Mary Price; or, the Memoirs of a servant-maid ... Illustrated with fifty-two engravings by F. Gilbert

Front matter

MARY PRICE; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID BY G. W. M. REYNOLDS, AUTHOR OP THE FIRST AND SECOND SERIES OF "THE MYSTERIES OF LONDON," "THE MYSTERIES OF THE COURT OF LONDON," "THE CORAL ISLAND," "THE RRONZE STATUE," "FAUST," "THE NECROMANCER," "THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE," "THE SEAMSTRESS," "POPE JOAN," "THE PIXY," "ROBERT MACAIRE," &C., &C, &C. ILLUSTRATED WITH FIFTY-TWO ENGRAVINGS BY F. GILBERT VOL. I. LONDON : PUBLISHED, FOE ME. REYNOLDS, BY JOHN DICKS, AT THE OFFICE, No. 7, WELLINGTON STltEET NORTH, STRAND. 1852. INDEX TO THE ENGRAVINGS- No. 1. Mad Tommy and the Orphans S-;e Page 9 2. Mary Price at the Twisdens 11 3. The Young Officers and Mary Price 23 4. Mrs. Whit6eld's Parlour 32 5. The Ale-house 36 6. Eustace and Mary .... 45 7. Mr. Messiter, the Bulldog, and Sawbridge 50 8. Lord and Lady Harlesdon ......... 61 9.

The Gipsies and Jemima 72 10. The Receiving House 78 11. The Blackamoors 88 12. The Restored Child 91 13. The Arbour 99 14. Mary and the Rivals 101 15. Mary and Lady Harlesdon 116 16. Ellen Kirkland 128 17. Leonard Percival a Prisoner 129 • 18. Mary, Mrs. Ferguson, and Anne 144 19. Mary at the Cottage .... 152 20. Sir Aubrey and Mary 160 21. Maiy and the Two Parsons 168 22. The Public-house 176 23. Mary at Mrs. Calder's 180 24. After the Trial 186 25.' Miss Nibkins' Establishment 197 26. Mary, her Brother, and Mr. Tomlinson. 205 27. The Gipsies' House in Saint Giles's 216 28. Mary and the Lawyer 223 29. Mary and her Sisters . 227 30. The Treartire-seekers 237 31. The Count and Countess de Mont ville 241 32. The Somnambulist 251 33. Mai y and Lady Harlesdon again 257 34. Mr. Appleton and Mary at Canterbury 270 35.

Eustace and Mary 281 36. The Bull Family 285 37. Mary and the Miss Bulls 294 38. Lady Wilberton and Mary 302 39. The Minister's Pocket-bo.k 306 40. Mary and Miss Bull 315 41. Another Interview between Mary and Lady Harlesdon . . . 323 42. Othello and Desdemona 330 43. Palmistry 339 44. Sir Aubrey, Lord Harlesdon, and Mary 348 45. Mary in the Nursery 358 46. The Conversation Overheard 36< 47. Mary and Mr. Clevelaud 376 48. Captain Tollemache 381 49. Cleveland and Selina 391 50. Lady Davenant and Mary 397 51. Mary and Jane 408 52 The Miss Kingston?. [By a mi ke of the Artist, this picture illustrates p. 2 iu Vol IL] INDEX TO VOL. I. PICE Chapter I. The Mother's Secret 1 „ II. The Letter with the Black Seal 4 III. The Cup of Misfortune Filled to the Brim 7 „ IV. My First Place 11 „ V. Robert 15 „ VI.

Chapter I. The Mother's Secbet

With mv earliest recollections are associated the kind and loving ways of good aud affectionate parents; and although they were poor, they mam- NO. , MART TRICE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OP A SERVANT-MAID. I well as their parents were held up as a pattern and an example to their neighbours. I have en'cred into all these particulars that my readers may understand the good influences under which the earlier portion of my life and that of my brothers and sisters was passed. And here I should observe that we were five children in all-two bro thers and three sisters. Robert (so named alter our father) was the eldest: I came next: W.I ham was the third i-and then Sarah and Jane. From the youngest to the eldest we averaged two years be tween each other ; and thus when Robert (the eldest) was thirteen years old, I was eleven, and the youngest was five.

I 'have mentioned these particular ages because it was just at this period of our lives that an incident occurred which I mast here record. One forenoon, our father being at work as usual. we were all seated round the table receiving the wonted instruction from our mother, when she suddenly gave vent to an ejaculation which frightened us all and made us look quickly round towards the window on which our mother's eyes were settled at the time. In a tone strangely peremptory, however, and indeed most unusually abrupt and cross for her, she exclaimed, "Look at your books!"— and ever accustomed to yield ready obolience to our parents, we at once threw our eyes back again upon the lessons we were learning. But the glance which I and (as it subsequently appeared) Robert also had thrown round at the time, was quick enough to catch the counteuauce of some gentleman just at the instant it was vanishing from the window; and it struck me that his rudeness in staring in had startled my mother and made her cry out.

But I recollect full well that my heart swelled at the moment and was ready to burst at the sharp arigry manner in which she had spoken to us; and perhaps she saw th*3 implosion hor words and manner had thu3 made : for she almost imme diately said, " Cheer up, Mary dear. I did not mean to 3cold you, nor yet any of you." Then rising abruptly fivim her seat, she hastily kissed us all round — told us to mind and sit still till she came back— and wont out, saying she should only be a minute or two. Thus, without stopping to put on bonnet or shawl, she issued forth, closing the door behind hee. tacl.ed to my mother I have likewise the bei-t possible reason to know; aud that our httle home was to all appearance one of the happiest iu the town of Ashford, there could be no doubt. My mother was a very handsome woman, with fine dark hair and eyes, pale countenance, and a some what pensive if not positively melancholy expres sion.

I remember, too, that she had a very fane set of teeth; and unlike most parents in humble hfe, she was very particular in making me, my brothers, and my ssters, also take care of our teeth. Amongst my girlish memories is likewise blended the fact that my father used frequently to laugh, in a good-humoured way, at the "genteel notions" which his wife endeavoured to instil into oor minds ; and on more occasions than one did I hear the neighbours' wives speak of my mother as being "the lady-like Mrs. Pries," or as "the genteel wife of the carpeutcr." Certain it is that my mother took very great pains to biiog up myself, my brothers, and sisters, as tenderly and as respectably as she could. She taught us to read and write— gave us lessons in arithmetic, history, and geography— and imparted to us an amount of instruction which would alone be sufficient to prove that she was a very superior woman, considering her station as the wife of a humble journeyman-carpenter.

She would not allow us to go to the Charity Sohool, nor could she afford to let us attend any other school : but she took a pride in teaching m herself— and very competent she was to do it. That our father experienced the most affeciionate gratitude to wards her for the exemplary manner in which she thus sought to train os, was natural enough; and with the happiest reminiscences of my early years are mingled thoso scenes of domestic blis ', when seated at the cottage-portico on the summer evening, or beforo the cheerful fire on the wiuter's night, my father would take us upon his knees and bid us always love and be good unto the kiud mother who kept us so neat and clean and (aught us so many good tiling*. Yet do I likewise re member that sometimes a sort of dimp was thrown over these scenes by the deepening of tha pensive ness of my mother's looks — cr even by the actual trickling of tears down her checki ; aid dieu my father would beseech her to tell him whether sho wai unhappy— and if so, the reason why.

But without giving him any direct an-nver, so far as lean remember, she would start from her sr at, fling her arms about his neck, and exclaim, " Dearest Robert, you are ths kindest and best ot husbands! howc.au I bo otherwise thin ha*>py?" Regularly at an early hour in the morning did my father go to his work, always seeming cheerful and in goodspbits; and when ho returned home to his dinner at mid-day, or came back from work in the evening, he was ever in the same b'.vihe mood. The neighbours used to say that Robert Prico was the best-looking, the most contented, aud the most indusl;ious man in the town; and if ever Mr. I know not how it wri3, or what impulsive or instinctive feeling could have been stirring within me — being only eleven years old at the time— but sure enough it is that I experienced a certain sen sation like a tightening at tho heart, as if I had become suddenly aware that something was wrong, though what it was I could not conjecture.

The same misgiving had Struck Robert ; and creeping rouad to me, he whispered, "Mary dear, did you see Itj v mid mother looked wrUn slie went out?" "llinhf whispered I: "we must not talk on th.se thiogs — we ought not even to see them. Be.-ide% you were told not to leave your seat, Robert " " But I feel as if something bad was going to happen," he answered in a low and mournful voice. "Did you see that gentleman who looked in at tho window ?" Matthews, the master for whom he worked, called at ouicottage, he was sure to compliment my mother en tbe neatness and cleanliness with which she kept it. Every Sunday moruing we went to church; aud though it was but a poor working man's family, yet I recollect full well mauy little inci lents whieh prove that we were taken notice of by the richer folk, and that the Prices' children as " Yes," I replied.

" I suppose it was some rude person staring in upon us." " I dou't know," said Robert in a strange tone and also with a peculiar look. " I have seen that gentleman once before look in at tho wicelow in MARY PRICE; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 3 j just the same way ; aud then mother went out as she has done now." " No," was her calm reply : and yet it struck me at the moment that a strange expression, which I can now understand to have been one of an excruciating anguish that she sought to subdue, passed over her countenance : " I will not be angry with him— I have no right to be angry with him 1 But listen to me, my dear children. That gentle man" — aud here she raised her handkerchief to her eyes for a moment, and I caught a sound Hke a stifled sob—" that gentleman," she almost immediately continued, but in a strange voice that well nigh terrified me, " came to deliver some message of no very great consequence.

But do not tell your father that you saw him. Now promise me, Robert— and you too, little Mary— that you will not think any more of this circumstance; and at all events that you will not say a word about it. Remember it is your own mother who asks it." "Oh ! I will forget it this moment," I exclaimed, throwing myself upon her bosom aad wiudiug my arms around her neck. At this moment the door opened, and Robert instantaneously glided back to his seat— but not so quickly as to escape the notice of our mother as she re-entered the cottage. I glanced around instinctively. She was pale — deadly pale — and, Oh 1 so sad-looking, at the moment she appeared on the threshold : but the very next instant, as she caught sight of Robert speeding back to his seat the colour rushed to her cheeks again and mounted up to her very forehead.

Her eyes also seemed to brighten up — or rather to flash in a manner I had never noticed before; and indeed I was so frightened at this sudden change in her man ner, that I hastily turned my head again and kept my eyes fixed on my lesson-book. It seemed to me as if I had suddenly beheld my mother in a new light— as if all in a moment something had been revealed to me which raised up a vague and unknown uneasiness in my mind, shaking as it were the sublime faith which I had previously held in her perfection. It may easily be supposed, indeed, how strong was the impression which this scene made upon my mind, since I am able so accurately to describe it now. Robert too, much moved and no doubt sorry for the falsehood he had told, joined in this teuder scene; and our mother strained us both to her breast with a degree of emotion which was really the vent she sought for feelings that had been pro foundly stirred.

Again aud again did she thus embrace us, appearing even to mourn and sorrow over us, and calling us her "dear, dear children," in atone that struck me at the time, young as I was, as having something ominous iu it and.fraught wish apprehensions of coming evil. Returning to her seat, my mother proceeded to hear us say our lessons as usual. As I stood before her with my book iu my hand, I raised my eyes timidly up to her countenance ; and I cou'd not help noticing that she looked at me in return, not with the same placid affectionate gaze as was her wont, but in a manner which I scarcely com prehended then, but which I am now able to describe as the quick, keen, searching glance of uneasiness. However, she said nothing at the time ; but when the usual routine of the morning's instruction was over, she bade William, Sarah, and Jane go out and play in the little front garden, keeping Robert and myself iu the room with her.

Then, as soon as he and I were thus alone with her, she drew us towards her — and looking us both steadfastly in the face, said, "My dear children, I am going to ask ysu something, and I know you will tell me the truth." She paused ; and then added in a tremulous tone, "Robert, what were you doing out of your seat ?— or rather, what had you been saying to Mary, while I went out for a minute or two?" The incident which I have just related made a deep impression upoa me; but Robert soon ap peared to have forgotten it altogether. Indeed, thero can be no possible harm, considering ail that has since occurred in my hero mentioning that Robert had alread;- given evidence of a call jus, indifferent, aud even perverse disposition. He wa3 asyettooyoung to be actually heartless, and had not come sufficiently in contact with the world to de velope any of those bad qualities the germs of which existed. within him : but he was not even theu altogether so good a lad as he ought to have been ; and in the same way that the reader has just seen him utter a bold falsehood ia order to avoid aa ex pected scolding, did he frequently conceal his boyish misdeeds by an audacious denial.

At least this began to be particularly the case during the two or three years tbat followed the incident which I have just related; and once when I remonstrated with him for having told what I knew to be an un truth, he said in a dogged tone of retort, " Well, mother once told us not to tell something to f ither, aud that's a sort of falsehood ; so that I am only doing for myself what she made me do for her." "Nothing, mother," answered Robert with an effrontery which absolutely startled me : for though on some previous occasions I had seen proofs of great boldness on my eldest brother's part — a boldness, too, for which he had been blamed — I was not prepared to see him adopt such a very bold and daring attitude as this. " Now, Robert, you are telling me a story, and this is very wicked of you :" then turning to me, my mother said, " You, dear little Mary, will tell me the truth.

What was Robert doing out of hi3 place?" This answer affected me strangely. It all in a moment opened my eyes to something whieh I had suspected but dimly and vaguely before. I said to myself, " Could it possibly bo that my mother was doing something wrong on that occasion, and that she really sought to conceal it from my father? No— it is impossible. She is all good ness—all virtue : she would not do anything wrong for the world. Everybody says she is the best of wives ; and I know she is the best of mothers." Thus did I reason with myself. And yet I was not convinced. My confidence in the perfection of that mother whom I loved so tenderly, was uot far more seriously shaken than at tha time wheu "He camo and whispered to me that he had seen a gentleman looking in at the window," was the answer which I returned in spite of the threatening shake of the head that Robert gave at the moment : " and I told him that I had like wise seen the gentleman.

Then he said he had seen that same geutlemau look in once before, and you went out then as you did to-day. But don't be angry with Robert, mother." MUIY MICE; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A SERVANT-MAID. 4 of the whole town. But despite the gentle though earnest remonstrances of our mother. Roberts oallousness evidently gained ground; and he either made no answer to her representations or else walked indifferently away. His father did not seem to take so much notice of his little acts of irregularity or unsteadiness: or if he did, he set them down to the inexperience of youth and con tented himself with the belief that auy tendency to wildness, manifested at such an age, would in due the occurrence itself took place. Robert's words had sunk deep into my soul; aud I had attained an age, being now about fourteen, when they were indeed full well calculated to make sucii a vivid im pression upon mo and set me a-thinking most seriously aud also most sadly.

Yet of what did I susoect my mother? to what did my misgivings seem to point? I kuew not. Too inexperienced to be able to give form and substance to my own thoughts, I felt uneasy without comprehending the cause of this uueasincss: suspicion was gradually gathering strength in my breast; and yet I knew not what I suspected nor even what there possibly could be to suspect. But still 1 felt un happy; and being even from my tendercst years of apensive disposition, I thought much iu secret on the subject that thus troubled me. Nevertheless, when at other times I gazed upon that handsome 'but pale countenance, with its miugled expression of goodness and melancholy— or when I listened to the words of instruction aud the inculcations of religion that flowed from my mother's lips— and when I beheld her kneeling by my father's side in the fine old church, listening to the syllables of hope and life which oame from the eloquent preacher's tongue— I said to myself, " Yes, my mother is indeed the best of women !

She did uothiog wrong and me mt uithing wrong, when she bade her children keep that secret from her husband." time wear away. My brother William, who at the period of which I am uow writing was thirteen years old, was very different from Robert in many respects. Bearing however the same striking resemblance to our mo ther, he possessed all the openness and frankness of her countenance. Tall for his age, slightly built, and of a somewhat delicate appearance, he was a most interesting boy— affectionate, kind hearted, and of generous disposition— moreover, a sincere lover of the truth. His intelligence was likewise greater than that of Robert; aud though four years younger than his elder brother, he was much a-hcad of him in all mental acquirements. Wi ham was indeed a most promising child even from his earliest years ; and when attired in his neat Sunday apparel, I have heard the lemark frequently whispered, "That is young William Price: what a genteel boy for a carpenter's son 1" My sister Sarah, at this time eleven years old, was a beautiful girl, the miniature image of hir mother.

NothiDg could exceed the luxuriauce of her black hair: romance-writers would speak of its silken softness and its raven glossiness : but without any exaggeration I mean to say it was the finest hair that ever formed an ebon cro wu for one of our sex. Her eyes too were wondrously Sue. And here I am likewise avoiding anything like extreme expressions; but when I declare that iu no child of eleven years old did I ever see eyes so large, so black, aud so sofily bright as those of my sister Sarah, I am ouly telling the plain truth. Her sym metry for a child of her age was perfect : her fea tures had the Greeiau outline— her hands aud feet nere delicate to a degree. In a word, she gave promise of growing up into a beautiful girl, and if permitted to live, of expaudiug into a splendid womanhood. In this manner did I endeavour to reassure my self: but more frequently still did I feel the sus picions and misgivings settling themselves upon my mind, even to the dethronement of those arguments wherewith I sought to compel and constrain a be-hef iu the purity and innocence of my mother's intention relative to the secret which she had so earnestly enjoined Robert aud me to keep.

Chapter II. The Letter With Tiie Black Seal

I was now a little past fifteen year? of age. Robert was over seveutecu; aud though bearing a strong resemblance to our mother, was yet not a good iookiug lad. There was Boincihing sinister in his looks; and when he was speaking, au unpleasant feeling would aiise in the mind that he was not telling the truth — or at all events that duplicity and artifice were in his language and his intentions. Not tliat he had done anything at all serious intue way of misconduct : but, as I have before state 1, he manifested a great disregard for truth; and 1 may now add that he was neither so industrious nor so steady as ho ought to have been. Our father had got him apprenticed to Mr. Matthews, the master for whom he worked; but amongst the journeymen in the same employ, they were not all so uteady aud regular in their habits as our father; and uufoituoately Robert preferred the company that was least calculated tu benefit him.

My mother frequently remonstrated with him,— pointing out ihe value of good habits and an honest charac ter as evidenced in the example of our father ; and showing how irregularity of conduct was certain to undergo opprobrium and reproach, as in the case of two very wicked fellows, named Bulldog and Sawbridge, who were the scandal and nuisance As for the youngest of us all, little Jane— then nine yeais old— she was a fat, chubby, blue-eyed, brown-haired girl, witb a certain distant resemblance to the uiolher, but with all the distinctive features lesembling those of the father. Guod-naiured, gay, anil happy, she was always the darling (as the younge.it, it was her right to be) of the family ; and it is impossible to conceive a greater contrast be tween two sisters than that which existed between this cherub looking Jane and the serious, selfish, vain, and pridelul Sarah— for all this my sister assuredly was, even in her girlhood 1 And now that I have so fully introduced my parents and my brothers and sisters to tho reader, periiaps he will wish to know something concerning myself.

At the age and under the circumstances which I am thus penning my autobiography, it may be permitted for me to say, without the imputation of vanity, that I was considered to be a good-looking girl, in the same style as my mother and sister Sarah: that is, with dark hair and eyes, very blue colour upon the cheeks, and somewhat delicate '-a- MART PRICE ; OR, THE MEMOIRS Of A SERVANT-MAID. 5 tures. 1 have already hinted that through lhe care of our mother we possessed good teeth ; and I was not an exception to this rule. As for my stature, wheu I grew up to womanhood I was what is termed above the middle height and the least thing inclined to be stout. But enough, at least for the present, of any details relative to my personal appearance; and I now resume tbe thread of my narrative. Mad Tommy handed her a letter sealed witn black wax, aud then quickly turning on his heel, darted away, shouting, "Not likely, not likely thai I should go taking anything for my trouble— not likely, not likely !"

Meanwhile my mother, having taken the letter in her hand, hastily thrus', it into her bosom; and then looking up at Robert, she said in a low tremulous voice, "What brought you borne from your work before the usual hour?" One day — and never, never can I cease thinking of that memorable day — William, Sarah, Jane, and myself were seated with our mother in the neat little parlour of our cottage. It was about eleven in the forenoon ; and William was reading while the rest of us were engaged with the needle. Suddenly we heard my brother Robert's voice in altercation with some one outside the dwelling : and listening, the words " Give me the letter, I say !" fell upon our ears. My mother immediately gave vent to an ejaculation as if struck by a sudden idea; aud flinging down her work, she hastened out of the cottage.

It was summer-time ; and the front door stood open. I looked round without moving from my seat : for I felt a presentiment that this was some new phase in the history of my mother's secret — and not for worlds would I have given her pain by any display of impertinent curiosity. I saw Robert, in his working-dress and witb his brown paper cap upon his bead, holding by the collar a short, thick-set, half-loutish, half-idiot youth who did odd jobs about the outskirts of the town and was known as Mad Tommy. This individual, wbo was about twenty years of age and dressed in coarse, dirty, and patched corduroy, was gazing with an air of stolid and yet savage defiance at Robert, who again shook him violently, crying, " Then you won't give me the letter — eh ? But here's mother herself 1" "I came to fetch something that father wants," was the answer.

"But what is the matter with you, mother?" he inquired, looking so fixedly at her that I thought to myself this was the most cruel display of ineonsidcrateness and want of feeling on his part towards her, that I had ever yet observed. "What is the matter with me?" she repeated in her own sweet soft voice, but which now seemed to bear in its tone the vibrations which came direct from her heart's core. " Nothing — nothing is the matter with me:" — then, after a few moments' hesitation and speaking with a visible effort as if conquering a repugnance, she said, " This letter, Robert, is from a dear friend, but one whom your father likes not. It will be doing me a service not to notice before him that I hive received this letter." " I am sure I don't want to betray your secrets, mother, if you will keep mine," said Robert, in a rude and dogged manner.

" Therefore, if you do happen to see me go into the Three Bells again, mind you don't tell father of it, as you did last Saturday night— or else I shall let the cat out of the bag in return about your letter, so as to have tit for tat." " Robert— this from you!" exclaimed— nay, al most shrieked our mother ; and I saw her step back a pace or two as if struck with a sudden blow of a hammer : then she stood gazing iu the stupor of amazement at Robert, as if she dared not believe and yet knew not how to doubt the evidence of her own ears and eyes. "For shame, Robert — unhand the poor fellow," she said; "why did you molest him?" "I met him here at the gate," replied Robert sullenly, "and asked him what he wanted. He said he had got a letter for you. I told him to give it to me, and I would take it in to you.

He declared he would do no such thing — that he would not trust me with it " "Lor, mother, dan't be foolish now," he said with a look of indifference, slightly tainted with scorn: "we don't want any sentimental nonsense now. A bargain's a bargain : you receive your letters on the sly, and I'd go to the public-house on the sly— but we won't tell of each other." "Good heavens! is it possible you cau speak to mo thus?' exclaimed my poor mother, joiuiug her hands in despair. " No more I would," exclaimed Mad Tommy : "not likely — not likely I" and he rubbed bis hands, at the same time giving a cunning leer at my mother. " Enough, enough !" she hastened to exclaim in a tone and manner whieh I could not help ob serving were both alike full of trepidation: but suddenly assuming a conciliatory aud caressing voice, she said, "Now, Mr. Thomas, what have you got for me?