Kate Vernon: A Tale. Vol. 2 (of 3) by Mrs. Alexander (ereader for textbooks txt) 📖

bounty for the bread you eat; when a wish for variety may tempt her to covet the rooms you occupy for some more amusing guest, less weighed down by care; and when the freshness and excitement of a generous act, shall have ceased to interest; a[73] thousand mortifying slights, a thousand unimportant trifles, will make your life wretched, and wear away the links that now seem to bind you so close together."

"Oh, no, no, Georgy could never act unkindly," cried Kate.

"My dear young lady," resumed Winter, "there are few in this curious world of ours that cannot, once or twice in their lives, do a kind and a generous action; but there is not one in a thousand, or a hundred thousand, that can act with uniform kindness, courtesy and justice to a dependent, a creature in their power—power! it is the forcing house of evil! The woman who could quarrel with you because you would not be happy her way, is not one of these exceptions; she would wound you one day, and beg your forgiveness, in abject terms, the next; and you, doubly sensitive from feeling the impossibility of freedom, would live in a state of slavery! Pah! never shut yourselves out from the chance of earning in[74]dependence here, for such a prospect, however riant, the aspect at present."

"Ha!" said Colonel Vernon, walking up and down. "There is a great deal of truth in what you say, but Lady Desmond is a woman of warm and generous feeling, and Kate, at least, would be safe with her, so—"

"You know, grandpapa, I will never leave you—it is useless and cruel to talk about it!"

"It is both, my dear Colonel," urged Winter, "Kate would be wretched without you; nor do I think this a fitting time for you to separate; and, be warned by me, live on a crust and cold water, if you can earn no more, rather than doom yourselves to a life of dependence."

"Dear Mr. Winter, you are right," said Kate, earnestly, "my own grandpapa, let us make up our minds, to bear all hardships, provided we are together. If I must teach, do not make my path more difficult by taking it so much to heart. We have long lived inde[75]pendent of any pleasures but those of our home; these we can still have; the worst pang will be to bid this kind friend farewell; but he will come and see us sometimes. And after all we may win the lawsuit and enjoy our little fortune doubly. I will write to dear Georgy, and affectionately decline her kind offer; and then let us set to work at once about what must be done—shall we, dearest and best?" kissing his hand.

"It must be so," said the Colonel, after a pause. "It must be so, and I will never fret you more, my love, by opposition to your wishes; I thought it right, at all events, to consider the advantages Lady Desmond's invitation might offer for you, though I shrink from the idea of living on any one—and to think of parting with you! ah!"

"Now you talk like a man of sense," said Winter. "I will tell you, what I think you ought to write; I think Lady Desmond will be affronted if you reject all her offers, and[76] justly; so split the difference, keep that blank check, (she has sent it unconditionally) against a rainy day; tell her, though you have no want of it, at present, you may, and do not mention your intention of teaching; she would be hurt at your preferring such an alternative to residing with her; next year she may return, and find you happy, comfortable and independent; I trust things will wear a very different aspect from that presented by the bare announcement, 'I am going to teach.' Hum," he added, musingly. "Langley used to keep up a good connection in the musical world, and Herman, he bears an excellent character, and holds a good place; you must look up your old music-master, my dear. Then, Colonel, I have known so many people ruined before they could make the necessary changes; they get into a procrastinating habit, waiting for this to be sold, and that to be paid, before the totally new system of life can be commenced,[77] which is so essential. Now I'll tell you what I'll do. Leave the Priory and its furniture in my hands; I'll get a tenant for it, or make the fat Rector take it off your hands. The furniture shall be disposed of by auction, and I'll advance you a hundred pounds upon it; if it sells for more, I'll remit you the difference, if for less, you can pay me when you have pitched Taaffe to the 'Inferno;' but I am quite certain it will bring more. Then you can start when you please, quietly; and when you begin to like London, direct me to sell your belongings. Hey! anything to stop the infernal chatter of Miss Araminta Cox—the Mrs. Grundy of A——. What say you, Colonel?"

"That you are a friend indeed! I will be entirely guided by your counsels; but remember, you must not wrong yourself. I must have all the auctioneer's accounts forwarded to me. I can hardly describe to you the relief your thus smoothing matters affords me."

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"You give me strength and courage," said Kate.

"Hum," resumed Winter. "Langley—yes, he can engage lodgings for you where you are going. When do you think you can start?"

"Oh!" said Kate, shrinkingly, "not sooner than a fortnight or three weeks."

"A fortnight or three weeks," cried the Colonel, "impossible!"

"You are a real, earnest worker, Miss Vernon," interposed Winter. "I expected a much longer date; what will become of me when you are gone? and gone on such an errand. 'Dio buono! le sciagure e le allegrezza non vengono mai sole;' but what do you think of doing with Mrs. O'Toole?"

"Oh, she goes with us, of course," replied Kate.

"Well, you know best how much you pay her, and whether you can afford it?" returned Winter.

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"But nurse is not like a servant, she is a friend, she could never live with any people but us? Oh, do not tell me, we must leave nurse!" said Miss Vernon.

"We cannot accept her services for nothing," observed the Colonel.

"I will gladly engage her as cook and house-keeper, at whatever wages you give her."

"Her wages are small," said Kate, "she would not accept higher, since we left Dungar!"

"Well, you must settle all that with her," returned Winter. "I am ready to ratify any arrangement you may make; and now write to Lady Desmond, as I suggested, Kate; ma belle et bonne enfant, you are wearied by this long, gloomy talk, and I am an old bear. I know it, Colonel; but my heart is like the coat of my prototype, rough and warm."

After some more general conversation, they separated, Winter and the Colonel, to visit[80] some land the former wished to purchase, and about which he affected great anxiety to have the Colonel's opinion. Kate to walk in solitary meditation by the river, to try and collect her thoughts, before the dreaded explanation with nurse. Mournfully she gazed at all the well-known objects she had learned to love, in her tranquil, happy retirement; and her bright, quick, fancy painted in strong contrast the life she was henceforth to lead.

"Even if I am successful, grandpapa will be so much alone," she thought; "and what a crowded, busy, terrifying place London is! I am glad Fred Egerton is in India, I could not bear that he should meet me, perhaps, walking alone in London."

And the large tears stole down her cheeks, at the mixture of feelings this vision aroused. Turning slowly round, she approached the little landing place, intending to speak a few words to Elijah Bush; a little, rosy, curly-[81]headed boy, was seated in the boat instead of its shaggy owner; he rose, as Kate stopped at the end of the landing.

"Where is Elijah?" she enquired.

"Please, ma'am, he's been sick these three days back."

"I am sorry to hear it; what is the matter with him?"

"Oh, ma'am, he's got the rheumatics drefful bad."

"And is there no one to mind the boat but you, my little man?"

"No, ma'am."

"You cannot row it?"

"No, ma'am; but whiles the men rows the'selves, and gives me the money."

"And have you had many passengers?"

"One yesterday, ma'am; and none at all the day."

"Then poor Elijah must be but badly off; has he any money?"

"Oh dear no, ma'am."

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"Where does he live?"

"In the Piper's lane, nigh St. Winefred's Tower, ma'am."

"Will you show me the way to him?"

"Oh yes, ma'am; I often hear him speak of ye, ma'am; he'll be main glad to see ye, ma'am."

"What is your name, my little man?"

"Willy Bush, ma'am."

"Are you Elijah's grandson?"

"No, ma'am, he's my gran-uncle."

"Well, I will just go up to the Priory, and return to you immediately; and then you shall show me the way to him."

Called away from the contemplation of her own trials, Kate, feeling her usual elasticity return, ran lightly up the steep path, and called nurse, to arm herself with broth and flannel for the invalid.

"Is it Piper's lane? Now, Miss Kate, I cannot let you go to sich a place. Set up the old Methody, to have Miss Vernon nurse and[83] tending iv him—I can take the tay and the broth, and them flannels just as well."

"But, nurse, he would like to see me."

"I'll go bail he would."

"And I would like to see him; besides, I want to talk to you, dear nurse."

"Faix, it's a wax modial I am in yer hands, ye turn an' twist me what way ye will; but to think iv yer takin' the illigant mutton broth I was cooking for the masther's own self, bangs Banaher."

"There will be quite enough left for us," laughed Kate; "and I am afraid the poor man wants it much more than we do."

"It's not the likes iv me 'ud begrudge him a taste iv broth," said nurse, tying a capacious tin-can up very carefully. "Now are yes ready, avourneen. It's yerself has the heart for the poor! an' the Lord 'ill remimber it to you in the hour of need, amin."

The little boy guided them through many narrow, winding ways, to a wretched habita[84]tion outside the walls, and almost under the half-ruined tower of St. Winefred. It was a miraculous place, for although all the pools seemed to be, at least partly, composed of soap suds, nothing looked as if it had ever been washed.

Here, in a tolerably clean room, at least by comparison, they found Elijah, looking more shaggy than ever, stretched on some straw, and covered with a tattered pea-jacket. After a little kindly talk and friendly enquiries as to the old man's resources, which proved to be indeed scanty, Kate left him, telling the small boy to call at the Priory, in half an hour, when she said she would give him a note to the doctor.

"So good bye, Elijah, I hope you will be better to-morrow; in the mean time take this, till you are able to earn some more yourself."

"I'm a poor hand at returning thanks, Miss Vernon," said Elijah, with evident feeling, "but," he added, solemnly, "The Lord hear[85] thee in the day of trouble, the name of the God of Jacob defend thee!"

"Amen," said Kate, fervently, bending her head to the benediction.

Mrs. O'Toole, pausing in her occupation of transferring the broth to an earthen vessel, crossed herself, and the next moment they left the place silently.

"He's a mighty quare man," said Mrs. O'Toole, meditatively, after they had almost reached the river side, without breaking a pause of unusual duration. "Faith, he blessed ye like a clargy."

"And well he might, he little knows how soon his kindly wishes may be required."

"Why, avourneen?"

"Nurse," said Kate, after a minute of troubled thought, "we must leave this place."

"Is it to go sthreelin' over thim furrin' parts, among dirt and flays, an' the Lord knows what?"

"No, nurse, nothing half so agreeable."

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"Ah! thin, what is it, agrah? spake out to your poor ould nurse."

"Ah, dear nurse, there are sad times coming; poor, dear grandpapa, through some terrible law business, has no money left, none at all!"

"Miss Kate, is it the truth yer afther tellin' me?"

"Too, too true! I cannot explain, indeed I cannot understand, but there is a Mr. Taaffe, who says grandpapa owes him a great deal of money, which was really paid long ago; but which, as we have lost some papers, we cannot prove, and he has got Knockdrum, and we—we have nothing!"

"Oh, blessed queen of heaven! that iver I should live to see the day; not even the next gale?"

Kate shook her head, and Mrs. O'Toole, placing the can beside her, sat down on a log of timber by the river, as if unable to support herself under such intelligence.

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"An' you so tinderly rared, an' the masther! Ah! sweet Mary, what'ill become iv us at all, at all? Taaffe, sure I remimber him, the desavin' vagabone, ye wor Arthur Taaffe, wid a hard word for the poor, an' yer cap in yer hand to the quolity ye wor ruinatin';