Adventures of Susan Hopley

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Volume 1

ADVENTURES OF VOLUME I.

ADVENTURES OF OR, CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON: SAUNDERS AND OTLEY, CONDUIT STREET. 1841.

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Chapter I.

SUSAN HOPLEY.

CHAPTER I.

WHICH INTRODUCES SUSAN TO THE GENTLE READER.

Worthy, excellent Susan! methinks I see her now, in her neat, plaited cap, snuff-coloured stuff gown, clean white apron, and spectacles on nose, plying her knitting needles, whose labours were to result in a comfortable pair of lamb's wool stockings for my next winter's wear, or a warm waistcoat for poor old Jeremy; or in something, be it what it might, that was to contribute to the welfare and benefit of some human being; and I believe, if it had so happened that the whole human race had been miraculously provided to repletion with warm stockings and waistcoats, that Susan, rather than let her fingers be idle and not be doing something for somebody, would have knit jackets for the shorn lambs and blankets for the early calves.

Excellent Susan I she is dead now; and sadly, sadly I miss her; for when by the death of my wife and the marriage of my children I grew a lone old man, she became my companion as well as my housekeeper. During the day, whilst I looked after my farm, or wandered over the fields with my gun in my hand, or wrote or read in my library, she was engaged with her household affairs, and superintending the servants; but with the tea urn, in the evening, came Susan, so neat, so clean, with her honest, benevolent face, which although it was not handsome, was the pleasantest face I ever looked upon; and whilst she made my tea—by the by, the flavour of teas is sadly falling off, I observe; it's nothing like what it was in Susan's time but whilst she poured me out the pleasant beverage, and sweetened it exactly to my taste-it's very odd; one would think a man ought to know his own taste, but I always put in too much sugar or too little; and in trying to repair the error, I regularly make things worse but as I was saying, whilst she presided at my tea table, or plied her knitting needles, sometimes I read aloud, but more generally we used to talk over old times and past adventures and pleasant chat it was! Some people, if they had listened to us, might have thought there was a sameness in our conversation-a repetition of old stories, but they ever wearied us; I think I liked them better every night; and so did she.

At length, one evening, it occurred to us that what amused us so much, might perhaps amuse other people. "Suppose, we write our histories," said I, "Susan; I think we could make out three volumes of adventures before we settled down into this quiet life, which furnishes nothing to tell. In the evening, we can collect our materials and arrange our plan; and on wet days, when I can't get out, I'll put it all on paper: and we shall then be able to judge how it reads. I've a notion it wouldn't be a bad story. The world don't want extraordinary events, and improbable incidents, to amuse it now. They have found out that, 'the proper study of mankind is man;' and he who can paint real life and human nature, has the best chance of being read. It has often been said that few biographies would be uninteresting, if people would or could disclose the exact truth with all its details. Let us make the experiment, and relate simply without addition or subtraction the events of our early years. Nearly all are dead now who would be pained by the disclosures; and we have but to conceal the names of places and of people, and wait a few years, and perhaps when you and I are both gone, some kind friend may revise our manuscript, and give it to the world; and we may thus, by furnishing our quota to the amusement of mankind, pay back some part of the pleasure we have derived from the excellent tales that have cheered our evening fire-side."

Susan liked the idea; and accordingly we lost no time in putting our plan into execution. Whether the result of our labours will ever see the light—whether it will be considered worth publishing "by the trade," or worth reading by the public, is more than I can foresee; but this I know, that the occupation it furnished, afforded Susan and myself many a pleasant hour; and that come what may of it, it will not be all lost labour.

HARRY LEESON.

Chapter II.

CHAPTER II.

WHICH GIVES AN ACCOUNT OF SUSAN'S BIRTH, EDUCATION, AND FIRST SERVICE.

Susan Hopley was a native of the village of Mapleton—at least, so we choose to call it-in the south-eastern part of England; where her father was a day-labourer on the farm of a Mr. Whitehead. He was an industrious sober man, his wife a worthy woman, and their family consisted only of Susan, and a boy named Andrew, who was a few years younger. But the mother was weakly, and unable to undertake any thing more than the care of her house and children; and the father's wages were only just sufficient to supply his family with the necessaries of life; leaving nothing to spare for education, which was then much more expensive and of much more difficult attainment than it is now. So Mrs. Hopley brought up her children in the fear of God, taught them to spell out words in the Bible, and to be honest and true, and love their neighbours; and trusted in Providence for the rest.

Thus they lived happily enough till Susan was thirteen, and Andrew ten; but then the always infirm health of the mother began to give way; and with the expense of doctors, and one thing or another, the family were beginning to fall into difficulties; when the cleanly appearance and orderly conduct of the children at church, happened, fortunately, to attract the notice of Mrs. Leeson. This lady was the daughter of a former curate of Mapleton, where she had been born and bred; and when very young, had fallen in love with an officer of the king's troops that were quartered in the village. As the regiment was ordered abroad, and the young lady could not part with him, they were married; and she followed him about the world for several years, and was near him in many battles. It was even said, that she had once saved his life, by seeking him out amongst a heap of bodies where he had been left for dead. He had been desperately wounded, and was lying there so far gone, that he could never have survived the night, had she not stretched herself beside him on the ground, and, by folding him in her arms, contrived to keep some warmth in his blood till she could get assistance in the morning.

At length, Major Leeson, who was a good deal older than his wife, beginning to feel some effects from the hardships he had undergone, they resolved to leave the army, and set themselves down for life in the village where they had first met. They had not much money; he had his half-pay, and she had two hundred ayear allowed her by her mother's brother, Mr. Wentworth of Oakfield; but as they had no children, and a great deal of love for one another, they had enough. However, after they had lived in this way for some time, Mrs. Leeson, to her own surprise and that of everybody else, found herself in the family way, and was brought to bed of as lovely a little boy as eyes ever looked upon. Great was the joy at his birth, and a happy family they were till the child came to be about six or seven years old; but then the expenses of his education, and the means of setting him afloat in the world began to be thought of; and after much deliberation and many hard struggles, it was resolved that the Major should apply to be placed on full-pay again, in order that at the end of a few years he might obtain leave to sell his commission; and thus secure something for little Harry against his parents died.

Sad, sad was the parting, for the husband and wife had never been separated before; and they still loved each other as they had done in their young days. But they trusted in God and their constant love; and the Major sailed for the West Indies, where the regiment he was appointed to was stationed.

He had been gone some time, when the illness of the labourer's wife, and the consequent distress of the family, reached the ears of Mrs. Leeson; who thereupon went to the cottage to see how she could be of use to them. Little as she had to spare, there was nobody in the village so serviceable to the poor as she was, particularly after the Major left her; and, indeed, alleviating their distresses, and superintending the education of her dear Harry, seemed to be all that constituted her pleasure in life. "I do believe, poor lady," said Susan, whose own words we shall frequently take the liberty of using, "I do believe that she sought to win the prayers of the poor, and to make Heaven her friend, for the sake of her dear husband that was far away."

Many were the comforts and alleviations she afforded Mrs. Hopley, whose health continued daily to decline; but the greatest of all was, that she undertook to have Andrew and Susan taught to read and write; and to procure them such other instruction as was likely to be useful in their situations, and enable them to earn their bread respectably. "Heaven bless her for it!" Susan would say, when she came to this part of our story; "many's the day I have had reason to say so!"

Mrs. Leeson had a worthy excellent servant called Dobbs, who had been brought up in her father's family, and who, when the young lady married, had followed her fortunes and accompanied her through all her dangers and difficulties; and who was still fast by her side, watching over little Harry, and as fond of him as if he'd been her own. "I often think, Sir, when I remember Dobbs," Susan would say, "that there are few friends more valuable than an attached and worthy servant. People that don't think it worth their while to make a friend of a good servant, lose more in life than they think of."

Now, Dobbs had had a very good education from Mrs. Leeson's father; and as she did not forget that part of her catechism which taught her to do to others as she would they should do to her, she very willingly undertook, at the request of her mistress, to impart to Susan and Andrew such instruction as was needful.

Whilst Mrs. Hopley lived, the children only spent certain hours of the day at Mrs. Leeson's; devoting the rest to the care and attendance of their sick parent; but when the poor mother died, whose passage to the grave was smoothed by knowing that they had found a friend, and were rescued from the peril she had most apprehended-namely, that when she was gone, they would be thrown amongst the idle and disorderly children of the village, and forget all the good and virtuous principles she had taught them—then, when she was laid rest in the humble churchyard, Mrs. Leeson took Susan altogether to be under Dobbs, and do what little she was able in the house, till she had learned the duties of a servant. Andrew lived with his father for a time, earning a trifle when he could, by weeding or picking stones; but he still punctually attended Mrs. Dobb's instructions; and often, when they were over, was allowed to play a game at marbles or trap ball with Master Harry, or take a walk with him in the fields; for Andrew was a steady, well-behaved boy, and to be depended on. As for Harry, his education was superintended by the clergyman of the village; at whose house he spent a considerable part of every day, and under whose instructions he made great progress.

As soon as Andrew was old enough, Mrs. Leeson completed her kindness, by procuring him a situation in the establishment of her uncle, Mr. Wentworth of Oakfield; and there, by his good conduct, he rose from being stable boy to be footman; and a great favourite with his master he was, as well as with honest Mr. Jeremy, the butler.

Susan had been living about five years in Mrs. Leeson's service, when she learned from Dobbs that the Major's regiment was ordered home. For several weeks before, both she and Dobbs had observed an alteration in Mrs. Leeson; her step was lighter and quicker, her face brighter, and sometimes as she went about the house they heard her sweet voice carolling a few snatches of some old song; and Dobbs would say, "There she is, bless her! singing the Major's favourite tune as blithe as she used to be in old times." She had her husband's picture over the mantle piece in the drawing-room, and her first glance in the morning as she entered the room, and the last at night when she left it, was towards that face she loved so dearly. It was most times a melancholy look-a look of fond affec , and of deep regret for the precious hours of life so wasted; for, by her, all that were not spent with him, were scarcely counted. But now the expression changed; she met his eye with a joyous greeting; and there was a brightness in her's, and an involuntary smile upon her lip, that told of pleasant thoughts and glad anticipations.

"It's my opinion," said Dobbs to Susan, "that there's been some good news from the Major in that last letter! for I saw her sitting before the glass to-day trying a new way of dressing her beautiful hair; and yesterday she went into the village and bought some pink and blue ribbons to trim her morning caps. I shouldn't be surprised if we see him soon."

"I declare the same thought struck me," said Susan, "for since she's given orders to have the carpets taken up, and the house cleaned, I remark, that whenever she's directing what's to be done, she keeps glancing up at the picture every moment, as if she was asking his opinion."

“And then do you see," said Dobbs, "how she flings her arms about little Harry every now and then; and laughs a gay laugh, as if there was a hidden fountain of joy in her heart that was running over. Mark my words, we shall hear news of the Major before it's long."

Dobbs was right. "One day soon after this," (and here we shall let Susan tell her own story,) "we saw Mrs. Leeson come hurrying up the little garden that was in front of the house with flushed cheeks and an eager step; and presently afterwards her bed-room bell rang twice for Dobbs. We guessed directly that she had been out to meet the postman, and that there was news; and so it proved. The Major was coming home directly; but as the colonel was absent, and he had the command of the regiment, he was not sure whether he should be able to leave it immediately on landing or not. If he could not get away, he promised to send her a line the moment the vessel got into port, that she and Harry might hasten to meet him. He added, too, that he had made a very advantageous arrangement for parting with his commission to a young nobleman, who didn't care for money; but who wanted to get into a regiment that was not likely to be sent to a foreign station for some years.

"Oh, Mr. Harry, there was joy! I shall never forget her sweet face when first I saw it after she had got the news. Beautiful she always was; but now, as Mr. Poppleton the curate, said, she was radiant, and looked ten times younger and handsomer than ever. She told Dobbs that the Major had hinted that there was an early prospect of their coming home before; but that she had not courage to mention it till she was certain, fancying she could bear a disappointment better if she had never communicated her hope to anybody.

"As this letter had been written immediately before the fleet was to sail, of course the Major himself, or the summons to meet him at Portsmouth, might be hourly expected; and there were such preparations-such a joyous bustle-and dear Harry, he was so busy too! There was the house to be got ready, the clean curtains to be put up, the carpets to be laid; whatever was much worn or looked shabby to be replaced; and there was her own dress, and Harry's dress to be thought of; and the garden to be trimmed, and the trunķs to be packed-Oh heavens! the joy of much loving! But, oh! the pain!

"Well, Sir, all was ready, and we rejoiced that time had been given us to complete every thing; but now it was all listening and watching; every sound of a wheel that was heard approaching, every coach that passed through the village, even the latch of the garden gate being lifted, brought us all to the window, Master Harry's lessons were laid aside, for he had too much to ask, and too much to hear about his dear papa, to give his mind to them; whilst the mother, anticipating the pride and delight of the father when he looked at his noble boy, had not the heart to chide him-and every morning when the sun rose, it was to be to-day; and every night when he set, it was to be to-morrow. With the earliest dawn, we could hear Mrs. Leeson opening her window to observe the weather; and Harry spent half the day waving his handkerchief in the wind, to be sure it was still blowing from the right quarter. And it did blow from the right quarter; and calm beautiful summer weather it was, as ever shone out of the heavens!

"Well, at last we saw the postman coming with a letter, and we all felt certain it was the right letter, for there were not many came to the house; and sure enough it bore the Portsmouth past mark, and Harry, who got hold of it first, and who did not know his papa's hand, cried out, 'He's come! he's come!' But the letter was from Mr. Wentworth. Happening to be in London, he had heard that the telegraph had announced the fleet was in sight, and he had gone down to Portsmouth to meet the Major. But the letter said, that although the fleet was come in, the transport in which Major Leeson had embarked had parted company with the others, and was not yet arrived, but it was expected hourly.

"I was in the room when my mistress read the letter, for we were all too anxious to keep out of it; and I shall never forget her face. Oh! the change that came over it! The falling from the great hope to the heavy fear! She said nothing, but she turned very pale; and her lips trembled, and her hand shook; and Harry looked at her with an amazed and serious look, for the child felt damped too—'What ma?' he said, 'Soon, love; soon!' she murmured as she kissed his forehead, and the words came with a deep gasp and a great swelling of the heart. Then she rose and went to her bed-room; and Dobbs and I knew that she passed almost all that day upon her knees. Sometimes we could distinguish her foot pacing the room; but whenever there was silence, we knew that she was praying; and at night it was the same. I don't think she ever passed another night in her bed till she laid herself down in it to rise no more.

"Well, Sir, the sun rose and set-but still no tidings came. For her, the blow had been struck the first day by Mr. Wentworth's letter; there was something prophetic in that deep love of her's-she saw it all from the beginning. Poor Harry couldn't believe it; and he hoped on, and we hoped on; but she hoped no more.

"She seldom spoke; sometimes she would throw her arms round Harry, and utter such a cry! Surely it was the cry of a broken heart. I never heard any thing like it but from her lips. Few, I hope, ever suffered what she did. Then she would bid Andrew or me take Harry out into the fields and amuse him as well as we could. She didn't like to cloud his young days with sorrow, or inure him to the sight of wretchedness so early. Then the picture! oh that picture! One day I happened to be passing the drawing-room door when it was a little ajar, and hearing a deep sob, I turned my head that way. She was on her knees, and her arms were stretched out towards it, as if she was inviting him to come to her. Her hair was pushed back from the forehead, her lips were apart, and her eyes staring with such eagerness on the countenance, that she looked as if she expected the energy of her grief and love could animate the canvas, and impart life and being to the form she loved so dearly.

"Well, Sir, she drooped and drooped from day to day; I am sure she prayed for death, and her truest friends could not wish her to live.

"It was not many months afterwards, that we knelt by her bedside and closed her sweet eyes—and we that loved her best, thanked God when we did so."

Chapter III.

CHAPTER III.

SUSAN IS PROVIDED WITH ANOTHER SITUATION, AND HARRY MAKES TWO NARROW ESCAPES PRON IMMINENT DANGER.

As soon as Mrs. Leeson was dead, Mr. WentWorth, and Miss Fanny, his daughter, who had neglected nothing they could think of to comfort her during her lifetime, took poor little Harry with them to Oakfield, which they had promised his mother should henceforth be his home; and when she was laid in her grave, and the house at Mapleton was given up, Dobbs and Susan followed. Dobbs was only to stay till Harry was somewhat reconciled to his loss, which he felt bitterly, poor child; and till she had met with a situation to suit her; but Miss Wentworth took Susan into the family altogether, and appointed her to the situation of under-housemaid.

Mr. Wentworth was a gentleman who had made a very large fortune in the wine trade; and he had his house of business still in the City, where affairs were conducted under the superintendence of an old and much valued clerk, of the name of Simpson; whilst he himself resided chiefly with his daughter at Oakfield. She was his only child, and the pride and delight of his heart; and well did she merit all the affection he bore her.

Most fortunate, Susan thought herself, on all accounts, to obtain so excellent a situation; and one which placed her near those she most loved, her brother and little Harry. Andrew now wore a livery; he was grown a nice young man, and had won the good will of all the family by his diligence and good temper. As soon as Harry was considered sufficiently recovered, he was placed at a boarding school about ten miles from Mapleton; and then Dobbs quitted Oakfield, and accepted a situation as cook and housekeeper in a gentleman's family in London.

Harry had been at school between three and four months, and Susan was looking forward to the approaching midsummer vacation, when she was desired to prepare a room for Mr. Gaveston, who was expected on a visit: and she soon learned from the servants, that the visit was to terminate in a marriage. This gentleman was a distant relative of Mr. Wentworth's, who had brought him up, and provided handsomely for him by giving him a share in the wine business. He had hitherto resided a good deal at Bourdeaux, where Mr. Wentworth was connected with several houses of eminence; always, however, spending some months of every year in England; and during these visits, he had contrived to make himself so completely master of the affections of poor Fanny, that though, (heiress as she was to all her father's wealth, and endowed with many charms of mind and person into the bargain,) she had hosts of suitors, she would listen to none of them; but persisted in giving her young heart, and engaging her fair hand, to Walter Gaveston.

It was pretty evident to every body but herself, that Mr. Gaveston was not the husband her father would have selected for her; but he was too indulgent and too just to oppose her wishes on a subject so material to her happiness, unless he could have given her convincing reasons for his objection; and this he could not. He had originally been very fond of Walter, who was a clever, handsome, forward boy; but of late years he had felt a sort of growing dis to him that he could hardly account for; and that he was himself half inclined to look upon as idle antipathy or weak prejudice. He had nothing exactly to allege against him; and sometimes after examining his own mind, and searching for the motive of his own alienation, he would end by saying, "D—n the fellow! I believe it's only that I don't like the expression of his face." Nobody did like the expression of his face, that looked at it with unprepossessed eyes-but poor Fanny's were witched—and if she ever remarked that the prospect of her marriage was disagreeable to her father, she attributed the dissatisfaction wholly to his dread of parting with her, and not at all to the nature of the alliance she was about to form.

In spite of the displeasing expression we have alluded to, there could be no doubt that Mr. Gaveston was a very fine looking man; and one likely to attract the eye and admiration of the fair sex in general. His features were regular and manly; he had a beautiful set of teeth, dark hair and eyes, a complexion bronzed into a very becoming hue by the sun of the South, and a figure that formed a perfect model of strength and agility. And, accordingly, there were few men who excelled so much in all manly exercises; whether he walked, rode, or danced, the performance was perfect; he was the best cricket player about the country, the most fearless huntsman, and the best shot. He was equally remarkable for his proficiency in all games of skill-cards, billiards, nothing came amiss to him. Then he was an excellent judge of a horse, very fond of attending races, and understood all the intricacies of betting, edging, and jockeyship in general. Of classical learning or deep reading he had very little; but he had a great deal of general information; knew something of most people that were making any sensation in the world; and was seldom at a loss upon any subject of fashionable or popular discussion.

Such was the man that had won Fanny Wentworth's affections, and to whom she was to be united in the ensuing month of August. Many preliminaries of course, were to be arranged. Dresses to be prepared, settlements drawn up, and entertainments given; and when Harry returned to Oakfield for the vacation, he found the house full of gaiety and commotion.

"I think it right to inform you," said Mr. Wentworth one day to Mr. Gaveston, when the subject of settlement was under discussion, "that since the death of Harry Leeson's parents, I have adopted him, and look upon him as my son. I was always fond of the boy; who is as fine a little fellow as ever lived; and I loved his father and mother, and would do it for their sakes if I did not do it for his own. The arrangement I propose to make; is this-and I have given Olliphant directions to prepare the settlements and my will at the same time. You are at present possessor of a sixth share of the business I will make that a fourth. Whatever fortune I give my daughter now, or whatever I leave her, I shall vest in trustees for her use, to descend from her to her children; or if she have done, to be disposed of as she pleases; with the exception of ten thousand pounds, of which you will have the life rent, should you survive her. This, with a fourth share of the business, will I hope be considered sufficient. Are you satisfied with that arrangement?"

"Quite, Sir, quite," replied Mr. Gaveston; and he endeavoured to look very satisfied indeed.

"With respect to Harry Leeson," continued Mr. Wentworth, "he will be entitled by my will to two shares of the wine business, and to ten thousand pounds, to be paid free of all deductions. The fourth share, I intend giving to old Simpson, on whom the management of the whole must rest. I shall also appoint him guardian and trustee for Harry. All this I do with Fanny's entire approbation."

How far these arrangements were agreeable to Mr. Gaveston may be doubted; but, at all events, he reiterated the assurances of his entire satisfaction; and Mr. Wentworth did not trouble himself to investigate further.