, if any."
"Not with me, damme," cried my lord. "I've been smoking,"--and helighted his pipe again with a coal--"and it keeps off infection; and asthe disease is in the village--plague take it--I would have you leaveit. We'll go to-morrow to Walcote, my lady."
"I have no fear," said my lady; "I may have had it as an infant: itbroke out in our house then; and when four of my sisters had it at home,two years before our marriage, I escaped it, and two of my dear sistersdied."
"I won't run the risk," said my lord; "I'm as bold as any man, but I'llnot bear that."
"Take Beatrix with you and go," said my lady. "For us the mischief isdone; and Tucker can wait upon us, who has had the disease."
"You take care to choose 'em ugly enough," said my lord, at which herladyship hung down her head and looked foolish: and my lord, callingaway Tusher, bade him come to the oak parlor and have a pipe. The Doctormade a low bow to her ladyship (of which salaams
he was profuse), andwalked off on his creaking square-toes after his patron.
When the lady and the young man were alone, there was a silence of somemoments, during which he stood at the fire, looking rather vacantlyat the dying embers, whilst her ladyship busied herself with thetambour-frame and needles.
"I am sorry," she said, after a pause, in a hard, dry voice,--"I REPEATI am sorry that I showed myself so ungrateful for the safety of my son.It was not at all my wish that you should leave us, I am sure, unlessyou found pleasure elsewhere. But you must perceive, Mr. Esmond, that atyour age, and with your tastes, it is impossible that you can continueto stay upon the intimate footing in which you have been in this family.You have wished to go to the University, and I think 'tis quite as wellthat you should be sent thither. I did not press this matter, thinkingyou a child, as you are, indeed, in years--quite a child; and Ishould never have thought of treating you otherwise until--until theseCIRCUMSTANCES came to light. And I shall beg my lord to despatch youas quick as possible: and will go on with Frank's learning as well as Ican, (I owe my father thanks for a little grounding, and you, I'm sure,for much that you have taught me,)--and--and I wish you a good-night,Mr. Esmond."
And with this she dropped a stately curtsy, and, taking her candle,went away through the tapestry door, which led to her apartments. Esmondstood by the fireplace, blankly staring after her. Indeed, he scarceseemed to see until she was gone; and then her image was impressed uponhim, and remained for ever fixed upon his memory. He saw her retreating,the taper lighting up her marble face, her scarlet lip quivering, andher shining golden hair. He went to his own room, and to bed, where hetried to read, as his custom was; but he never knew what he was readinguntil afterwards he remembered the appearance of the letters of the book(it was in Montaigne's Essays), and the events of the day passed beforehim--that is, of the last hour of the day; for as for the morning, andthe poor milkmaid yonder, he never so much as once thought. And he couldnot get to sleep until daylight, and woke with a violent headache, andquite unrefreshed.
He had brought the contagion with him from the "Three Castles" sureenough, and was presently laid up with the smallpox, which spared thehall no more than it did the cottage.