The Young Step-Mother; Or, A Chronicle of Mistakes

‘No.’

She told him to say his prayers, guiding the confession and thanksgiving that she feared he did not fully follow. As he rose up, and saw the tears on her cheeks, he whispered, ‘Mamma, did it make you so?’

Cause and effect were a great puzzle to him, but that swoon was the only thing that brought home to him that he had been guilty of something enormous, and when she owned that his danger had been the occasion, he stood and looked; then, standing bolt upright, with clasped hands, and rosy feet pressed close together, he said, with a long breath, ‘I’ll never get on Bamfylde again till I’m a big boy.’

As he spoke, Mr. Kendal pushed open the half-closed door, and Albinia, looking up, said, ‘Here’s a boy who knows he has done wrong, papa.’

Never was more welcome excuse for lifting the gallant child to his breast, and lavishing caresses that would have been tender but for the strong spirit of riot which turned them into a game at romps, cut short by Mr. Kendal, as soon as the noise grew very outrageous. ‘That’s enough to-night; good night.’ And when they each had kissed the monkey face tossing about among the clothes, Maurice might have heard more pride than pain in the ‘I never saw such a boy!’ with which they shut the door.

‘This is not prudent!’ said Mr. Kendal.

‘Do you think I could have rested till I had seen him? and he said you had told him not to come down.’

‘I would have brought him to you. You are looking very ill; you had better go to bed at once.’

‘No, I should not sleep. Pray let me grow quiet first. Now you know you trust Maurice,—old Maurice, and I’ll lie on the sofa like any mouse, if you’ll bring him up and let him talk. You know it will be an interesting novelty for you to talk, and me to listen! and he has not seen the baby.’

Albinia gained her point, but Mr. Kendal and Lucy first tucked her up upon the sofa, till she cried out, ‘You have swathed me hand and foot. How am I to show off that little Awk?’

‘I’ll take care of that,’ said Mr. Kendal; and so he did, fully doing the honours of the little daughter, who had already fastened on his heart.

‘But,’ cried Albinia, breaking into the midst, ‘who or what are we, ungrateful monsters, never to have thought of the man who caught that dreadful horse!’

‘You shall see him as soon as you are strong enough,’ said Mr. Kendal; ‘your brother and I have been with him.’

‘Oh, I am glad; I could not rest if he had not been thanked. And can anything be done for him? What is he? I thought he was a gentleman.’

Maurice smiled, and Mr. Kendal answered, ‘Yes, he is Mr. Goldsmith’s nephew, and I am pleased to find that he is a connexion of your brother.’

‘One of the O’Mores,’ cried Albinia. ‘Oh, Maurice, is it really one of Winifred’s O’Mores?’

‘Even so,’ replied Mr. Ferrars; the very last person I should have expected to meet on the banks of the Baye! It was that clever son of the captain’s for whose education Mr. Goldsmith paid, and it seems had sent for, to consider of his future destination. He only arrived yesterday.’

‘A very fine young man,’ said Mr. Kendal. ‘I was particularly pleased with his manner, and it was an act of great presence of mind and dexterity.’

‘It is all a maze and mystery to me,’ said Albinia; ‘do tell me all about it. I can’t make out how the horse came there.’

‘I understood that young Dusautoy was calling here,’ said Mr. Kendal; ‘I wondered at even his coolness in coming in by that way, and at your letting him in.’

‘I saw nothing of him,’ said Albinia. ‘Perhaps he was looking for Gilbert.’

‘No,’ said Lucy, looking up from her work, with a slight blush, and demure voice of secret importance; ‘he had only stepped in for a minute, to bring me a new fern.’

‘Indeed,’ said her father; ‘I was not aware that he took interest in your fernery.’

‘He knows everything about ferns,’ said Lucy. ‘Mrs. Cavendish Dusautoy once had a conservatory filled with the rarest specimens, and he has given me a great many directions how to manage them.’

‘Oh! if he could get you to listen to his maxims, I don’t wonder at anything,’ exclaimed Albinia.

‘He had only just come in with the Adiantium, and was telling me how hydraulic power directed a stream of water near the roots among his mother’s Fuci,’ said Lucy, rather hurt. ‘He had fastened up his horse quite securely, and nobody could have guessed that Maurice could have opened that gate to cross the bridge, far less have climbed up the rail to the horse’s back. I never shall forget my fright, when we heard the creature’s feet, and Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy began to run after it directly.’

‘As foolish a thing as he could have done,’ said Mr. Kendal, not impressed with Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy’s condescension in giving chase. ‘It was well poor little Maurice was not abandoned to your discretion, and his resources.’

‘It seems,’ continued Mr. Ferrars, ‘that young O’More was taking a walk on the towing-path, and was just so far off as to see, without being able to prevent it, this little monkey scramble from the gate upon the horse’s neck. How it was that he did not go down between, I can’t guess; the beast gave a violent start, as well it might, jerked the reins loose, and set off full gallop. Seeing the child clinging on like a young panther, he dashed across the meadow, to cut him off at the turn of the river; and it was a great feat of swiftness, I assure you, to run so lightly through those marshy meadows, so as to get the start of the runaway; then he crept up under cover of the hedge, so as not to startle the horse, and had hold of the bridle, just as he paused before leaping the gate! He said he could hardly believe his eyes when he saw the urchin safe, and looking more excited than terrified.’

‘Yes, he was exceedingly struck with Maurice’s spirit,’ said Mr. Kendal, who, when the fright and anger were over, could begin to be proud of the exploit.

‘They fraternized at once,’ said Mr. Ferrars. ‘Maurice imparted that his name was Maurice Ferrars Kendal, and Ulick, in all good faith and Irish simplicity, discovered that they were cousins!’

‘Oh! Edmund, he must come to the christening dinner!’

‘Mind,’ said Maurice, ‘you, know he is not even my wife’s cousin; only nephew to her second cousin’s husband.’

‘For shame, Maurice, cousin is that cousinly does!’

‘Very well, only don’t tell the aunts that Winifred saddled all the O’Mores upon you.’

‘Not an O’More but should be welcome for his sake!’

‘Nor an Irishman,’ said Mr. Ferrars.

Albinia suffered so much from the shock, that she could not make her appearance till noon on the following day. Then, after sitting a little while in the old study, to hear that grandmamma had not been able to sleep all night for thinking of Maurice’s danger, and being told some terrible stories of accidents with horses, she felt one duty done, and moved on to the drawing-room in search of her brother.

She found herself breaking upon a tete-a-tete. A sweet, full voice, with strong cadences, was saying something about duty and advice, and she would have retreated, but her brother and the stranger both sprang up, and made her understand that she was by no means to go away. No introduction was wanted; she grasped the hand that was extended to her, and would have said something if she could, but she found herself not strong enough to keep from tears, and only said, ‘I wish little Maurice were not gone out with his brother, but you will dine with us, and see him to-morrow.’

‘With the greatest pleasure, if my uncle and aunt will spare me.’

‘They must,’ said Albinia, ‘you must come to meet your old friend and cousin,’ she added, mischievously glancing at Maurice, but he did not look inclined to disavow the relationship, and the youth was not a person whom any one would wish to keep at a distance. He seemed about nineteen or twenty years of age, not tall, but well made, and with an air of great ease and agility, rather lounging and careless, yet alert in a moment. The cast of his features at once betrayed his country, by the rounded temples, with the free wavy hair; the circular form of the eyebrow; the fully opened dark blue eye, looking almost black when shaded; the short nose, and the well-cut chin and lips, with their outlines of sweetness and of fun, all thoroughly Irish, but of the best style, and with a good deal of thought and mind on the brow, and determination in the mouth. Albinia had scarcely a minute, however, for observation, for he seemed agitated, and in haste to take leave, nor did her brother press him to remain, since she was still looking very white and red, and too fragile for anything but rest. With another squeeze of the hand she let him go, while he, with murmured thanks, and head bent in enthusiastic honour to the warm kindness of one so sweet and graceful, took leave. Mr. Ferrars followed him into the hall, leaving the door open, so that she heard the words, ‘Good-bye, Ulick; I’ll do my best for you. All I can say is, that I respect you.’

‘Don’t respect me too soon,’ he answered; ‘maybe you’ll have to change your mind. The situation may like me no better than I the situation.’

‘No, what you will, you can do; I trust to your perseverance.’

‘As my poor mother does! Well, with patience the snail got to Rome, and if it is to lighten her load, I must bear it. Many thanks, Mr. Ferrars. Good morning.’

‘Good morning; only, Ulick, excuse me, but let me give you a hint; if the situation is to like you, you must mind your Irish.’

‘Then you must not warm my heart with your kindness,’ was the answer. ‘No, no, never fear, when I’m not with any one who has seen Ballymakilty, I can speak English so that I could not be known for a Galway man. Not that I’m ashamed of my country,’ he added; and the next moment the door shut behind him.

‘How could you scold him for his Irish?’ exclaimed Albinia, as her brother re-entered; ‘it sounds so pretty and characteristic.’

‘I fear Mr. Goldsmith may think it too characteristic!’

‘I am sure Edmund might well call him prepossessing. I hope Mr. Goldsmith is going to do something handsome for him!’

‘Poor lad! Mr. Goldsmith considers that he has purchased him for a permanent fixture on a high stool. It is a sad disappointment, for he had been doing his utmost to prepare himself for college, and he has so far distinguished himself at school, that I see that a very little help would soon enable him to maintain himself at the University. I could have found it in my heart to give it to him myself; it would please Winifred.’

‘Oh, let us help; I am sure Edmund would be glad.’

‘No, no, this is better for all. Remember this is the Goldsmith’s only measure of conciliation towards their sister since her marriage, and it ought not to be interfered with. Poor Ulick says he knows this is the readiest chance of being of any use to his family, and that his mother has often said she should be happy if she could but see one of the six launched in a way to be independent! There are those three eldest, little better than squireens, never doing a thing but loafing about with their guns. I used to long for a horse-whip to lay about them, till they spoke to me, and then not one of the rogues but won my heart with his fun and good-nature.’

‘Then I suppose it is a great thing to have one in the way of money-making.’

‘Hem! The Celtic blood is all in commotion! This boy’s business was to ask my candid opinion whether there were anything ungentlemanlike in a clerkship in a bank. It was well it was not you!’

‘Now, Maurice, don’t you know how glad I should have been if Gilbert would have been as wise!’

‘Yes, you have some common sense after all, which is more than Ulick attributes to his kith and kin. When I had proved the respectability of banking to his conviction, I’ll not say satisfaction, he made me promise to write to his father. He is making up his mind to what is not only a great vexation to himself, and very irksome employment, but he knows he shall be looked down upon as having lost caste with all his family!’

‘It really is heroism!’ cried Albinia.

‘It is,’ said Mr. Ferrars; ‘he does not trust himself to face the clan, and means to get into harness at once, so as to clench his resolution, and relieve his parents from his maintenance immediately.’

‘Is he to live with that formal Miss Goldsmith?’

‘No. In solitary lodgings, after that noisy family and easy home! I can’t think how he will stand it. I should not wonder if the Galwegian was too strong after all.’

‘We must do all we can for him,’ cried Albinia; ‘Edmund likes him already. Can’t he dine with us every Sunday?’

‘I know you will be kind,’ said Mr. Ferrars. ‘Only see how things turn out before you commit yourself. Ah! I have said the unlucky word which always makes you fly off!’

There was little fear that Ulick O’More would not win his way with Mr. and Mrs. Kendal, recommended as he was, and with considerable attractions in the frankness and brightness of his manner. He was a very pleasant addition to the party who dined at Willow Lawn, after the christening. No one had time to listen to Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy’s maxims, and he retired rather sullenly, to lean against the mantelpiece, and marvel why the Kendals should invite an Irish banker’s clerk to meet him. Gilbert likewise commented on the guest with a muttered observation on his sisters’ taste; ‘Last year it was all the Polysyllable, now it would be all the Irishman!’

CHAPTER XIX

There was a war of supremacy in the Kendal household. Albinia and her son were Greek to Greek, and if physical force were on her side, her own tenderness was against her. As to allies, Maurice had by far the majority of the household; the much-tormented Susan was her mistress’s sole supporter; Mr. Kendal and Sophy might own it inexpedient to foster his outrecuidance, but they so loved to do his bidding, so hated to thwart him, and so grieved at his being punished, that they were little better than Gilbert, Lucy, grandmamma, or any of the maids or men.

The moral sense was not yet stirred, and the boy seemed to be trying the force of his will like the strength of his limbs. Even as he delighted to lift a weight the moment he saw that it was heavy, so a command was to him a challenge to see how much he would undergo rather than obey, but his resistance was so open, gay, and free, that it could hardly be called obstinacy, and he gloried in disappointing punishment. The dark closet lost all terror for him; he stood there blowing the horn through his hand, content to follow an imaginary chase, and when untimely sent to bed, he stole Susan’s scissors, and cut a range of stables in the sheets. The short, sharp infliction of pain answered best, but his father, though he could give a shake when angry, could not strike when cool, and Albinia was forced to turn executioner, though with such tears and trembling that her culprit looked up reassuringly, saying, ‘Never mind, mamma, I shan’t!’ He did, however, mind her tears, they bore in upon him the sense of guilt; and after each transgression, he could not be at peace till he had marched up to her, holding out his hand for the blow, and making up his face not to wince, and then would cling round her neck to feel himself pardoned. Justice came to him in a most fair and motherly shape! The brightest, the merriest of all his playmates was mamma; he loved her passionately, and could endure no cloud between himself and her, so that he was slowly learning that submission to her was peace and pleasure, and rebellion mere pain to both. She established ten minutes of daily lessons, but even she could not reach beyond the capture of his restless person, his mind was out of reach, and keen as he was in everything else, towards “a + b = ab” he was an unmitigated dunce. Nor did he obey any one who did not use authority and force of will, and though perfectly simple and sincere, he was too young to restrain himself without the assistance of the controlling power, so that in his mother’s absence he was tyrannical and violent, and she never liked to have him out of her sight, and never was so sure that he was deep in mischief as when she had not heard his voice for a quarter of an hour.

‘Albinia,’ said Mr. Kendal, one relenting autumn day, when November strove to look like April, ‘I thought of walking to pay Farmer Graves for the corn. Will you come with me?’

‘Delightful, I want to see what Maurice will say to the turkey-cock.’

‘Is it not too far for him?’

‘He would run quite as many miles in the garden,’ said Albinia, who would have walked in dread of a court of justice on her return, had not the scarlet hose been safely prancing on the road before her.

‘This way, then,’ said Mr. Kendal; ‘I must get this draft changed at the bank. Come, Maurice, you will see a friend there.’

‘Do you know, Edmund,’ said Albinia, as they set forth, ‘my conscience smites me as to that youth; I think we have neglected him.’

‘I cannot see what more we could have done. If his uncle does not bring him forward in society, we cannot interfere.’

‘It must be a forlorn condition,’ said Albinia; ‘he is above the other clerks, and he seems to be voted below the Bayford Elite, since the Polysyllable has made it so very refined! One never meets him anywhere now it is too dark to walk after the banking hours. Cannot we ask him to come in some evening?’

‘We cannot have our evenings broken up,’ said Mr. Kendal. ‘I should be glad to show him any kindness, but his uncle seems to have ruled it that he is to be considered more as his clerk than as one of his family, and I doubt if it would be doing him any service to interfere.’

They were now at the respectable old freestone building, with ‘Goldsmith’ inscribed on the iron window-blinds, and a venerable date carved over the door. Inside, those blinds came high, and let in but little light over the tall desks, at which were placed the black-horsehair perches of the clerks, old Mr. Goldsmith himself occupying a lower throne, more accessible to the clients. One of the high stools stood empty, and Albinia making inquiry, Mr. Goldsmith answered, with a dry, dissatisfied cough, that More, as he called him, had struck work, and gone home with a headache.

‘Indeed,’ said Albinia, ‘I am sorry to hear it. Mr. Hope said he thought him not looking well.’

‘He has complained of headache a good deal lately,’ said Mr. Goldsmith. ‘Young men don’t find it easy to settle to business.’

Albinia’s heart smote her for not having thought more of her son’s rescuer, and she revolved what could or what might have been done. It really was not easy to show him attention, considering Gilbert’s prejudice against his accent, and Mr. Kendal’s dislike to an interrupted evening, and all she could devise was a future call on Miss Goldsmith. But for Maurice, it would have been a silent walk, and though her mind was a little diverted by his gallant attempt to bestride the largest pig in the farm-yard, she was sure Mr. Kendal was musing on the same topic, and was not surprised when, as they returned, he exclaimed, ‘I have a great mind to go and see after that poor lad.’

‘This way, then,’ said Albinia, turning down a narrow muddy street parallel with the river.

‘Impossible!’ said Mr. Kendal; ‘he can never live at the Wharves?’

‘Yes,’ said Albinia; ‘he told me that he lodged with an old servant of the Goldsmiths, Pratt’s wife, at the Lower Wharf.’

She pointed to the name of Pratt over a shop-window in a house that had once seen better days, but which looked so forlorn, that Mr. Kendal would not look the slatternly maid in the face while so absurd a question was asked as whether Mr. O’More lived there.

The girl, without further ceremony, took them up a dark stair, and opened the door of a twilight room, where Albinia’s first glimpse showed her the young man with his head bent down on his arms on the table, as close as possible to the forlorn, black fire, of the grim, dull, sulky coal of the county, which had filled the room with smoke and blacks. The window, opened to clear it, only admitted the sickly scent of decaying weed from the river to compete with the perfume of the cobbler’s stock-in-trade. Ulick started up pale and astonished, and Mr. Kendal, struck with consternation, chiefly thought of taking away his wife and child from the infected atmosphere, and made signs to Albinia not to sit down; but she was eagerly compassionate.

‘It was nothing,’ said Ulick, ‘only his head was rather worse than usual, and he thought it time to give in when the threes put lapwings’ feathers in their caps just like the fives.’

‘Are you subject to these headaches?’

‘It is only home-sickness,’ he said. ‘I’ll have got over it soon.’

‘I must come and see after you, my good friend,’ said Mr. Kendal, with suppressed impatience and anxiety. ‘I shall return in a moment or two, but I am sure you are not well enough for so many visitors taking you by surprise. Come.’

He was so peremptory, that Albinia found herself on the staircase before she knew what she was about. The fever panic had seized Mr. Kendal in full force; he believed typhus was in the air, and insisted on her taking Maurice home at once, while he went himself to fetch Mr. Bowles. She did not in the least credit fever to be in the chill touch of that lizard hand, and believed that she could have been the best doctor; but there was no arguing while he was under this alarm, and she knew that she might be thankful not to be ordered to observe a quarantine.

When Mr. Kendal returned home he looked much discomposed, though his first words were, ‘Thank Heaven, it is no fever! Albinia, we must look after that poor lad; he is positively poisoned by that pestiferous river and bad living! Bowles said he was sure he was not eating meat enough. I dare say that greasy woman gives him nothing fit to eat! Albinia, you must talk to him—find out whether old Goldsmith gives him a decent salary!’

‘He ought not to be in those lodgings another day. I suppose Miss Goldsmith had no notion what they were. I fancy she never saw the Lower Wharf in her life.’

‘I never did till to-day,’ said Mr. Kendal. ‘It was all of a piece—the whole street—the room—the furniture—why the paper was coming off the walls! What could they be dreaming of! And there he was, trying to read a little edition of Prodentius, printed at Salamanca, which he picked up at a bookstall at Galway. It must have belonged to some priest educated in Spain. He says any Latin book was invaluable to him. He is infinitely too good for his situation, and the Goldsmiths are neglecting him infamously. Look out some rooms fit for him, Albinia.’

‘I will try. Let me see—if I could only recollect any; but Mr. Hope has the only really nice ones in the place.’

‘Somewhere he must be, if it is in this house.’

‘There is poor old Madame Belmarche’s still empty, with Bridget keeping it. I wish he could have rooms there.’

‘Well, why not? Pettilove told me it must be let as two tenements. If the old woman could take half, a lodger would pay her rent,’ said Mr. Kendal, promptly. ‘You had better propose it.’

‘And the Goldsmiths?’ asked Albinia.

‘I will show him the Lower Wharf.’

The next afternoon Mr. Kendal desired his wife to go to the Bank and borrow young O’More for her walking companion.

‘Really I don’t know whether I have the impudence.’

‘I will come and do it for you. You will do best alone with the lad; I want you to get into his confidence, and find out whether old Goldsmith treats him properly. I declare, but that I know John Kendal so well, this would be enough to make me rejoice that Gilbert is not thrown on the world!’

Albinia knew herself to be so tactless, that she saw little hope other doing anything but setting him against his relations; but her husband was in no frame to hear objections, so she made none, and only trusted she should not be very foolish. At least, the walk would be a positive physical benefit to the slave of the desk.

Ulick O’More was at his post, and said his head was well, but his hair stuck up as if his fingers had been many times run through it; he was much thinner, and the wearied countenance, whitened complexion, and spiritless sunken eyes, were a sad contrast to the glowing freshness and life that had distinguished him in the summer.

Mr. Kendal told the Banker that it had been decided that his nephew needed exercise, and that Mrs. Kendal would be glad of his company in a long walk. Mr. Goldsmith seemed rather surprised, but consented, whereupon the young clerk lighted up into animation, and bounded out of his prison house, with a springy step learnt upon mountain heather. Mr. Kendal only waited to hear whither they were bound.