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

He soon looked terribly fagged and harassed, and owned that he envied Mr. Hope, who had just received the promise of a district church, in course of building under Colonel Bury’s auspices, about four miles from Fairmead. To work his way through the University and take Holy Orders had been Ulick’s ambition; he would gladly have endured privation for such an object, and it did seem hard that such aspirations should be so absolutely frustrated, and himself forced into the stream of uncongenial, unintellectual toil, in so obscure and uninviting a sphere. The resignation of all lingering hope of escape, and the effort to be contented, cost him more than even his original breaking in; and Mr. Kendal one day found him sitting in his little office parlour unable to think or to speak under a terrible visitation of his autumnal tormentor, brow-ague.

This made Mr. Kendal take to serious expostulation. It was impossible to go on in this way; why did he not send for a brother to help him?

Ulick could not restrain a smile at the fruitlessness of thinking of assistance of this kind from his elder brothers, and as to little Redmond, the only younger one still to be disposed of, he hoped to do better things for him.

‘Then send for a sister.’

He hoped he might bring Rose over when his aunt was gone, but he could not shut those two up together at any price.

Then,’ said Mr. Kendal, rather angrily, ‘get an experienced, trustworthy clerk, so as to be able to go from home, or give yourself some relaxation.’

‘Yes, I inquired about such a person, but there’s the salary; and where would be the chance of getting Redmond to school?’

‘I think your father might see to that.’

Ulick had no answer to make to this. The legacy to Mrs. O’More might nearly as well have been thrown into the sea.

‘Well,’ said Mr. Kendal, walking about the room, ‘why don’t you keep a horse?’

‘As a less costly animal than brother, sister, or clerk?’ said Ulick, laughing.

‘Your health will prove more costly than all the rest if you do not take care.’

‘Well, my aunt told me it would be respectable and promote confidence if I lived like a gentleman and kept my horse. I’ll see about it,’ said Ulick, in a more persuadable tone.

The seeing about it resulted in the arrival of a genuine product of county Galway, a long-legged, raw-boned hunter, with a wild, frightened eye, quivering, suspicious-looking ears, and an ill-omened name compounded of kill and of kick, which Maurice alone endeavoured to pronounce; also an outside car, very nearly as good as new. This last exceeded Ulick’s commission, but it had been such a bargain, that Connel had not been able to resist it, indeed it cost more in coming over than the original price; but Ulick nearly danced round it, promising Mrs. and Miss Kendal that when new cushioned and new painted they would find it beat everything.

He was not quite so envious of Mr. Hope when he devoted the early morning hours to Killye-kickye, as the incorrect world called his steed, and, if the truth must be told, he first began to realize the advantages of wealth, when he set his name down among the subscribers to the hounds.

Nor was this the only subscription to which he was glad to set his name; there were others where Mr. Dusautoy wanted funds, and Mr. Kendal’s difficulties were lessened by having another lord of the soil on his side. Some exchanges brought land enough within their power to make drainage feasible, and Ulick started the idea that it would be better to locate the almshouses at the top of the hill, on the site of Madame Belmarche’s old house, than to place them where Tibb’s Alley at present was, close to the river, and far from church.

Mr. Kendal’s plans were unpopular, and two or three untoward circumstances combined to lead to his being regarded as a tyrant. He could not do things gently, and had not a conciliating manner. Had he been more free spoken, real oppression would have been better endured than benefits against people’s will. He interfered to prevent some Sunday trading; and some of the Tibb’s Alley tenants who ought to have gone at midsummer, chose to stay on and set him at defiance till they had to be forcibly ejected; whereupon Ulick O’More showed that he was not thoroughly Anglicised by demanding if, under such circumstances, it was safe to keep the window shutters unclosed at night, Mr. Kendal’s head was such a beautiful mark under the lamp.

If not a mark for a pistol, he was one for the disaffected blackguard papers, which made up a pathetic case of a helpless widow with her bed taken away from under her, ending with certain vague denunciations which were read with roars of applause at the last beer shop which could not be cleared till Christmas, while the closing of the rest sent herds thither; and papers were nightly read; representing the Nabob expelling the industrious from the beloved cottages of their ancestors, by turns, to swell his own overgrown garden, or to found a convent, whence, as a disguised Jesuit, he meant to convert all Bayford to popery.

As Albinia wrote to Genevieve, they were in a state of siege, for only in the middle of the day did Mr. Kendal allow the womankind to venture out without an escort, the evening was disturbed by howlings at the gate, and all sorts of petty acts of spite were committed in the garden, such as injuring trees, stealing fruit, and carrying off the children’s rabbits. Let that be as it might, Genevieve owned herself glad to come to hospitable Willow Lawn, though sorry for the cause.

Poor Mr. Rainsforth, after vainly striving to recruit his health at Torquay during the vacation, had been sentenced to give up his profession, and ordered to Madeira, and Genevieve was upon the world again.

The Kendals claimed her promise of a long visit, or rather that she should come home, and take time and choice in making any fresh engagement, nay, that she should not even inquire for a situation till after Christmas. And after staying to the last moment when she could help the Rainsforths, she proposed to spend a day or two with her aunt at the convent, and then come to her friends at Bayford.

Mr. Kendal drove his ladies to fetch her. He had lately indulged the household with a large comfortable open carriage with two horses, a rival to Mr. O’More’s notable car, where he used to drive in an easy lounging fashion on one side, with Hyder Ali to balance him on the other.

This was a grand shopping day, an endless business, and as the autumn day began to close in, even Mr. Kendal’s model patience was nearly exhausted before they called for their little friend. There was something very sweet and appropriate in her appearance; her dress, without presuming to share their mourning, did not insult it by gay colouring; it was a quiet dark violet and white checked silk, a black mantle, and black velvet bonnet with a few green leaves to the lilac flowers, and the face when at rest was softly pensive, but ready to respond with cheerful smiles and grateful looks. She had become more English, and had dropped much foreign accent and idiom, but without losing her characteristic grace and power of disembarrassing those to whom she spoke, and in a few moments even Sophy had lost all sense of meeting under awkward or melancholy circumstances, and was talking eagerly to her dear old sympathizing friend.

There was a great exchange of tidings; Genevieve had much to tell of her dear Rainsforths, the many vicissitudes of anxiety in which she had shared, and of the children’s ways of taking the parting; and of the dear little Fanny who seemed to have carried away so large a piece of her susceptible heart, that Sophy could not help breaking out, ‘Well, I do think it is very hard to make yourself a bit of a mother’s heart, only to have it torn out again.’

Albinia smiled, and said, ‘After all, Sophy, happiness in this world is in such loving, only we don’t find it out till the rent has been made.’

‘And some people can get fond of anything,’ said Sophy.

‘I’m sure,’ said Genevieve, ‘every one is so kind to me I can’t help it.’

‘I was not blaming you,’ said Sophy. ‘People are the better for it, but I cannot like except where I esteem, and that does not often come.’

‘Oh! don’t you think so?’ cried Genevieve.

‘I don’t mean moderate approval. That may extend far, and with it good-will, but there is a deep, concentrated feeling which I don’t believe those who like every one can ever have, and that is life.’

Perhaps the deepening twilight favoured the utterance of her feelings, for, as they were descending a hill, she said, ‘Mamma, that was the place where Maurice was brought back to me.’

She had before passed it in silence, but in the dark she was not afraid of betraying the expression that the thrill of exquisite recollection brought to her countenance; and leaning back in her corner indulged in listening to the narration, as Albinia, unaware of the special point of the episode, related Maurice’s desperate enterprise, going on to dilate on the benefit of having Mr. O’More at the bank rather than Andrew Goldsmith.

‘Ah!’ said Genevieve, ‘it is he who wants to pull down our dear old house. I shall quarrel with him.’

‘Genevieve making common cause with the obstructives of Bayford, as if he had not enemies enough!’

‘What’s that light in the sky?’ exclaimed Sophy, starting up to speak to her father on the driving seat.

‘A bonfire,’ said Mr. Kendal. ‘If we had remembered that it was the 5th of November, we would not have stayed out so late.’ The next moment he drew up the horses, exclaiming, ‘Mr. Hope, will you have a lift?’

Mr. Hope, rather to the ladies’ surprise, took the vacant place beside Sophy, instead of climbing up to the box. He had been to see his intended parish, and was an enviable man, for he was as proud of it as if it had been an intended wife, and Albinia, who knew it for a slice of dreary heath, was entertained with his raptures. Church, schools, and parsonage, each in their way were perfection or at least promised to be, and he had never been so much elevated or so communicative. The speechless little curate seemed to have vanished.

The road, as may be remembered, did not run parallel with the curve of the river, but cutting straight across, entered Bayford over the hill, passing a small open bit of waste land, where stood a few cottages, the outskirts of the town.

Suddenly coming from an overshadowed lane upon this common, a glare of light flashed on them, showing them each other’s faces, and casting the shadow of the carriage into full relief. The horses shied violently, and they beheld an enormous bonfire raised on a little knoll about twenty yards in front of them, surrounded by a dense crowd, making every species of hideous noise.

Mr. Kendal checked the horses’ start, and Mr. Hope sprang to their heads. They were young and scarcely trustworthy, their restless movements showed alarm, and it was impossible to turn them without both disturbing the crowd and giving them a fuller view of the object of their terror. Mr. Kendal came down, and reconnoitring for a moment, said, ‘You had better get out while we try to lead them round, we will go home by Squash Lane.’

Just then a brilliant glow of white flame, and a tremendous roar of applause, put the horses in such an agony, that they would have been too much for Mr. Hope, had not Mr. Kendal started to his assistance, and a man standing by likewise caught the rein. He was a respectable carpenter who lived on the heath, and touching his hat as he recognised them, said, ‘Sir, if the ladies would come into my house, and you too, sir. The people are going on in an odd sort of way, and Mrs. Kendal would be frightened. I’ll take care of the carriage.’

Mr. Kendal went to the side of the carriage, and asked the ladies if they were alarmed.

‘O no!’ answered Albinia, ‘it is great fun;’ and as the horses fidgeted again, ‘it feels like a review.’

‘You had better get out,’ he said; ‘I must try to back the horses till I can turn them without running over any one. Will you go into the house? You did not expect to find Bayford so riotous,’ he added with a smile, as he assisted Genevieve out.

‘You are not going to get up again,’ said Albinia, catching hold of him, and in her dread of his committing himself to the mercy of the horses, returning unmeaning thanks to the carpenter’s urgent requests that she would take refuge in his house.

In fact, the scene was new and entertaining, and on the farther side of the road, sheltered by the carriage, the party were entirely apart from the throng, which was too much absorbed to notice them, only a few heads turning at the rattling of the harness, and the ladies were amused at the bright flame, and the dark figures glancing in and out of the light, the shouts of delight and the merry faces.

‘There’s Guy Fawkes,’ cried Albinia, as a procession of scarecrows were home on chairs amid thunders of acclamation; ‘but whom have they besides? Here are some new characters.’

‘Most lugubrious looking,’ said Genevieve. ‘I cannot make out the shouts.’

‘It is the Nabob,’ said Mr. Kendal. ‘Perhaps you do not know that is my alias. This is my execution.’

The carpenter implored them to come in, and Mr. Hope added his entreaties, but Mr. Kendal would not leave the horses, and the ladies would not leave him; and they all stood still while his effigy was paraded round the knoll, the mark of every squib, the object of every invective that the rabble could roar out at the top of their voices. Jesuits and Papists; Englishmen treated like blackamoor slaves in the Indies; honest folk driven out of house and home; such was the burthen of the cries that assailed the grim representative carried aloft, while the real man stood unmoved as a statue, his tall, powerful figure unstirred, his long driving-whip resting against his shoulder without betraying the slightest motion, neither firm lip nor steady eye changing. Genevieve, with tears in her eyes, exclaimed, ‘Oh! this is madness! Will no one tell them how wicked they are?’

‘Never mind, my dear,’ said Mr. Kendal, pressing the hand that in her fervour she had laid on his arm, ‘they will come to their senses in time. No, Mr. Hope, I beg you will not interfere, they are in no state for it; they have done no harm as yet.’

‘I wonder what the police are about?’ cried Albinia, indignantly.

‘They are too few to do any good,’ said Mr. Kendal. ‘It may be better that they are not incensing the mob. It will all go off quietly when this explosion has relieved their feelings.’

They felt as if there were something grand in this perfectly dispassionate reception of the outrage, and they stood awed and silenced, Sophy leaning on him.

‘It will soon be over now,’ he said, ‘they are poking up the name to receive me.’

‘Hark! what’s that?’

The mob came swaying back, and a rich voice swelled above all the din, ‘Boys, boys, is it burning your friends you are? Then, for the first time, Mr. Kendal started, and muttered, ‘foolish lad! is he here?’

Confused cries rose again, but the other voice gained the mastery.

‘So you call that undertaker-looking figure there Mr. Kendal. Small credit to your taste. You want to burn him. What for?’

‘For being a Nabob and a tyrant,’ was the shout.

‘Much you know of Nabobs! No; I’ll tell you what it’s for. It is because his son got his death fighting for his queen and his country a year ago, and on his death-bed bade him do his best to drive the fever from your doors, and shelter you and save you from the Union in your old age. Is that a thing to burn him for?’

‘We want no Irish papists here!’ shouted a blackguard voice.

‘Serve him with the same sauce.’

‘I never was a papist,’ was the indignant reply. ‘No more was he; but I’ve said that the place shan’t disgrace itself, and—’

‘I’m with you,’ shouted another above all the howls of the mob. ‘Gilbert Kendal was as kind-hearted a chap as ever lived, and I’ll see no wrong done to his father.’

Tremendous uproar ensued; then the well-known tones pealed out again, ‘I’ve given my word to save his likeness. Come on, boys. Hurrah for Kendal!’

The war-cry was echoed by a body of voices, there was a furious melee and a charge towards the Nabob, who rocked and toppled down, while stragglers came pressed backwards on all sides.

‘Here, Hope, take care of them. Stay with them,’ said Mr. Kendal, putting the whip into the curate’s hand, and striding towards the nucleus of the fray, through the throng who were driven backwards.

‘O’More,’ he called, ‘what’s all this? Give over! Are you mad?’ and then catching up, and setting on his legs, a little fallen boy, ‘Go home; get out of all this mischief. What are you doing? Take home that child,’ to a gaping girl with a baby. ‘O’More, I say, I’ll commit every man of you if you don’t give over.’

He was recognised, and those who had little appetite for the skirmish gave back from him; but the more reckless and daring small fry began shrieking, ‘The Nabob!’ and letting off crackers and squibs, through which he advanced upon the knot of positive combatants, who were exchanging blows over his prostrate image in front of the fire.

One he caught by the collar, in the act of aiming a blow. The fist was instantly levelled at him, with the cry, ‘You rascal! what do you mean by it?’ But the fierce struggle failed to shake off the powerful grasp; and at the command, ‘Don’t be such a fool!’ Ulick burst out, ‘Murder! ‘tis himself!’ and in the surprise was dragged some paces before recovering his perceptions.

The cry of police had at the same instant produced a universal scattering, and five policemen, coming on the ground, found scarcely any one to separate or capture. Mr. Kendal relaxed his hold, saying, ‘You are my prisoner.’

‘I didn’t think you’d been so strong,’ said Ulick, shaking himself, and looking bewildered. ‘Where’s the effigy?’

‘What’s that to you. Come away, like a rational being.’

‘Ha! what’s that?’ as a frightful, agonizing shriek rent the air, and a pillar of flame came rushing across the now open space. It was a child, one mass of fire, and flying, in its anguish, from all who would have seized it. One moment of horror, and it had vanished! The next, Genevieve’s voice was heard crying, ‘Bring me something more to press on it.’ She had contrived to cross its path with her large carriage rug, and was kneeling over it, forcing down the rug to smother the flames. Mr. Hope brought her a shawl, and they all stood round in silent awe.

‘The poor child will be stifled,’ said Albinia, kneeling down to help to unfold its face.

Poor little face, distorted with terror and agony! One of the policemen recognised it as the child of the public-house in Tibb’s Alley. There were moans, but no one dared to uncover the limbs; and the policeman and Mr. Hope proposed carrying it at once to Mr. Bowles, and then home. Mr. Kendal desired that it should be laid on the seat of the carriage, which he would drive gently to the doctor’s. Genevieve got in to watch over the poor little boy, and the others walked on by the side, passed the battle-field, now entirely deserted, too much shocked for aught but conjectures on his injuries, and the cause of the misfortune. Either he must have been pushed in on the fire by the runaway rabble, or have trod upon some of the scattered combustibles.

Mr. Bowles desired that the child should be taken home at once, promising to follow instantly; so at the entrance of Tibb’s Alley, the carriage stopped, and Mr. Hope lifted out the poor little wailing bundle. Albinia was following, but a decided prohibition from her husband checked her. ‘I would not have either of you go to that house on any account. Tell them to send to us for whatever they want, but that is enough.’

There was no gainsaying such a command, but as they reached the door of Willow Lawn, Mr. Kendal exclaimed, ‘Where is Miss Durant?’

‘She is gone with the little boy,’ said Sophy. ‘She told me she hoped you would not be displeased. Mr. Hope will take care of her, and she will soon come in.’

‘Every one is mad to-night!’ cried Mr. Kendal. ‘In such a place as that! I will go for her directly.’

‘Pray don’t,’ said Albinia, ‘no one could speak a rude word to her on such an errand. She and Mr. Hope will be much more secure from incivility without you.’

‘I believe it may be so, but I wish—’

His wish was broken off, for his little Albinia, screaming, ‘Papa! papa!’ clung to him in a transport of caresses, which Maurice explained by saying, ‘Little Awkey has been crying, mamma, she thought they were burning papa in the bonnie.’

‘Papa not burnt!’ cried little Awkey, patting his cheeks, and laying her head on his shoulders alternately, as he held her to his breast. ‘Naughty people wanted to make a fire, but they sha’n’t burn papa or poor Guy Fawkes, or any of the good men.’

‘And where were you, Ulick?’ cried Maurice, in an imperious, injured way. ‘You said once, perhaps you would take me to see the fire; and I went up to the bank, and they said you were gone, and it was glaring so in the sky, and I did so want to go.’

‘I am glad you stayed away, my man,’ said Albinia.

‘I did want to go,’ said Maurice; ‘and I ran up to the top of the street, and there was Mr. Tritton; and he said if I liked a lark, he would take care of me; but—’ and there he stopped short, and the colour came into his face.

Albinia threw her arm round him, and kissed him, saying, ‘My trusty boy! and so you came home?’

‘Yes; and there was Awkey crying about their burning papa, and she would not go up to the garret-window to see the fire, nor do anything.’

‘Why, what is the sword here for?’ exclaimed Sophy, finding it on the stairs.

‘Because then Awkey was not so afraid.’

For once, Maurice had been exemplary, keeping from the tempting uproar, and devoting himself to soothing his little sister. It was worth all the vexations of the evening; but he went on to ask if Ulick could not take him now, if the fire was not out yet.

‘Not exactly,’ said Mr. Kendal, drily.

‘I beg your pardon, Mr. Kendal,’ said Ulick, who had apparently only just resumed the use of speech; ‘don’t know what I may have done when you collared me, but I’d no more notion of its being you than the Lord Lieutenant.’

‘And pray what took you there?’ asked Mr. Kendal. ‘The surprise was quite as great to me.’

‘Why,’ said Ulick, ‘one of the little lads of my Sunday class gave me a hint the other day that those brutes meant to have a pretty go to-night, and that Jackson was getting up a figure of the Nabob to break their spite upon. So I told my little fellow to give a hint to a few more of the right sort, and we’d go up together and not let the rascals have their own way.’

‘Upon my word, I wonder what the Vicar will say to the use you make of his Sunday-school. Pretty work for his model teacher.’

‘What better could the boys be taught than to fight for the good cause? Why, no one is a scratch the worse for it. And do you think we could sit by and see our best friend used worse than a dog?’

‘Why not give notice to the police?’

‘And would you have me hinder a fight?’ cried Ulick, in the most Irish of all his voices.

‘Oh! very well, if you like—only there will be a run on the bank to-morrow.’

‘What has Ulick been doing, Sophy?’ asked Maurice.

‘Only what you would have done had you been older, Maurice,’ she said, in a hurt voice; ‘defending papa’s effigy, for which he does not seem to meet with much gratitude.’

‘Well,’ said Mr. Kendal, who all the time had had more gratitude in his eyes than on his tongue, ‘if the burning had had the same consequence as melting one’s waxen effigy was thought to have, it might have been worth while to interfere, but I should have thought it more dignified in a respectable substantial householder to let those foolish fellows have their swing.’

‘More dignified maybe,’ smiled Albinia, ‘but less like an O’More.’

‘No, you are not going,’ said Mr. Kendal; ‘I shall not release my prisoner just yet.’

‘You carried off all the honour of the day,’ said Ulick. ‘I had no notion you had such an arm. Why, you swung me round like a tom-cat, or—’ and he exemplified the exploit upon Maurice, and was well buffeted.

‘That’s a little Irish blarney to propitiate me,’ laughed Mr. Kendal, who certainly was in unusual spirits after his execution and rescue by proxy, but you wont escape prison fare.’

‘There’s no doubt who was the heroine of the day,’ added Sophy. ‘How one envies her!’