CHAPTER XLVI

Struggles and Trials

Our friends at Brompton were meanwhile passing their Christmas after

their fashion and in a manner by no means too cheerful.

Out of the hundred pounds a year, which was about the amount of her

income, the Widow Osborne had been in the habit of giving up nearly

three-fourths to her father and mother, for the expenses of herself and

her little boy. With 120_l_. more, supplied by Jos, this family of four

people, attended by a single Irish servant who also did for Clapp and

his wife, might manage to live in decent comfort through the year, and

hold up their heads yet, and be able to give a friend a dish of tea

still, after the storms and disappointments of their early life. Sedley

still maintained his ascendency over the family of Mr. Clapp, his

ex-clerk. Clapp remembered the time when, sitting on the edge of the

chair, he tossed off a bumper to the health of "Mrs. S--, Miss Emmy,

and Mr. Joseph in India," at the merchant's rich table in Russell

Square. Time magnified the splendour of those recollections in the

honest clerk's bosom. Whenever he came up from the kitchen-parlour to

the drawing-room and partook of tea or gin-and-water with Mr. Sedley,

he would say, "This was not what you was accustomed to once, sir," and

as gravely and reverentially drink the health of the ladies as he had

done in the days of their utmost prosperity. He thought Miss 'Melia's

playing the divinest music ever performed, and her the finest lady. He

never would sit down before Sedley at the club even, nor would he have

that gentleman's character abused by any member of the society. He had

seen the first men in London shaking hands with Mr. S--; he said, "He'd

known him in times when Rothschild might be seen on 'Change with him

any day, and he owed him personally everythink."

Clapp, with the best of characters and handwritings, had been able very

soon after his master's disaster to find other employment for himself.

"Such a little fish as me can swim in any bucket," he used to remark,

and a member of the house from which old Sedley had seceded was very

glad to make use of Mr. Clapp's services and to reward them with a

comfortable salary. In fine, all Sedley's wealthy friends had dropped

off one by one, and this poor ex-dependent still remained faithfully

attached to him.

Out of the small residue of her income which Amelia kept back for

herself, the widow had need of all the thrift and care possible in

order to enable her to keep her darling boy dressed in such a manner as

became George Osborne's son, and to defray the expenses of the little

school to which, after much misgiving and reluctance and many secret

pangs and fears on her own part, she had been induced to send the lad.

She had sat up of nights conning lessons and spelling over crabbed

grammars and geography books in order to teach them to Georgy. She had

worked even at the Latin accidence, fondly hoping that she might be

capable of instructing him in that language. To part with him all day,

to send him out to the mercy of a schoolmaster's cane and his

schoolfellows' roughness, was almost like weaning him over again to

that weak mother, so tremulous and full of sensibility. He, for his

part, rushed off to the school with the utmost happiness. He was

longing for the change. That childish gladness wounded his mother, who

was herself so grieved to part with him. She would rather have had him

more sorry, she thought, and then was deeply repentant within herself

for daring to be so selfish as to wish her own son to be unhappy.

Georgy made great progress in the school, which was kept by a friend of

his mother's constant admirer, the Rev. Mr. Binny. He brought home

numberless prizes and testimonials of ability. He told his mother

countless stories every night about his school-companions: and what a

fine fellow Lyons was, and what a sneak Sniffin was, and how Steel's

father actually supplied the meat for the establishment, whereas

Golding's mother came in a carriage to fetch him every Saturday, and

how Neat had straps to his trowsers--might he have straps?--and how

Bull Major was so strong (though only in Eutropius) that it was

believed he could lick the Usher, Mr. Ward, himself. So Amelia learned

to know every one of the boys in that school as well as Georgy himself,

and of nights she used to help him in his exercises and puzzle her

little head over his lessons as eagerly as if she was herself going in

the morning into the presence of the master. Once, after a certain

combat with Master Smith, George came home to his mother with a black

eye, and bragged prodigiously to his parent and his delighted old

grandfather about his valour in the fight, in which, if the truth was

known he did not behave with particular heroism, and in which he

decidedly had the worst. But Amelia has never forgiven that Smith to

this day, though he is now a peaceful apothecary near Leicester Square.

In these quiet labours and harmless cares the gentle widow's life was

passing away, a silver hair or two marking the progress of time on her

head and a line deepening ever so little on her fair forehead. She

used to smile at these marks of time. "What matters it," she asked,

"For an old woman like me?" All she hoped for was to live to see her

son great, famous, and glorious, as he deserved to be. She kept his

copy-books, his drawings, and compositions, and showed them about in

her little circle as if they were miracles of genius. She confided

some of these specimens to Miss Dobbin, to show them to Miss Osborne,

George's aunt, to show them to Mr. Osborne himself--to make that old

man repent of his cruelty and ill feeling towards him who was gone.

All her husband's faults and foibles she had buried in the grave with

him: she only remembered the lover, who had married her at all

sacrifices, the noble husband, so brave and beautiful, in whose arms

she had hung on the morning when he had gone away to fight, and die

gloriously for his king. From heaven the hero must be smiling down upon

that paragon of a boy whom he had left to comfort and console her. We

have seen how one of George's grandfathers (Mr. Osborne), in his easy

chair in Russell Square, daily grew more violent and moody, and how his

daughter, with her fine carriage, and her fine horses, and her name on

half the public charity-lists of the town, was a lonely, miserable,

persecuted old maid. She thought again and again of the beautiful

little boy, her brother's son, whom she had seen. She longed to be

allowed to drive in the fine carriage to the house in which he lived,

and she used to look out day after day as she took her solitary drive

in the park, in hopes that she might see him. Her sister, the banker's

lady, occasionally condescended to pay her old home and companion a

visit in Russell Square. She brought a couple of sickly children

attended by a prim nurse, and in a faint genteel giggling tone cackled

to her sister about her fine acquaintance, and how her little Frederick

was the image of Lord Claud Lollypop and her sweet Maria had been

noticed by the Baroness as they were driving in their donkey-chaise at

Roehampton. She urged her to make her papa do something for the

darlings. Frederick she had determined should go into the Guards; and

if they made an elder son of him (and Mr. Bullock was positively

ruining and pinching himself to death to buy land), how was the darling

girl to be provided for? "I expect YOU, dear," Mrs. Bullock would say,

"for of course my share of our Papa's property must go to the head of

the house, you know. Dear Rhoda McMull will disengage the whole of the

Castletoddy property as soon as poor dear Lord Castletoddy dies, who is

quite epileptic; and little Macduff McMull will be Viscount

Castletoddy. Both the Mr. Bludyers of Mincing Lane have settled their

fortunes on Fanny Bludyer's little boy. My darling Frederick must

positively be an eldest son; and--and do ask Papa to bring us back his

account in Lombard Street, will you, dear? It doesn't look well, his

going to Stumpy and Rowdy's." After which kind of speeches, in which

fashion and the main chance were blended together, and after a kiss,

which was like the contact of an oyster--Mrs. Frederick Bullock would

gather her starched nurslings and simper back into her carriage.

Every visit which this leader of ton paid to her family was more

unlucky for her. Her father paid more money into Stumpy and Rowdy's.

Her patronage became more and more insufferable. The poor widow in the

little cottage at Brompton, guarding her treasure there, little knew

how eagerly some people coveted it.

On that night when Jane Osborne had told her father that she had seen

his grandson, the old man had made her no reply, but he had shown no

anger--and had bade her good-night on going himself to his room in

rather a kindly voice. And he must have meditated on what she said and

have made some inquiries of the Dobbin family regarding her visit, for

a fortnight after it took place, he asked her where was her little

French watch and chain she used to wear?

"I bought it with my money, sir," she said in a great fright.

"Go and order another like it, or a better if you can get it," said the

old gentleman and lapsed again into silence.

Of late the Misses Dobbin more than once repeated their entreaties to

Amelia, to allow George to visit them. His aunt had shown her

inclination; perhaps his grandfather himself, they hinted, might be

disposed to be reconciled to him. Surely, Amelia could not refuse such

advantageous chances for the boy. Nor could she, but she acceded to

their overtures with a very heavy and suspicious heart, was always

uneasy during the child's absence from her, and welcomed him back as if

he was rescued out of some danger. He brought back money and toys, at

which the widow looked with alarm and jealousy; she asked him always if

he had seen any gentleman--"Only old Sir William, who drove him about

in the four-wheeled chaise, and Mr. Dobbin, who arrived on the

beautiful bay horse in the afternoon--in the green coat and pink

neck-cloth, with the gold-headed whip, who promised to show him the

Tower of London and take him out with the Surrey hounds." At last, he

said, "There was an old gentleman, with thick eyebrows, and a broad

hat, and large chain and seals." He came one day as the coachman was

lunging Georgy round the lawn on the gray pony. "He looked at me very

much. He shook very much. I said 'My name is Norval' after dinner.

My aunt began to cry. She is always crying." Such was George's report

on that night.

Then Amelia knew that the boy had seen his grandfather; and looked out

feverishly for a proposal which she was sure would follow, and which

came, in fact, in a few days afterwards. Mr. Osborne formally offered

to take the boy and make him heir to the fortune which he had intended

that his father should inherit. He would make Mrs. George Osborne an

allowance, such as to assure her a decent competency. If Mrs. George

Osborne proposed to marry again, as Mr. O. heard was her intention, he

would not withdraw that allowance. But it must be understood that the

child would live entirely with his grandfather in Russell Square, or at

whatever other place Mr. O. should select, and that he would be

occasionally permitted to see Mrs. George Osborne at her own residence.

This message was brought or read to her in a letter one day, when her

mother was from home and her father absent as usual in the City.

She was never seen angry but twice or thrice in her life, and it was in

one of these moods that Mr. Osborne's attorney had the fortune to

behold her. She rose up trembling and flushing very much as soon as,

after reading the letter, Mr. Poe handed it to her, and she tore the

paper into a hundred fragments, which she trod on. "I marry again! I

take money to part from my child! Who dares insult me by proposing

such a thing? Tell Mr. Osborne it is a cowardly letter, sir--a cowardly

letter--I will not answer it. I wish you good morning, sir--and she

bowed me out of the room like a tragedy Queen," said the lawyer who

told the story.

Her parents never remarked her agitation on that day, and she never

told them of the interview. They had their own affairs to interest

them, affairs which deeply interested this innocent and unconscious

lady. The old gentleman, her father, was always dabbling in

speculation. We have seen how the wine company and the coal company had

failed him. But, prowling about the City always eagerly and restlessly

still, he lighted upon some other scheme, of which he thought so well

that he embarked in it in spite of the remonstrances of Mr. Clapp, to

whom indeed he never dared to tell how far he had engaged himself in

it. And as it was always Mr. Sedley's maxim not to talk about money

matters before women, they had no inkling of the misfortunes that were

in store for them until the unhappy old gentleman was forced to make

gradual confessions.

The bills of the little household, which had been settled weekly, first

fell into arrear. The remittances had not arrived from India, Mr.

Sedley told his wife with a disturbed face. As she had paid her bills

very regularly hitherto, one or two of the tradesmen to whom the poor

lady was obliged to go round asking for time were very angry at a delay

to which they were perfectly used from more irregular customers.

Emmy's contribution, paid over cheerfully without any questions, kept

the little company in half-rations however. And the first six months

passed away pretty easily, old Sedley still keeping up with the notion

that his shares must rise and that all would be well.

No sixty pounds, however, came to help the household at the end of the

half year, and it fell deeper and deeper into trouble--Mrs. Sedley, who

was growing infirm and was much shaken, remained silent or wept a great

deal with Mrs. Clapp in the kitchen. The butcher was particularly

surly, the grocer insolent: once or twice little Georgy had grumbled

about the dinners, and Amelia, who still would have been satisfied with

a slice of bread for her own dinner, could not but perceive that her

son was neglected and purchased little things out of her private purse

to keep the boy in health.

At last they told her, or told her such a garbled story as people in

difficulties tell. One day, her own money having been received, and

Amelia about to pay it over, she, who had kept an account of the moneys

expended by her, proposed to keep a certain portion back out of her

dividend, having contracted engagements for a new suit for Georgy.

Then it came out that Jos's remittances were not paid, that the house

was in difficulties, which Amelia ought to have seen before, her mother

said, but she cared for nothing or nobody except Georgy. At this she

passed all her money across the table, without a word, to her mother,

and returned to her room to cry her eyes out. She had a great access of

sensibility too that day, when obliged to go and countermand the

clothes, the darling clothes on which she had set her heart for

Christmas Day, and the cut and fashion of which she had arranged in

many conversations with a small milliner, her friend.

Hardest of all, she had to break the matter to Georgy, who made a loud

outcry. Everybody had new clothes at Christmas. The others would

laugh at him. He would have new clothes. She had promised them to

him. The poor widow had only kisses to give him. She darned the old

suit in tears. She cast about among her little ornaments to see if she

could sell anything to procure the desired novelties. There was her

India shawl that Dobbin had sent her. She remembered in former days

going with her mother to a fine India shop on Ludgate Hill, where the

ladies had all sorts of dealings and bargains in these articles. Her

cheeks flushed and her eyes shone with pleasure as she thought of this

resource, and she kissed away George to school in the morning, smiling

brightly after him. The boy felt that there was good news in her look.

Packing up her shawl in a handkerchief (another of the gifts of the

good Major), she hid them under her cloak and walked flushed and eager

all the way to Ludgate Hill, tripping along by the park wall and

running over the crossings, so that many a man turned as she hurried by

him and looked after her rosy pretty face. She calculated how she

should spend the proceeds of her shawl--how, besides the clothes, she

would buy the books that he longed for, and pay his half-year's

schooling; and how she would buy a cloak for her father instead of that

old great-coat which he wore. She was not mistaken as to the value of

the Major's gift. It was a very fine and beautiful web, and the

merchant made a very good bargain when he gave her twenty guineas for

her shawl.

She ran on amazed and flurried with her riches to Darton's shop, in St.

Paul's Churchyard, and there purchased the Parents' Assistant and the

Sandford and Merton Georgy longed for, and got into the coach there

with her parcel, and went home exulting. And she pleased herself by

writing in the fly-leaf in her neatest little hand, "George Osborne, A

Christmas gift from his affectionate mother." The books are extant to

this day, with the fair delicate superscription.

She was going from her own room with the books in her hand to place

them on George's table, where he might find them on his return from

school, when in the passage, she and her mother met. The gilt bindings

of the seven handsome little volumes caught the old lady's eye.

"What are those?" she said.

"Some books for Georgy," Amelia replied--"I--I promised them to him at

Christmas."

"Books!" cried the elder lady indignantly, "Books, when the whole house

wants bread! Books, when to keep you and your son in luxury, and your

dear father out of gaol, I've sold every trinket I had, the India shawl

from my back even down to the very spoons, that our tradesmen mightn't

insult us, and that Mr. Clapp, which indeed he is justly entitled,

being not a hard landlord, and a civil man, and a father, might have

his rent. Oh, Amelia! you break my heart with your books and that boy

of yours, whom you are ruining, though part with him you will not. Oh,

Amelia, may God send you a more dutiful child than I have had! There's

Jos, deserts his father in his old age; and there's George, who might

be provided for, and who might be rich, going to school like a lord,

with a gold watch and chain round his neck--while my dear, dear old man

is without a sh--shilling." Hysteric sobs and cries ended Mrs. Sedley's

speech--it echoed through every room in the small house, whereof the

other female inmates heard every word of the colloquy.

"Oh, Mother, Mother!" cried poor Amelia in reply. "You told me

nothing--I--I promised him the books. I--I only sold my shawl this

morning. Take the money--take everything"--and with quivering hands

she took out her silver, and her sovereigns--her precious golden

sovereigns, which she thrust into the hands of her mother, whence they

overflowed and tumbled, rolling down the stairs.

And then she went into her room, and sank down in despair and utter

misery. She saw it all now. Her selfishness was sacrificing the boy.

But for her he might have wealth, station, education, and his father's

place, which the elder George had forfeited for her sake. She had but

to speak the words, and her father was restored to competency and the

boy raised to fortune. Oh, what a conviction it was to that tender and

stricken heart!