Roger Kyffin's Ward

“Too true,” answered Mistress Barbara; “I wish, however, that Mr Wilberforce would call here. I want to tell him how delighted I am with his new book, which I got a few days ago – his ‘Practical View of Christianity.’ It will open the eyes, I hope, of some of the upper classes, to the hollow and unsatisfying nature of the forms to which they cling. I think, and my brother agrees with me, it’s one of the finest books on theology that has ever been written; that is to say, it is more likely to bring people to a knowledge of the truth than all the works of the greatest divines of the past and present age. Get the book and judge for yourself.”

Mr Kyffin promised to do so, and after some further conversation, he rose to take his departure. Mrs Barbara did not fail to press him to come again as soon as his occupations would allow.

“The money shall be ready for you before noon to-morrow,” said Mr Thornborough, shaking his hand. Roger Kyffin hastened back to Idol Lane. Mr Coppinger had not risen from his arm-chair since he quitted the house. The belief that his liabilities would be met without further difficulty, greatly relieved the merchant’s mind, and he thanked Roger Kyffin again and again for the important assistance afforded him.

“Say not a word about it,” answered the clerk; “if I have been useful to you, it was my duty. You found me in distress, and I shall never be able to repay the long-standing debt I owe you. Still I wish to place myself under a further obligation. I would rather have deferred speaking on the matter, but it will allow of no delay. I have to plead for a friend, ay, more than a friend – that unhappy young man – your nephew. You are mistaken as to his character. However appearances are against him. I am certain that Harry Tryon is not guilty of the crime imputed to him. Some day I shall be able to unravel the mystery. In the meantime I am ready to answer for his conduct, if you will reinstate him in the position which he so unwisely left. He has no natural love for business, I grant, but he is high-spirited and excessively sensitive, and I am therefore sure that he will not rest satisfied unless he is restored to his former position, and enabled to establish his innocence.”

“You press me hard, Kyffin,” answered Mr Coppinger. “Besides the fact that the lad is my great-nephew, although his grandmother and I have kept up very little intercourse for years, I have no prejudice against him, and I consider that I acted leniently in not sending after him, and compelling him to discover the authors of the fraud committed against my house. Even should he not be guilty, he must know who are guilty.”

“Granted, sir, and I speak it with all respect,” said Roger Kyffin, “but if he is innocent, and that he is I am ready to stake my existence, he would, had you examined him, have had an opportunity of vindicating himself. I know not now what has become of the lad, and I dread that he may be driven into some desperate course. I am, however, using every means to discover him, and I should be thankful if I could send him word that you are ready to look into his case.”

“No, no, Kyffin, I am resolved to wash my hands of the lad and his affairs, and I would advise you to do the same,” replied Mr Coppinger. “I find that he got into bad company, and was led into all sorts of extravagances, which of course would have made him try to supply himself with money. Had he been steady and industrious, I should have been less willing to believe him guilty.”

An expression of pain and sorrow passed over Roger Kyffin’s countenance when he heard these remarks.

“It is too true, I am afraid, that the lad was drawn into bad company, and I must confess that appearances are against him,” he answered. “I judge him, knowing his right principles, and, though in a certain sense, he wants firmness of character, I am sure that nothing would induce, him to commit the act of which he is suspected. I might tell you of many kind and generous things he has done. Since he has grown up he has shown himself to be a brave, high-minded young man.”

“I do not doubt his bravery or his generosity,” answered Mr Coppinger; “both are compatible with extravagance and dissipated conduct. But I am not prejudiced against the lad, and I would rather take your opinion of him than trust to my own. I would wish you, therefore, to follow your own course in this matter. If you think fit, get the lad up here. We will hear what he has to say for himself, and carefully go into his case. I wish that we had done so at first instead of letting him escape without further investigation.”

“Thank you, sir, thank you, Mr Coppinger; that is all I require,” exclaimed Roger Kyffin. “Where to find the lad, however, is the difficulty. He has gone through numerous adventures and dangers, and has been mercifully preserved. I had, indeed, given him up as lost, but I received a letter from him the other day, though, unfortunately, he neglected to date it. He spoke of others which he had written, but which I have not received. All I can hope now is that he will write again and let me know where he is to be found. Of one thing I am certain, that when he is found he will be well able to vindicate his character.”

Not till a late hour was the counting-house in Idol Lane closed that day. Further news of importance might arrive, and Stephen Coppinger was unwilling to risk not being present to receive it. A link boy was in waiting to light him to his handsome mansion in Broad Street. He had not yet retired, as was his custom later in the year, to his rural villa at Twickenham.

Clerks mostly lived in the city. Few, at that time, could enjoy a residence in the suburbs. Roger Kyffin, however, had a snug little abode of his own at Hampstead, from and to which he was accustomed to walk every day. In the winter season, however, when it was dark, several friends who lived in the same locality were in the habit of waiting for each other in order to afford mutual protection against footpads and highwaymen, to whose attacks single pedestrians were greatly exposed. At one time, indeed, they were accompanied by a regular guard of armed men, so audacious had become the banditti of London.

Roger Kyffin felt more than an ordinary interest in Mr Coppinger’s great-nephew – Harry Tryon – who has been spoken of. He loved him, in truth, as much as if he had been his own son.

When Roger Kyffin was a young man full of ardent aspirations, with no small amount of ambition, too, he became acquainted with a beautiful girl. He loved her, and the more he saw of her, the stronger grew his attachment. He had been trained for mercantile business, and had already attained a good situation in a counting-house. He had thus every reason to believe, that by perseverance and steadiness, he should be able to realise a competency. He hoped, indeed, to do more than this, and that wealth and honours such as others in his position had attained, he might be destined to enjoy. Fanny Ashton had, from the first, treated him as a friend. She could not help liking him. Indeed, possibly, had his modesty not prevented him at that time offering her his hand, she might have become his wife. At the same time, she probably had not asked herself the question as to how far her heart was his. She was all life and spirits, with capacity for enjoying existence. By degrees, as she mixed more and more with the gay world, her estimation of the humble clerk altered. She acknowledged his sterling qualities, but the fashionable and brilliant cavaliers she met in society were more according to her taste. An aunt, with whom she went to reside in London, mixed much in the world. Roger Kyffin, who had looked upon himself in the light of a permitted suitor, though not an accepted one, naturally called at her aunt’s house in the West End. His reception by Fanny was not as cordial as formerly. Her manner after this became colder and colder, till at last when he went to her aunt’s door he was no longer welcomed. Still his love for Fanny and his faith in her excellencies were not diminished.

“When she comes back to her quiet home she will be as she was before,” he thought to himself, and so, though somewhat sad and disappointed, he went on hoping that he might win her affection and become her husband.

At length Fanny Ashton returned home. Roger Kyffin, with the eye of love, observed a great change in her. She was no longer lively and animated as before. Her cheek was pale, and an anxious expression passed constantly over her countenance. She received him kindly, but with more formality than usual. Still Mr Kyffin ventured to speak to her. She appreciated his love and devotion, she said, and regretted she could not give her love in return.

Roger Kyffin did not further press his suit, yet went as frequently to the house as he could. Several times he had observed a gentleman in the neighbourhood. He was a fashionably-dressed, handsome man. There was something, however, in the expression of his countenance which Roger Kyffin did not like, for having seen him once, the second time they met he marked him narrowly. What brought him to that neighbourhood? One day as he was going towards Mrs Ashton’s house – Fanny’s mother was a widow, and she was her only child – he met the stranger coming out of the door. He would scarcely have been human had his jealousy not been aroused. He turned homeward, for he could not bring himself to call that day. The following evening, however, he went as usual, but great was his consternation to find that Fanny had gone to stay with her aunt. His worst fears were realised when, three weeks after this, he heard that Fanny Ashton had married Major Tryon. He could have borne his disappointment better if he could have thought that Fanny had married a man worthy of her.

To conquer his love he felt was impossible. His affection was true and loyal. He would now watch over her and be of service if he could. His inquiries as to the character of Major Tryon were thoroughly unsatisfactory. He was a gay man about town, well known on the turf, and a pretty constant frequenter of “hells” and gambling-houses. He was the son of an old general, Sir Harcourt Tryon, and so far of good family. Though a heartless and worthless roué, he seemed really to have fallen in love with Fanny Ashton, and having done his best to win her affections, he had at length resolved, as he called it, to “put his neck into the noose.” Roger Kyffin trembled for Fanny’s happiness, not without reason. Major Tryon had taken lodgings for her in London. Roger Kyffin discovered where he was residing. Unknown to her, he watched over her like a guardian angel, a fond father, or a devoted brother. In a short time her husband took her to the neighbourhood of Lynderton, in Hampshire, where Sir Harcourt and Lady Tryon resided, in the hopes, probably, that they would take notice of her. He engaged a small cottage with a pretty little garden in front of it, from which a view of the Solent and the Isle of Wight was obtained. Lady Tryon, however, and she ruled her husband, had greatly disapproved of her son’s marriage with the penniless Fanny Ashton, and consequently refused even to see his young wife.

In a short time Fanny was deserted by her worthless husband. Not many months had passed away before she received the announcement of his death in a duel. That very evening her child Harry was born. She never quite recovered from the shock she had received. Sad and dreary were the weeks she passed. No one called on her, for though it was known that Major Tryon was married, people were not aware that his young widow was residing at Sea View Cottage, which, standing at a distance from any high road, few of them ever passed. Her little boy was her great consolation. All her affections were centred in him. Her only visitor was good Dr Jessop, the chief medical practitioner at Lynderton. She called him in on one occasion when Harry was ill. There was not much the matter with the child, but he saw at once that the mother far more required his aid. There was a hectic flush on her cheek, a brightness in her eye, and a short cough which at once alarmed him, and he resolved to keep Master Harry on the sick list, that he might have a better excuse for going over to see the poor young widow.

Chapter Three.

The Hero’s Early Days, and a Description of a Lady of Quality

Roger Kyffin heard of Major Tryon’s death soon after it occurred. He was afraid that Fanny might be left badly off, and he considered how he could with the greatest delicacy assist her. He would not intrude on her grief, but he thought that he might employ some person in the neighbourhood who would act as agent to take care that she was supplied with every comfort.

That evening he was travelling down in the mail coach to Lynderton. He knew his way to the cottage as well as anybody in the place.

Near it was a little inn, to which he had his carpet bag conveyed. Here he took up his abode. He felt a satisfaction in being near her, but was nervous lest by any means she should find out that he was in the neighbourhood. He soon discovered that Dr Jessop drove by every day and visited the cottage, and he resolved, therefore, to stop the doctor and introduce himself as a friend of Mrs Tryon’s family. If he found him a trustworthy and sensible person, he would employ him as his agent in affording the assistance he wished to render the widow. He saw him, and was satisfied that Dr Jessop was just the person he hoped to find.

“I have had a long round of visits,” said the worthy practitioner, “and would gladly put up my horse at the inn and talk the matter over with you.”

They were soon seated together in the little parlour allotted to Mr Kyffin. His wishes were easily explained. “My interesting patient will, I am sure, feel grateful for the sympathy and assistance of her unknown friend,” said the doctor; “but to be frank with you, Mr Kyffin, I fear she will not enjoy it for many years. I believe that her days are numbered – ”

He stopped suddenly, observing Roger Kyffin’s countenance.

“My dear sir,” he exclaimed, “I was not aware how deeply I was wounding you, and yet, my friend, it is better to know the truth. You may yet prove a friend to her boy, and should she be taken away, the poor child will greatly need one.”

It would be difficult to describe the feelings which agitated Roger Kyffin’s kind heart. He had one consolation. He might, as the doctor suggested, prove a friend and guardian to the orphan boy. The kind doctor called every day to report on the health of his patient. He gladly undertook to do all in his power in carrying out Mr Kyffin’s wishes, and promised not to betray the donor of the money which was to be placed at Mrs Tryon’s disposal.

Roger Kyffin could with difficulty tear himself away from the neighbourhood. He received constant communications from Dr Jessop, who sent him rather more favourable reports of Mrs Tryon. Five years passed by – Mrs Tryon’s mother was dead. She had no wish to leave her little cottage. Where, indeed, could she go? Her only employment was that of watching over her little boy. During this time several changes had taken place in the neighbourhood. Sir Harcourt Tryon died. Though he must have been aware of his grandson’s existence, he had never expressed any wish to see him. At length the mother caught cold. The effect was serious. Dr Jessop became alarmed, and wrote an account of her state to Mr Kyffin. She could no longer take Harry out to walk, and had therefore to send him under charge of a nursemaid.

One day he and his nurse were longer absent than usual. What could have kept them? The young mother went to the garden-gate several times, and looked anxiously along the road. She felt the wind very cold. Again she entered the house. Could she have mistaken the hour? The next time she threw a shawl over her shoulders, but the cold made her cough fearfully. At last she saw a female figure in the distance. It was Susan the nurse, but Harry was not with her. Mrs Tryon had to support herself by the gate till the girl came up.

“Where is Harry? where is my child?” she exclaimed.

“I could not help it, ma’am, I did my best to prevent it,” answered the nurse, crying.

Poor Fanny’s heart sank within her; her knees trembled.

“Prevent what?” she exclaimed; “what has happened? where is my boy?”

“No harm has come to him, ma’am, though there might have been, but it is all right now,” answered Susan. “We were going on, Master Harry skipping and playing in front of me, when I saw a carriage coming along the road very fast. I ran on to catch hold of him, but he darted away just under the horses’ feet. I screamed out, and the coachman pulled up. An old lady was in the carriage, and putting her head out of the window she asked what was the matter? Seeing the little boy, she wanted to know whose child he was. When I told her, she ordered the footman to lift him into the carriage. She looked at his face as if she was reading a book, then she kissed him and sat him down by her side. I begged the lady to let me have him again, as I wanted to come home. ‘No,’ she said, ‘go and tell your mistress that his grandmother has taken him with her, that she is pleased with his looks, and must take him for a short time.’ I knew, ma’am, that you would be vexed, and I begged the lady again and again to let me have him, but she answered that he must go with her, and that it would be better for him in the end.”

Poor Mrs Tryon had been listening with breathless eagerness to this account of the nursemaid’s. Leaning on the girl’s arm, she tottered back to the house, scarcely knowing whether or not she ought to be thankful that the boy had been seen by his grandmother. One thing she knew, she longed to press him to her own bosom. She felt, however, weak and ill. While yet undecided how to act, Dr Jessop’s carriage drove up to the gate. As he entered the house, she was seized with a fit of coughing, followed by excessive weakness. As she was leaning back in the arm-chair, the doctor felt her pulse. As soon as she could speak she told him what had happened. He looked very grave.

“My dear madam,” he said, “I am sorry that her ladyship has carried off the little boy. If you will give me authority, I will drive on and bring him back to you. An old friend of yours has come down to this neighbourhood, and he wishes to see Harry. He has heard that you are ill, and desires to know from your own lips your wishes with regard to your boy.”

“What do you mean, doctor?” asked the dying lady, looking up with an inquiring glance at the doctor’s face. “The child is so young that I should not wish to part from him for some years to come.”

“My dear lady,” said Dr Jessop, solemnly, “the lives of all of us are in God’s hands. You are suffering from a serious complaint. It would be cruel in me not to warn you that you are in considerable danger.”

“Do you mean to say I’m going to die, doctor – that I must part from my boy?” gasped out poor Fanny, in a faint voice.

“I should wish you to be prepared, should it be God’s will to call you away,” answered the doctor, much moved. “If you will give authority to your devoted friend, Mr Roger Kyffin, I am sure he will act the part of a parent to your boy. I expect him here this evening, and as he wishes to see Harry, I will drive over to Lady Tryon and request her ladyship to allow me to bring your boy back to you. Certainly in most cases a child’s grandmother is a proper person to act as guardian, but though I attend Lady Tryon professionally when she is in the country, I am unable to express a satisfactory opinion as to her fitness for the task. I begged my friend Tom Wallis, the solicitor at Lynderton, to ride over here with Mr Kyffin; so that should you wish to place your boy under the legal protection of your old friend, you may be able to do so.”

“Surely his grandmother is a proper person to take charge of Harry; though I have no cause to regard her with affection,” said Fanny, in a faint voice, “yet I could with more confidence consign him to that kind and generous man, Mr Kyffin; I will do therefore as he wishes, only requesting that the boy may be allowed to remain as much as possible during his childhood with his grandmother.”

Poor Fanny! a lingering feeling of pride prompted this resolution. Far better would it have been, in all human probability, for the boy, had she committed him entirely to her faithful friend’s care, and not mentioned Lady Tryon. The doctor knew too well that his patient had not many hours to live. He hurried off to Aylestone Hall, the residence of Lady Tryon. The old lady expressed herself delighted with the child, and was very unwilling to part with him. Indeed, though she was told of her daughter-in-law’s dangerous state, she positively refused to give him up, unless the doctor promised to bring him back again. Harry was accordingly placed in the doctor’s carriage, which drove rapidly back to Mrs Tryon’s cottage.

“I can give you but little hopes,” said the doctor to Roger Kyffin, whom, in company with Mr Wallis, he met at the cottage gate.

Roger Kyffin sighed deeply. The little boy flew towards his mother. She had scarcely strength to bend forward to meet him. The doctor held him while she pressed him to her bosom.

“May he come in?” asked the doctor.

“Yes,” she whispered, “I should be glad to see him before I die; you were right, doctor, and kind to warn me.”

Roger Kyffin entered the room, but his knees trembled, and he could scarcely command his voice. Fanny thanked him for all his kindness; “continue it,” she said, “to this poor child.”