Joseph Wilmot, or, The Memoirs of a Man-Servant — page 26: what you’re looking at

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JOSEPH WILMOT; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A MAN-SERVANT. 18 refinement in contrast with the wretched make- shifts which I had recently known at Mr. Taddy’s lodging. When I had finished my repast, the footman to whose charge I had been specially con- signed, conducted me to a spacious and handsomely appointed library, where I found the elderly gen- tleman reading a newspaper,—and a young lady, of most exquisite beauty, writing a letter at a desk. “ This is the poor boy, Edith, I was telling you of,” observed the gentleman as I entered. The young lady laid down her pen; and lifting her angelic countenance, the complexion of which appeared to be lent her by the purest lily and the softest rose, she gazed upon me with her large blue eyes in a manner expressive of a compas- sionate interest: then she turned towards the gen- tleman, and said in a low voice of earnest entreaty, “ You will do something for him, dear father—will you not” “We shall see, my love,’ was her sire’s re- sponse: and addressing himself to me, he said ina benevolent manner, “Tell us, my poor boy, how you came in this deplorable situation and in such objectionable companionship ?” I had previously resolved to observe the fullest candour towards my benefactor: for I felt confi- dent that even if he himself could really do no- thing for me, he was too good and kind to send me back to Leicester to be locked up in the work- house. I therefore gave him my entire history, as frankly as I have narrated it to the reader,—how I had been brought up at the Nelsons’ academy— how the death of the schoolmaster had caused the widow to discontinue the business—how I had overheard what took place between herself and Mr. Jukes—how I had escaped from the latter in- cividual—and all I had gone through during my acquaintance with Thomas Taddy. The gentleman and the young lady listened with the deepest at- tention; and the latter more than once applied her Eerchief to her eyes as I touched upon my sorrows at school and the sufferings I had experienced since I left that academy. “Tt is all true, dear papa,’ I heard her say, though she whispered as she bent forward to her sire: “I am certain it is! There is an air of frankness and sincerity about this poor boy, which forbids the suspicion of hypocrisy.” “We shall see, my dear Edith—we shall see,” was again her father’s response: then, after a few reoments’ reflection, he said, addressing himself to me, “ Now, my boy, if you have spoken truly—as we think you haye—something shall be done for you. I shall write by to-day’s post to this Mr. Jukes at Leicester do not be alarmed—do not be frightened—he will not want to fetch you away. So far from seeking to put you into the work- house, he will be very glad to find that he is so well rid of you.” “There now, dear father,’ again interjected Edith, in the whispering tones of her musical voice: “ see how the poor boy’s countenance brightens up again! I am confident he has spoken the truth. You will let him remain here at the Manor until you receive the answer from Lei- cester ?” 2 “Oh, certainly!’ was her sire’s immediate response, also delivered in a low tone, “ Yes,” he added aloud, “you shall remain here, my poor be boy, for the present; and we will at once sce about putting you into a more comfortable suit of ralmgent.”’ expressed my gratitude for the kindness [ was receiving: it was a sincere heartfelt gratitude which I thus poured forth in a voice tremulous with emotion; and as I had no fear in respect to the result of the inquiry to be instituted of Mr. Jukes, it seemed to me as if I had suddenly ob- tained a permanent footing amongst individuals who would treat me generously. I withdrew from the library, and returned to the servants’ hall,— where I perceived that unfeigned pleasure was experienced as I announced that I was to stay be- neath that roof for the present. The porter at the lodge had a son of about my own age; and a suit of that boy’s clothing was speedily procured for me— so that I felt clean and comfortable once more. In respect to the family with which accident had thus made me acquainted, I learnt from the domestics in the servants’ hall that the gentleman was named Delmar,—that he had two daughters ; the elder, whose name was Clara, being married to the Hon. Mr. Mulgrave, who lived in Grosve- nor Square, London—and the younger being the Miss Edith whom I had seen. [I also learnt that Mr. Delmar had been the father of several other children by his late wife—for he was a widower— but that all had died save Clara and Edith; and that there were fifteen years’ difference between the ages of the two surviving sisters——Mrs. Mulgrave being -past thirty, and Edith only eighteen. It far- ther appeared that Mrs. Delmar had died soon after the birth of Edith,—her heart being broken by grief at beholding so many of her children perish one after the other. Mr. Delmar possessed about five thousand a-year; and being very benevolent and charitable, was beloved by all who knew him. The return of post from Leicester, brought a reply from Mr. Jukes, fully confirming the state- ment I had made in every particular. Myr. Delmar sent for me up into the library to com- municate this circumstance, and to express his satisfaction at thus finding my narrative so tho- roughly borne out. He then went on to say, “There is evidently, Joseph, some strange mystcry attached to your birth; but I should advise you to think of it as little as possible, and not to indulge in the hope that the veil will sooner or later be drawn aside: for there are no doubt substantial reasons for the maintenance of that mystery. When you get a little older, you will more fully comprehend what I mean, and will be led to con- jecture the cause of your having been abandoned by. your parents. We must now speak of what is to be done with you. “It is somewhat repugnant to my feelings to make you the proposition I am about to offer, seeing that you have been tolerably well educated and somewhat decently brought up: but I really know not what else I can do for you. If therefore you think fit to become a page in my household, I will give you liberal wages; and you have already seen enough of me and mine, to be assured of good treatment. If I were to get you as a clerk into a lawyer’s office, or anything of that kind, you might fall in with bad companions © —advantage might be taken of your youth and inexperience—and besides which, you could scarcely earn enough, even by the utmost drudgery, to remunerate a respectable family for giving you Gomicwvooks (c@) im