The Monctons: A Novel, Volume I

S >> Susanna Moodie >> The Monctons: A Novel, Volume I

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Mr. Jones was poor and friendless, and had to make his own way in the
world. He dared not resent the imposition, for fear of losing his
situation, and while outwardly he cheerfully acquiesced in Mr.
Moncton's proposition, he conceived a violent prejudice against me, as
being the cause of it.

He was spiteful, irritable, narrow-minded man; and I soon found that
any attempt to win his regard, or conciliate him, was futile: he had
made up his mind to dislike me, and he did so with a hearty good will
which no attention or assiduity on my part could overcome.

Theophilus, who, like his father, professed a great insight into
character, read that of his instructor at a glance; and despised him
accordingly. But Theophilus was vain and fond of admiration, and could
not exist without satellites to move around him, and render him their
homage as to a superior luminary. He was a magnificent paymaster to his
sneaks; and bound them to him with the strongest of all ties--his
purse-strings.

Mr. Moncton, allowed this lad a handsome sum monthly for his own
private expenses; and fond as he was of money, he never inquired of the
haughty arrogant boy, the manner in which he disposed of his
pocket-money. He might save or spend it as inclination prompted--he
considered it a necessary outlay to give his son weight and influence
with others; and never troubled himself about it again.

Theophilus soon won over Mr. Jones to his interest, by a few judicious
presents; while he fostered his dislike to me, by informing him of
circumstances regarding my birth and family, with which I never became
acquainted until some years afterwards. At this distance of time, I can
almost forgive Mr. Jones, for the indifference and contempt he felt for
his junior pupil.

Influenced by these feelings, he taught me as little as he could; but I
had a thirst for knowledge, and he could not hinder me from listening
and profiting by his instructions to my cousin. Fortunately for me,
Theophilus did not possess either a brilliant or inquiring mind.
Learning was very distasteful to him; and Mr. Jones had to repeat his
instructions so often, that it enabled me to learn them by heart. Mr.
Jones flattered and coaxed his indolent pupil; but could not induce him
to take any interest in his studies, so that I soon shot far ahead of
him, greatly to the annoyance of both master and pupil; the former
doing his best to throw every impediment in my way.

I resented the injustice of this conduct with much warmth, and told
him, "that I would learn in spite of him; I had mastered the first
rudiments of Latin and Mathematics, and I could now teach myself all I
wanted to know."

This boast was rather premature. I found the task of self-instruction
less easy than I anticipated. I was in Mr. Jones's power--and he meanly
withheld from me the books necessary to my further advancement. I now
found myself at a stand-still. I threatened Mr. Jones that I would
complain to my uncle of his unjustifiable conduct. The idea seemed
greatly to amuse him and my cousin--they laughed in my face, and dared
me to make the experiment.

I flew to my aunt.

She told me to be patient and conceal my resentment; and she would
supply the books and stationery I required, from her own purse.

I did not like this. I was a blunt straight-forward boy; and I thought
that my aunt was afraid to back me in what I knew to be right. I told
her so.

"True, Geoffrey. But in this house it is useless to oppose force to
force. Your only safe course is non-resistance."

"That plan I never can adopt. It is truckling to evil, aunt. No
ultimate good can spring from it."

"But great trouble and pain may be avoided, Geoffrey."

"Aunt, I will not submit to Mr. Jones's mean tyranny; I feel myself
aggrieved; I must speak out and have it off my mind. I will go this
instant to Mr. Moncton and submit the case to him."

"Incur his displeasure--no trifle at any time, Geoffrey--and have
Theophilus and Mr. Jones laughing at you. They can tell your uncle what
story they please: and which is he most likely to believe, your
statement or theirs?"

"He is a clever man. Let them say what they like, it is not so easy to
deceive him; he will judge for himself. He would know that I was in the
right, even if he did not choose to say so; and that would be some
satisfaction, although he might take their part."

My aunt was surprised at my boldness; she looked me long and earnestly
in the face.

"Geoffrey, your argument is the best. Honesty is the right policy,
after all. I wish I had moral courage to act up to it at all times.
But, my dear boy, when you are the slave of a violent and deceitful
man, your only chance for a quiet life is to fight him with his own
weapons."

"Wrong again, aunt," I cried vehemently. "That would make me as had as
him. No, no, that plan would not do for me. I should betray myself
every minute, and become contemptible in his eyes and my own. It
strikes me, although I am but a boy of twelve, and know little of the
world, that the only real chance you have with such men is, to show
them that you are not afraid of them. They are all cowards, aunt; they
will yield to courage which they feel to be superior to their own. So
much I have learnt from the experience of the last four years."

Aunt made no reply; she smiled sadly and kindly upon me, and her tacit
approval sent me directly to my uncle. He was in his private office. I
knocked gently at the door.

"Come in."

I did so; and there I stood, not a little confused and perplexed before
him, with flushed cheeks and a fast-throbbing heart. It was the first
complaint I had ever made to him in my life--the first time I had ever
dared to enter his _sanctum sanctorum_; and I remained tongue-tied
upon the threshold, without knowing how to begin. I thought he would
have looked me down. I felt the blood receding from my face beneath his
cold gaze, as he said--

"Geoffrey, what do you want here?"

"I came, sir," I at last faltered out, "to make a complaint against Mr.
Jones."

"I never listen to complaints brought by a pupil against his teacher,"
he cried, in a voice which made me recoil over the door-step. "Be gone,
sir! If you come into my presence again on such an errand, I will spurn
you from the room."

This speech, meant to intimidate me, restored my courage. I felt the
hot blood rush to my face in a fiery flood.

"Hear me, sir. Did not you place me under his care in order that I
might learn?"

"And you refuse to do so?"

"No, sir: the reverse is the case: he refuses to teach me, and deprives
me of my books, so that I cannot teach myself."

"A very _probable_ tale," sneered Mr. Moncton; then rising from the
table at which he was seated, he cried out hastily, "Is Mr. Jones in
the study?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then, my new client, come along with me. I will soon learn the truth
of your case."

He clutched me by the arm, which he grasped so tightly that I could
scarcely resist a cry of pain, and hurried me out. In the study we
found Theophilus and Mr. Jones: the one lounging on two chairs, the
other smoking a cigar and reading a novel. Mr. Moncton stood for a
moment in the door-way, regarding the pair with his peculiar glance.

"Gentlemen, you seem _pleasantly_ and _profitably_ employed!"

"Our morning tasks are concluded," said Theophilus, returning the stare
of scrutiny with a steady lie. "'Too much work would make Jack a dull
boy.'"

His father smiled grimly. How well he understood the character of his
son.

"Here is a lad, Mr. Jones, who complains that you not only refuse to
teach him, but deprive him of his books."

"He tells the truth, sir," returned that worthy, casting upon me a
spiteful, sidelong glance, which seemed to say more eloquently than
words, "You shall see, master Geoffrey, what you'll get by tale-bearing.
I'll match you yet." "I have withheld his books, and refused my
instructions for the past week, as a punishment for his insolent and
disrespectful conduct to your son and me; to say nothing of his
impertinent speeches regarding _you_, sir, who are his guardian and
benefactor."

"Do you hear that--sir!" said my uncle, giving me a violent blow on my
cheek, and flinging me from him. "When next you come to me with such
tales, you shall not leave your bed for a week."

I sprang from the floor, where his blow had sent me; and stood erect
before him. It was a pigmy confronting a giant; but my blood was
boiling. I had lost all control over myself. "It's a lie!" I cried,
shaking my fist at Mr. Jones. "A monstrous falsehood! He knows it is.
Theophilus knows it is. I have been falsely accused and unjustly
punished; I will remember that blow to my dying day. I will never
forget nor forgive it."

"And who cares, my hero, for your impotent rage?" My uncle seized me by
my thick curling hair, and turned round my face, hot with passion and
streaming with tears of rage, to the gaze of my sneering enemies. "I
will make you know, that you are in my house and in my power--and you
_shall_ submit to my authority, and the authority of those I choose to
place over you."

I struggled desperately in his herculean grasp in order to free myself.
He laughed at my impotent rage and then threw me on the floor--and this
time, I was quiet enough.

When I recovered my senses, I found myself lying upon the bed in the
garret, allotted to my use. My aunt was sitting beside me, bathing my
temples with vinegar and water. "Oh, aunt," I sighed, closing my eyes,
"I wish I were dead!"

"Hush! Geoffrey. You brought this on yourself. I told you how it would
be."

"It was so unjust," I replied with bitterness.

"And you were so rash. You will be wiser another time."

"When I am as wicked as my persecutors."

"No need of quoting others, my son, while you suffer such violent
passions to master you. Listen to me, my child. I have known your uncle
for years--have seen him in his darkest and stormiest moods; and
contrived to live peaceably with him. Nay, he respects me more than he
does any one else in the world. But I never _opposed his will_. He is
not a man to be trifled with--tears and complaints are useless. You
cannot touch his heart. He _will_ be obeyed. Left to himself, he may
become your friend, and even treat you with a certain degree of
kindness and consideration. But if you anger him, he will never
forgive, and can be a dreadful enemy. If you love me, Geoffrey, follow
my advice and submit to his authority with a good grace."

"I will try not to hate him for your dear sake. I can promise no more!"

I kissed her hand and fell back exhausted on my pillow. My head ached
dreadfully from the ill-treatment I had received; and wounded pride
made my heart very sore. It was only on her account that I could
control the deadly and revengeful feelings I cherished against him.
Theophilus and Mr. Jones, I considered beneath contempt.

CHAPTER V.

A CHANGE IN MY PROSPECTS.

The next day, I was surprised at receiving a message from Mr. Moncton
desiring me to attend him in his private office. I went to him in fear
and trembling. I was ill, nervous and dispirited, and cared very little
as to what in future might become of me.

I found him all smiles and affability. "Geoffrey," said he, holding out
his hand, as I entered, "I trust you have received a useful lesson. You
will be wise to lay it to heart. Mr. Jones tells me that you write a
good bold hand. Give me a specimen of it. Sit down at the table, and
direct that letter to Messieurs Hanbury and Company, Liverpool."

I did as I was commanded, but my hand trembled with excitement: I found
some difficulty in steadying the pen. He took the letter and looked at
it carefully, muttering as he did so--

"How like my father's hand. Ay, and how like in obstinacy of purpose;
more like him in every respect than his own sons." Then turning to me,
who was lost in wonder at this sudden change in his manner towards me,
he said, "This is well; you write a fair, legible hand for a boy. I
want a lad in my office to copy writs and other law papers. I think you
will just do for that purpose. If you are diligent and industrious,
after two years trial, I will article you to myself. How old are you?"

"Thirteen, next August."

"It is young; but you are tall and manly for your age. You and
Theophilus are never likely to agree; it is best for you to be apart.
You have no fortune of your own. I will give you a profession, and make
an independent man of you, if you will try for the future to be a
docile and obedient boy."

I promised to do my best. He then bade me follow him, and leading the
way through a narrow arched passage, he introduced me into the public
office, where the large business in which he was engaged was carried
on. Though I had been four years in the house, I had never seen the
inside of this office before. It was a spacious, dark, dirty,
apartment, lighted by high, narrow windows of ground glass; so that no
time could be wasted by the junior clerks in looking out into the
street. Several pale, melancholy men were seated at desks, hard at
work. You heard nothing but the rapid scratching of their pens against
the parchment and paper on which they were employed. When Mr. Moncton
entered the office, a short, stout, middle-aged man swung himself round
on his high stool and fronted us; but the moment he recognized his
superior, he rose respectfully to receive him.

Mr. Moncton took him apart, and they entered into a deep and earnest
conversation: of which, I am certain, from the significant glances
which, from time to time, they directed towards me, I formed the
principal topic.

At length the conference was over, and my uncle left the office without
giving me a parting word or glance. When he was fairly out of hearing,
all the clerks gathered round me.

"Who is he?"

"Mr. Moncton's nephew," was the short man's reply to the eager
questioners.

"Is he sent here to be a spy?"

"To learn the profession."

"_That babe!_ Is the man mad. It will kill the child to chain _him_ to
the desk all day."

"Poor fellow; he is the orphan son of his brother," said another. "I
have seen him at church with Mrs. Moncton."

"Well, Robert Moncton is a hard man," said a third.

"Hush! gentlemen," interposed Mr. Bassett, the senior clerk. "It is not
right to make such remarks in the lad's hearing. Mr. Moncton doubtless
does for the best. Come, my little fellow, you and I must be good
friends. Your uncle has placed you under my charge, to initiate you
into all the mysteries of the law. I have no doubt we shall get on
famously together. But you must be diligent and work hard. Your uncle
hates idlers; he is a strict master, but one of the ablest lawyers in
London. Let me tell you, that to be articled to him is a fortune in
itself."

A far-off, indistinct hope of freedom through this channel, presented
itself to my bewildered mind. I thanked Mr. Bassett warmly for his
proffered aid, and told him that I would do my best to deserve his good
opinion.

From that day, I became an office drudge, condemned to copy the same
unintelligible, uninteresting law forms, from early morning until late
at night. Mr. Bassett, a quiet, methodical, business man, was kind in
his own peculiar way. He had a large family, and perhaps felt a
paternal sympathy in my early introduction to the labours and cares of
life. He often commended my diligence, and mentioned me in very
handsome terms to Mr. Moncton; but from that gentleman I never received
a word of praise--weeks and months often passed without his speaking to
me. I was even debarred from spending with my dear aunt that blessed
twilight-hour, which had proved the chief solace of my weary life.

Constant confinement to that close office preyed upon my health and
spirits. I became fretful and irritable, the colour left my cheeks, and
my eyes looked dull and heavy. The clerks, generally kind to me, all
pitied me, though they dared not openly show their regard. They brought
me presents of fruit and sweet-meats, and one who lived in the suburbs
used to delight my heart, every now and then, with a rich bouquet of
flowers. Their beauty and perfume brought back a glimpse of the old
times--dim visions of lawns and gardens, of singing-birds and
humming-bees; of a fair smiling creature who led me by the hand through
those bowers of enchantment, and called me her Geoffrey--her darling
boy.

When such thoughts came over me, my hand trembled, and I could not see
the parchment I was copying through my tears; but for all that, the
sight of the flowers was always inexpressibly dear, and I prized them
beyond every other gift.

I had been about eighteen months in the office, when my good Aunt
Rebecca died--an event sudden and unexpected by all. I was allowed to
see her in her last moments; to sob out my full heart by her death-bed.
Her last words were an earnest request to her husband to be kind to
poor Geoffrey, for her sake: she died--and I felt myself alone and
friendless in the world.

CHAPTER VI.

THE SORROWS OF DEPENDENCE.

My heart sickens over this dreary portion of my life. I have heard
childhood called the happiest season of life. To me it had few joys. It
was a gloomy period of mental suffering and bodily fatigue; of
unnatural restraint and painful probation.

The cold, authoritative manner of my uncle, at all times irksome and
repelling, after the death of his good wife became almost
insupportable; while the insolence and presumption of his artful son,
goaded a free and irascible spirit like mine almost to madness. The
moral force of his mother's character, though unappreciated by him, had
been some restraint upon his unamiable, tyrannical temper. That
restraint was now removed, and Theophilus considered that my dependent
situation gave him a lawful right to my services, and had I been a
workhouse apprentice in his father's house, he could not have given his
commands with an air of more pointed insolence. My obstinate resistance
to his authority, and my desperate struggles to emancipate myself from
his control, produced a constant war of words between us; and if I
appealed to my uncle, I was sure to get the worst of it. He did not
exactly encourage his son in this ungenerous line of conduct, but his
great maxim was to _divide and rule_; to exact from all who were
dependent upon him, the most uncompromising obedience to his arbitrary
will; and he laughed at my remonstrances, and turned my indignation
into ridicule.

I was daily reminded, particularly before strangers, of the domestic
calamities which had made me dependent upon his cold, extorted charity;
while I was reproached with my want of gratitude to a cruel master.

Passion and wounded pride drew from me burning tears. I felt that I was
growing fierce and hard like my persecutors, and my conscience, yet
tender, deplored the lamentable change. My heart, crushed beneath the
sense of injustice and unmerited neglect, was closed against the best
feelings of humanity, and I regarded my fellow men with aversion and
mistrust.

These bitter and desponding feelings deprived my nights of rest--my
days, of hope. When the morning came and I took my stand at the
accursed desk, I wished the day gone; and when night released me from
the abhorrent task, and I sought my humble garret, I sat for hours at
the open window, brooding over my wrongs.

The moonbeams glittered in the tears that anguish wrung from my
upturned eyes. The stars seemed to look down upon me with compassionate
earnestness. Sometimes my young spirit, carried away by the intense
love I felt for those beautiful eyes of heaven, forgot for awhile the
sorrows and cares of life and soared far, far away to seek for sympathy
and affection in those unknown regions of light and purity.

I had few opportunities of religious instruction in this truly Godless
household. My uncle never attended church when he could avoid the
obligation, and then, only to keep up appearances--a religion of the
world; in which the heart had no part. There was always a Bible in the
office, but it was never used but in the way of business to administer
oaths. Whenever I had a moment's leisure I had turned over the pages
with eager and mysterious curiosity, but the knowledge that should have
brought peace and comfort, and reconciled me to my dreary lot, not
being sought for in the right spirit, added to my present despondency,
the dread of future punishment.

Oh, that awful fear of Hell. How it darkened with its unholy shadow,
all that was bright and beautiful in the lower world. I had yet to
learn, that perfect love casteth out fear, that the great Father
punishes but to reform, and is ever more willing to save than to
condemn. I dared not seek Him, lest I should hear the terrible
denunciation thundered against the wicked: "Depart from me, ye cursed!"

A firm trust in His protecting care would have been a balm for every
wound which festered and rankled at my heart's core. Had the
Christian's hope been mine, I should no longer have pined under that
dreary sense of utter loneliness, which for many years paralyzed all
mental exertions, or nurtured in my breast the stern unforgiving temper
which made me regard my persecutors with feelings of determined hate.

Residing in the centre of the busy metropolis, and at an age when the
heart sighs for social communion with its fellows, and imagines, with
the fond sincerity of inexperienced youth, a friend in every agreeable
companion, I was immured among old parchments and dusty records, and
seldom permitted to mingle with the guests who frequented my uncle's
house, unless my presence was required to sign some official document.

Few persons suspected that the shabbily-dressed silent youth who obeyed
Mr. Moncton's imperious mandates was his nephew--the only son of an
elder brother; consequently I was treated as nobody by his male
visitors, and never noticed at all by the ladies.

This was mortifying enough to a tall lad of eighteen, who already
fancied himself a man: who, though meanly dressed, and sufficiently
awkward, had enough of vanity in his composition to imagine that his
person would create an interest in his behalf and atone for all other
deficiencies, at least in the eyes of the gentler sex--those angels,
who seen at a distance, were daily becoming objects of admiration and
worship.

Alas! Poor Geoffrey. Thou didst not know in that thy young day the
things pertaining to thy peace. Thou didst not suspect in thy innocence
how the black brand of poverty can deform the finest face, and dim the
brightest intellect in the eyes of the world.

Among all my petty trials there were none which I felt more keenly than
having to wear the cast-off clothes of my cousin. He was some years
older, but his frame was slighter and shorter than mine, and his
garments did not fit me in any way. The coat sleeves were short and
tight, and the trowsers came half-way up my legs. The figure I cut in
these unsuitable garments was so ludicrous that it was a standing joke
among the clerks in the office.

"When you step into your cousin's shoes, Geoffrey, we hope they will
suit you better than his clothes."

I could have been happy in the coarsest fustian or corderoy garment
which I knew was my own. I believe Robert Moncton felt a malicious
pleasure in humbling me in the eyes of his people.

My uncle had fulfilled his promise, and I had been articled to him when
I completed my fourteenth year; and I now eagerly looked forward to my
majority, when I should be free to quit his employ, and seek a living
in the world.

My time had been so completely engaged in copying law papers, that I
had not been able to pay much attention to the higher branches of the
profession; and when night came, and I was at length released from the
desk, I was so over-powered by fatigue that I felt no inclination to
curtail the blessed hours of sleep by reading dull law books. Yet, upon
this all-important knowledge, which I was neglecting, rested my chance
of independence.

My cousin Theophilus was pursuing his studies at Oxford, and rarely
visited home, but spent his vacations with some wealthy relatives in
Yorkshire. This was a happy time for me; for of all my many trials his
presence was the greatest. Even Mr. Moncton was more civil to me in the
absence of his hopeful heir.

Thus time glided on until I was twenty years of age, and full six feet
in height, and I could no longer wear the cast-off suits of my cousin.
Mr. Moncton, in common decency, was at length obliged to order my
clothes of his tailor; but he took good care that they should be of the
coarsest description, and of the most unfashionable cut. The first suit
which was made expressly for me, ridiculous as it must appear to my
readers, gave me infinite satisfaction. I felt proud and happy of the
acquisition.

The afternoon of that memorable day, my uncle sent for me into the
drawing-room to witness the transfer of some law papers. His clients
were two ladies, young and agreeable. While I was writing from Mr.
Moncton's dictation, I perceived, with no small degree of trepidation,
that the younger was regarding me with earnest attention; and in spite
of myself my cheeks flushed and my hand trembled. After my part of the
business was concluded Mr. Moncton told me to withdraw. As I left the
room, I heard Miss Mary Beaumont say, in a low voice to her sister--my
uncle having stepped into the adjoining apartment:

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