Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 25: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

a — —— 12 Ne -- until we met in the great world, as I shall pre- sently have to explain. When the first vacation arrived, Mrs. Parks came to fetch me home; and instead of taking me to a lodging, it was to a handsome well-furnished house in a genteel part of the town. She kept a footman and three female-servants: and as the reader may suppose, I was astonished. But still I dared ask no questions; and still no explanations were given. An elegant chamber was assigned to my use ; and the treatment I experienced was that of unchanging kindness. I had already written to my aunt and cousin from school, to tell them how happily I was situated: I now wrote again to acquaint them with Mrs. Parks’s prosperity, and the luxurious manner in which she lived. ‘The re- plies forwarded by Mrs. Wakefield and Harry, expressed their joy to observe that I wrote so cheerfully ; and my aunt’s letter was worded ina style which indicated not the least surprise at the account I had given of Mrs. Parks’s opulence. I should add that her son Thomas was now settled in London : he was no longer an attorney’s clerk— he lived with his wife and family in a house as handsome as that of his mother ; and a brass plate on the door indicated that he himself was a soli- citor. 2 Upwards of three years passed during which I remained at the school, but regularly spending the holidays with Mrs. Parks. I frequently corre- sponded with my aunt and cousin—but did not see them the whole time. Mrs. Wakefield invited me to visit them at Sheffield; but Mrs. Parks de- clared that her attachment for me was too great to permit her to lose me for even a few days during the vacation. I was now sixteen; and I under: stood that I was only to remain another year at the seminary : but an incident suddenly occurred which caused my prompt removal thence, and in- troduced another important change into my cir- cumstances. One afternoon I was sent for into the parlour, and was informed by the schoolmistress that my kind guardian—as she denominated Mrs. Parks— had been seized with a most dangerous illness, and that I was to go home to her immediately. Her son’s carriage—(for the thriving solicitor kept his equipage now)—had been sent to -fetch me. On my arrival at the house I saw that all the blinds were drawn down: the spectacle gave me a cruel shock—and the tale which it told was true: Mrs. Parks had ceased to exist. It wasa malady of some choleraic species which had thus suddenly carried her off ; and though there was not the slightest relationship between herself and me, yet did I weep bitterly for her loss, as I con- ceived that she had proved herself so excellent a friend towards me, and that she had with so much fidelity fulfilled all the pledges made to my grand- father on his death-bed. Her son Mr. Parks gave me to understand that my guardianship would thenceforth devolve upon my aunt Mrs. Wakefield; and this intelligence considerably mitigated the grief I felt for the loss of his mother. I accordingly delayed not a moment in writing to my aunt and telling her what had taken place. The return of post brought mea letter to the effect that she should be with me on the same day that I received it. She came—but unaccompanied by Harry; for he ELLEN PERCY; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN ACTRESS, was just finishing his education at the Free School to which the interest of my deceased grandfather had procured him admission. Mr. Parks received Mrs. Wakefield with the most perfect civility, and introduced her to his wife and family. When I had an opportunity of speaking to my aunt alone, I mentioned to her the observation which the soli- citor had made, to the effect that she had now be- come my guardian. She embraced me, at the same time giving the tenderest assurances of love and affection, “ whatsoever might be the circum. stances in which I might find myself placed.” This reminded me that Mrs. Wakefield herself was very poor; and I said, “ Not for the world, my dear aunt, will I become a burden upon you! I have received an excellent education re “It is as yet premature, my dear child,” inter- rupted Mrs. Wakefield, “to discuss plans for the future. We know not whether Mrs. Parks has done the fullest act of justice towards you, or not ¥ “ Oh! she has behaved most kind !”’ I exclaimed. “In my childhood I never could have expected that she would prove thus to me in my girl- hood !” “You do not understand me, Ellen,” said my aunt: “but I will explain myself. You are now old enough to comprehend certain things which you were too young to discuss or to have men- tioned to you at the time of Mr. Forsyth’s death ; and I can gather from your conversation, as I have indeed already seen from your letters, that Mrs. Parks has never been explicit with you on the subject.” I listened with attention; and Mrs. Wakefield continued as follows :— “You always considered your grandfather a poor man: but on the contrary he was exceedingly rich, He died worth upwards of thirty thousand pounds and, Oh, my dear Ellen! instead of doing his duty towards you alas, that I should be compelled to speak harshly of the dead!—he left you to the mercy of her who had been his housekeeper and whom by his will he enriched. Yes—it was so! Everything was left to Mrs. Parks: she was his sole executrix she took everything—and if she reared you well and ten- derly, it was only in fulfilment of the wishes and the injunctions of the deceased.” “Yes—I know it, aunt,’’ I said in a low voice and with a visible shudder, as the circumstances of my grandfather’s death-bed were vividly con- jured up in my memory. “You knew it? How, Ellen?” asked Mrs. Wakefield. A few moments’ reflection convinced me that there could now no longer be any harm in making those revelations which I had hitherto kept back ; and I told my aunt everything, as I have already given the details to the reader. I likewise men- tioned all that had occurred in respect to the stranger,—how he had first visited my grandfather —how on the second occasion he had looked through the window of the death-chamber—and how, after we had come up to London, he called on Mrs. Parks and her son at the lodgings. : My aunt listened with so strange an expression of counte- nance that I could scarcely comprehend what it meant: astonishment, dismay, anguish, consterna- tion, all appeared to be blended and depicted ——— ee ——— COMICIOOKS Com