The Monctons: A Novel, Volume I

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

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13

"We will talk over this matter again, Geoffrey. If we cannot get an
opportunity, you must write, and tell me all you know."

Before I could promise anything Mr. Moncton entered the room. He cast a
hurried, scrutinizing glance at me, and seemed surprised and annoyed at
finding me on such intimate terms with the baronet, to whom he gave a
most cordial and flattering welcome.

The other met his advances with cold and studied politeness. It was
evident to me that he, too, put a restraint upon his feelings.

"I am sorry, Sir Alexander, that I was from home when you arrived. This
visit _from you_ is such an _unexpected_ favour."

"Your absence, Robert Moncton, gave me an opportunity of making the
acquaintance of your nephew, whom I have found a very agreeable and
entertaining substitute, as well as a near relation."

Mr. Moncton regarded me with a haughty and contemptuous smile.

"I am happy to learn that your time was so agreeably spent. By-the-by,
Geoffrey," turning abruptly to me, and speaking in a hasty,
authoritative tone, "are those papers transcribed I gave you at
parting? They will be required in court early to-morrow."

He evidently expected a negative.

"They are ready, sir, and many others that have been placed in my hands
since. We have been hard at work in the office all day."

"I commend your diligence," said he, affecting a patronizing air; "I am
sorry to take you from such pleasant company, but business, you know,
cannot be neglected. This bundle of papers," (and he took a packet from
his wallet and placed in my hand), "must be transcribed to-night. You
need not go to the office. Step into the study, you will find all that
you require there."

This was but a stratagem to get rid of my unwelcome presence. I bowed
to Sir Alexander, and reluctantly withdrew.

It so happened, that Mr. Moncton's study opened into the dining-room,
and without meaning to do so, I left the door but partially closed.

Sitting down to the table, I trimmed the large shaded lamp that always
burnt there, and began mechanically to transcribe the uninteresting
papers. An hour passed away. The gentlemen were conversing upon the
current news of the day over their wine. The servant brought up coffee,
and I ceased to give any heed to what was passing in the next room.

I was drawing out a long deed of settlement, when my attention was
aroused by the mention of my own name, and the following dialogue
caught my ear:

"This nephew of yours, Robert Moncton, is a fine lad. How is it that I
never heard of him before?"

"I did not think it necessary to introduce him to your notice, Sir
Alexander. He has no legal claim upon our protection. He is a natural
son of Edward's, whom I educate for the profession out of charity."

"An act of benevolence hardly to be expected from you," said Sir
Alexander with a provoking sneer. "I suppose you expect to get the
interest for your kindness out of the lad?"

"Why, yes! He has excellent abilities, and might do much for himself,
but is too like the father, but with this difference, Edward was
good-natured and careless to a fault; this boy is haughty and petulant,
with the unmanageable obstinacy and self-will of old Geoffrey. He is
not grateful for the many obligations he owes to me, and gives me
frequent cause to regret that I ever adopted him into my family."

"When you are tired of him," said Sir Alexander, carelessly, "you may
turn him over to me. I am sure I could make something of him."

"You are not in earnest?" in a tone of surprise.

"Never more so."

A long silence ensued. My hand trembled with indignation. Was this Mr.
Moncton's pretended friendship? I tried in vain to write. "It is
useless," I said mentally. "The deed may go to the devil, and Robert
Moncton along with it, for what I care," and I flung the parchment from
me. "That man is an infamous liar! I will tell him so to his face."

I was just about to burst into the room, when Sir Alexander resumed the
conversation.

"Who was this lad's mother?"

"A young person of the name of Rivers; the only daughter of a poor
curate, in Derbyshire. You know my brother's dissipated habits. He
enticed the girl from her peaceful home, and grief for her loss brought
the old father to his grave. This boy was the sole fruit of the
connection. The parents were never married."

"Is that a fact?"

"I have made every legal inquiry upon the subject; but, no proofs are
in existence of such an union between the parties."

"I can scarcely believe Edward guilty of such a villainous act!"

"Extravagant men of unsettled principles are not much troubled with
qualms of conscience. On his death-bed Edward repented of this act, and
recommended the child to my especial care and protection. His letter,
which I have by me, was couched in such moving terms, that I considered
myself bound in duty to do what I could for the boy, as he was not
answerable for the fault of the parents. I took him home the day his
mother was buried, and he has been an inmate of my house ever since."

"When he is out of his time, what do you intend doing for him?"

"I have not yet determined; perhaps, associate him with myself in the
office. There is, however, one stumbling-block in the way--the dislike
which exists between him and Theophilus."

"Ay, that might prove a formidable barrier to their mutual welfare.
By-the-by, what has become of Theophilus?"

"He was travelling on the continent. His last letter is dated from
Rome. He has been a great source of trouble and vexation to me, and is
constantly getting into scrapes by his gallantries, which you must
allow, Sir Alexander, is a family failing of the Monctons."

"His conduct lately has been such," said the baronet, in an angry
voice, "that it makes me blush that we bear the same name. It was to
speak to you on this painful subject that brought me to London."

"I know the circumstance to which you allude," said Mr. Moncton, in a
humble tone; "nor can I defend him; but, we must make allowances for
youth and indiscretion. We were young men ourselves once, Sir
Alexander."

"Thank Heaven! bad as I might be, no poor girl could accuse me of being
the cause of her ruin," cried the baronet, striking his hand
emphatically upon the table. "But this young scoundrel! while a visitor
beneath my roof, and a solicitor for the hand of my daughter, outraged
all feelings of honour and decency, by seducing this poor girl, on our
own estate, at our very doors. It was mean, wicked, dastardly--and
without he marries his unhappy victim, he shall never enter my doors
again."

"_Marry!_" and Mr. Moncton hissed the words through his clenched teeth.
"Let him dare to marry her, and the sole inheritance he gets from me,
will be his father's curse!"

"Till he does this, and by so doing wipes off the infamous stain he has
brought upon our house, I must consider both father and son as
strangers!"

"Please yourself, Sir Alexander. You will never by menace induce me to
give my consent to this disgraceful marriage," cried Moncton, stamping
with rage.

There was another long pause. I heard Sir Alexander traversing the
apartment with hasty strides. At length, stopping suddenly before his
excited companion, he said; "Robert, you may be right. The wicked
woman, who sold her grandchild for money, was once in your service. You
best know what relationship exists between your son and his beautiful
victim."

A hollow laugh burst from Mr. Moncton's lips.

"You possess a lively imagination, Sir Alexander. I did love that
woman, though she was old enough then to have been my mother. It was a
boy's rash, blind love; but I was too proud to make her my wife, and
she was too cunning and avaricious to be mine on any other terms. Your
suspicions, on _that head_ at least, are erroneous."

"Be that as it may," said Sir Alexander, "Theophilus Moncton shall
never darken my doors until the grave closes over me."

He left the room while speaking. A few minutes later, a carriage dashed
from the door at a rapid rate, and I felt certain that he had quitted
the house. My uncle's step approached. I let my head drop upon the
table and feigned sleep, and without attempting to waken me, he
withdrew.

From that night a marked alteration took place in his manner towards
me. It was evident that the commendations bestowed upon me by Sir
Alexander had ruined me in his eyes, and he considered me in the light
of a formidable rival. He withdrew his confidence, and treated me with
the most pointed neglect. But he could not well banish me from his
table, or deprive me of the standing he had given me among his guests,
without insulting them, by having introduced to their notice a person
unworthy of it. On this head I was tolerably secure, as Mr. Moncton was
too artful a man to criminate himself. In a few days, I should now
become of age, when the term of my articles would expire. I should then
be my own master; and several private applications had been made to me
by a lawyer of eminence, to accept a place in his office, with promises
of further advancement; this rendered my uncle's conduct a matter of
indifference. The sudden and unexpected return of Theophilus gave a
very different aspect to my affairs.

CHAPTER XIV.

LOVE AND HATRED.

At first Mr. Moncton refused to see his son; but on the receipt of a
letter from Theophilus, his positive orders on that head were not only
reversed, but the worthy young gentleman was received with marked
attention by his father.

The contents of that letter I did not know then, but got a knowledge of
them in after years. The son had become acquainted with some villainous
transactions of the parent, which he threatened to expose to the world,
if any rigorous measures were adopted towards himself. These
revelations were of such a startling nature, that no alternative
remained to Mr. Moncton but to submit, which he did, and with a
wonderful good grace.

It would be no easy matter to describe the surprise and indignation of
Theophilus Moncton, when he discovered that the despised and insulted
Geoffrey had become a person of some consequence during his absence. I
shall never forget the studied air of indifference, the chilling
coldness, with which he met me on his return, and under the cover of
which he endeavoured to conceal his chagrin.

The long-cherished dislike that I had entertained for him, had lost
much of its bitter character during a separation of many months. I was
willing to believe that I might sometimes have been the aggressor, and
that time, and a more intimate knowledge of the world, might have
produced a favourable change in his surly and morose disposition. I had
still to learn that the world rarely improves the heart, but only
teaches both sexes more adroitly to conceal its imperfections. I could
perceive no alteration in Theophilus which gave the least promise of
mental improvement. After a few minutes spent in his company, I found
him more arrogant and conceited than when he left England. The
affectation of imitating foreign manners, and interlarding his
conversation with French and Italian, rendered him less attractive in
his assumed, than he had been in his natural, character.

I listened for the first week to his long, egotistical harangues, with
tolerable patience, hoping that the theme of self would soon be
exhausted, and the Frenchified dandy condescend to remember that he was
an Englishman; but finding him becoming more arrogant and assuming by
listening to his nonsense, I turned from him with feelings of aversion,
which I could but ill conceal. It must have been apparent even, to
himself, that I considered his company a bore.

The sympathy which exists between kindred minds, all have experienced
at some period of their lives; but the mysterious chords of feeling
which unite hearts formed by nature, to understand and appreciate each
other, are not more electrical in their operation than those which have
their origin in the darker passions of the human breast.

How repugnant to a sensitive mind is a forced association with persons
in whom we can find no affinity; and whose sentiments and pursuits are
at utter variance with our own. I was acutely alive to these impressions,
whenever I encountered the sidelong, watchful glance of my cousin.
There was nothing straightforward in him; he never looked friend or
enemy honestly in the face. We mutually understood each other. Though
he scrupulously avoided addressing his conversation to me, yet it was
chiefly intended for my edification; and was replete with satirical
observations.

I detest this covert manner of attack; it is mean and unfair in the
highest degree, as it deprives the person attacked from taking his own
part, and boldly defending himself. Theophilus was a perfect adept at
this dastardly species of warfare.

I tried to treat his conduct with silent contempt; but his provoking
remarks galled me exceedingly; and often, when I appeared unconscious
of their being levelled against me, and earnestly engaged in the
perusal of some dull law-book, I was listening to every word he
uttered, and quivering with indignation. Theophilus enjoyed my
discomfiture, and I found his powers of tormenting greater than I had
at first imagined.

The second day after his arrival, he sent a message up to my room, to
inform me that he required that apartment for his valet, and I could
remove to a chamber in the next story.

I returned for answer, "That I should not quit the occupation of the
room that had been allotted to my use by his father, until I received
positive orders from him to that effect. But I should only require it a
few days longer, and then he could do as he pleased."

This insolent demand was not seconded by Mr. Moncton, and I took no
further notice of it.

That my uncle had a game of his own to play, when he took me from the
obscurity of the office and introduced me into society, I was now more
than ever convinced. Whilst in the presence of his son he treated me
with marked attention and respect, which rendered my situation far more
trying and irksome, as I mistrusted the designs of the one and detested
the other.

I felt that Mr. Moncton acted thus, on purpose to annoy Theophilus, and
make him feel the weight of the resentment, which for good reasons he
dared not openly express; while he praised my talents and application
to business, on purpose to rouse the envy and hatred of my cousin.

One afternoon, as we were sitting over the dessert, Mr. Moncton as
usual addressed his conversation exclusively to me, which irritated
Theophilus to such a degree, that he turned suddenly to his father, and
exclaimed with much violence:

"You seem, sir, to forget you have a son?"

"Yes, when that son forgot what was due to himself, and to his father's
house."

"You have to thank yourself for _that_," was the insolent reply. "I
have trod too closely in your own footsteps, and followed too strictly
the honest principles of my father." He laughed bitterly. "It seems
strange, that you should be surprised, that such an example should have
produced corresponding effects upon the mind and character of your
son."

Shocked at this horrible speech (for in spite of its awful truth, it
seemed terrible from the mouth of a son,) I looked from Theophilus to
his father, expecting to see the dark eye of the latter alive with the
light of passion. But no--there he sat, mute as a marble statue; it was
frightful to contemplate the glossy stare of his glittering eye, the
rigid immobility of his countenance.

"Heavens!" I mentally exclaimed, "can he be insulted in this manner by
his only son, and remain thus calm?" But calm he was, without even
attempting a reply, whilst his insolent son continued.

"By heaven! if you think that advancing that puppy into my place will
bend me to your purpose, you grossly deceive yourself. I pity the
stupid puppet who can thus sneak to his bitterest enemy, to obtain a
position he could never rise to by his own merit. Silly boy!--I laugh
at his folly, our shallow policy, and his credulity."

The words were scarcely out his mouth, when I sprang from my chair, and
with a well-directed blow levelled him at my feet.

"Thank you, Geoffrey!" exclaimed Mr. Moncton, raising the crest-fallen
hero from the ground: "You have answered both for yourself and me."

"I have been too rash," said I, seeing the blood stream copiously from
my cousin's nose; "but he exasperated me beyond endurance."

"He provoked it himself," returned Mr. Moncton. "I never blame any
person when insulted, for taking his own part. You need be under no
apprehension of a hostile encounter: Theophilus is a cowardly dog--he
can bark and snarl, but dares not fight. Go to your room, Geoffrey, you
will be better friends after this."

He said this in a tone of such bitter irony, that I hardly knew whether
he was pleased with what I had done, or offended, for who could fathom
the mind of such a man? I instantly complied with his request, and
felt, however mortifying to my pride, that Theophilus Moncton had
uttered the truth.

"In another week," I exclaimed, as I strode through the
apartment--"yes, in less than a week, I shall obtain my majority: I
shall be free, and then farewell to this accursed house of bondage for
ever!"

Theophilus had not been home many days, before I perceived a decided
alteration in the once friendly greetings I had been accustomed to
receive from Mr. Moncton's guests. I was no longer invited to their
parties, or treated with those flattering marks of attention which had
been so gratifying to my vanity, and given me such an exalted idea of
my own consequence.

At first I was at a loss to imagine what had produced this sudden
change. One simple sentence at length solved all these unpleasant
doubts, and pressed the unwelcome truth home to my heart. Robert
Moncton had been reconciled to his son, and I was once more regarded as
only a _poor relation_.

The day I made this important discovery, I had been detained at the
office long after our usual dinner-hour, and meeting with a friend on
my way home, I sauntered with him several times up and down Regent
Street, before I returned to my uncle's house.

I was not aware that my uncle expected company that day, until informed
by Saunders in the hall, that a large party were assembled in the
dining-room.

I was a little provoked at not receiving any intimation of the event,
and in being too late for appearing at dinner, the third course having
been placed on the table; but I hurried away to my own apartment to
change my dress, and join the ladies in the drawing-room.

This important duty was scarcely effected, before Saunders entered with
a tray covered with dainties, which he had catered for my benefit.

"I was determined, Mr. Geoffrey, that they should not have all the good
things to themselves. Here is an excellent cut of salmon and
lobster-sauce; the plump breast of a partridge, and a slice of
delicious ham--besides, the sunkets. If you cannot make a good dinner
off these, why, I says, that you deserves to be hungry."

And throwing a snowy napkin over a small table near the fire, he
deposited the tray and its tempting contents thereon, placed my chair,
and stood behind it with beaming eyes, his jolly, rosy face radiant
with good-nature and benevolence.

I thanked him heartily for his attention to my comfort, and being tired
and hungry, did ample justice to the meal he had provided.

"This party has been got up in a hurry, Saunders?"

"Not at all, sir. I carried out the invitations four days ago."

"You surprise me!" said I, dropping my knife and fork. "Four days
ago--and I know nothing about it. That is something new."

"It is young Mr. Moncton's doings, sir. The party is given in honour of
his return. Says Mr. Theophilus to the Guv'nor, says he, 'I shall say
nothing to Geoffrey, about it. What a capital joke it will be, to see
him bolt into the room without studying the Graces for an hour.' I
think it was the Graces, he said, sir; but whether it's a law book, or
a book of fashions, sir, hang me if I can tell."

"But why did not you give me a hint of this, my good fellow?"

"Why, sir," said Saunders, hesitating and looking down, "everybody in
this world has his troubles, and I, sir, have mine. Trouble, sir, makes
a man forget every one's affairs but his own; and so, sir, the thing
slipped quite out of my 'ead."

"And what has happened to trouble such a light heart as yours,
Saunders?"

"Ah, sir!" sighing and shaking his head, "you remember Jemima, the
pretty chamber maid, who lives at Judge Falcon's, across the street; I
am sure you must, sir, for no one that saw Jemima once could forget
her; and it was your first praising her that made me cast an eye upon
her. Well, sir, I looked and loved, and became desperate about her, and
offered her my 'onest 'and and 'eart, sir, and she promised to become
my wife. Yes, indeed, she did; and we exchanged rings, and lucky
sixpences and all that; and I gave master warning for next week; and
took lodgings in a genteel country-looking cottage on the Deptford
road. But I was never destined to find love there with Jemima."

"And what has happened to prevent your marriage?" said I, growing
impatient and wishing to cut his long story down to the basement.

"Many a slip, sir, between the cup and the lip. There's truth in those
old saws howsomever. Mr. Theophilus's French valet, poured such a heap
of flummery into the dear girl's ears, that it turned her 'ead
altogether, and she run off with the haffected puppy last night; but
let him look well after himself, for I swear the first time I catch
him, I'll make cat's meat of him. Ah! sir, the song says, that it's the
men who is so cruelly deceitful, but I have found it the reverse. Never
trust in vimen, sir! I swear I'll hate 'em all from this day, for
Jemima's sake."

"Consider yourself a fortunate fellow," said I. "You have made a very
narrow escape."

"Ah, sir, it's all very well talking, when you don't feel the smart
yourself. I loved that false creter with my 'ole 'art. But there's one
thing," brightening up, "which consoles me under this great
haffliction, the annoyance that it has given to Mr. Theophilus. This
morning, there was no one to dress him--to flatter his vanity and tell
him what a fine gentleman he is: I had to carry up his boots and
shaving-water. It was rare fun to see him stamping and raving about the
room, and vishing all the vimen in the vorld at the devil. But hark!
there's the dining-room bell. More wine. The ladies have just left for
the drawing-room."

The blaze of lights, the gay assemblage of youth and beauty which
arrested my eyes as Saunders threw back the folding-doors, sent a
sudden thrill of joy to my heart. But these feelings were quickly
damped by the cold and distant salutations I received from the larger
portion of the company there assembled. Persons who a few weeks before
had courted my acquaintance and flattered my vanity, by saying and
doing a thousand agreeable things, had not a friendly word to offer.

The meaning glance which passed round the circle when I appeared among
them, chilled the warm glow of pleasure, which the sight of so many
fair and familiar faces had called up.

What could be the meaning of all this? A vague suspicion dashed into my
mind, that my cousin was the direct cause of this change in the aspect
of affairs, and, sick and disgusted with the world, I sat down at a
distant table and began mechanically to turn over a large portfolio of
splendid prints that I had not noticed before, and which I afterwards
discovered, had been brought by Theophilus from Paris.

A half suppressed titter from two young ladies near me, and which I
felt was meant for me, stung my proud heart to the quick. A dark mist
floated between me and the lights; and the next moment I determined to
leave the room in which I felt that my presence was not required, and
where I was evidently regarded as an intruder.

I had just risen from my seat to effect a quiet retreat, when the
folding-doors were again thrown open, and Mrs. Hepburn and Miss Lee
were announced.

What were these strangers to me? The new arrival appeared to make no
small sensation. A general bustle ensued, and my eyes unconsciously
followed the rest.

The blood receded from my cheeks, to flush them again to a feverish
glow, when I instantly recognized the lovely girl and her aunt, whom I
had for so many months sought for, and sought in vain.

Yes, it was she--my adored Catherine--no longer pale and agitated from
recent danger, but radiant in youth and beauty, her lovely person
adorned with costly jewels, and the rich garments that fashion has
rendered indispensable to her wealthy votaries.

"Miss Lee," was whispered among the ladies near me.

"Mr. Moncton's ward?"

"The rich heiress."

"Do you think her handsome?"

"Yes--passable."

"Too short."

"Her figure pretty--but insignificant."

"She is just out."

"So I hear. She will not make any great sensation. Too sentimental and
countrified. As Lord Byron says,--'Smells of bread and butter.'"

This last sneering remark, I considered a compliment. My charming Kate,
looked as fresh and natural as a new-blown rose with the morning dew
still fresh upon its petals. There was nothing studied or affected
about her--no appearance of display--no effort to attract admiration;
she was an unsophisticated child of nature, and the delightful
frankness, with which she received the homage of the male portion of
the company, was quite a contrast to the supercilious airs of the
fashionable belles.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13