The Orange Girl

'Then there is the village. You could go home again, Jack.'

'They will not have me.'

'Then, Jack, what will you do?'

He held his hat in his hands, and then with tears rolling down his cheeks he fell on his knees to Jenny. 'Take me with you, Madame,' he said. 'I will be your faithful servant to command. Only take me with you.'

'Alas, Jack! who am I that I should have a servant with me who shall be but a servant myself. Poor lad, I cannot take thee.'

'By your leave, Jenny,' I said. 'There will be a little maid to wait upon you and you will want Jack to protect both you and her. If you consent to take him, he shall go.'

'But, Will, you know the conditions. I shall not be mistress even of myself.'

'That is provided. Did not Lord Brockenhurst promise?'

'Lord Brockenhurst will do what he can. Of that I have no doubt. But as to his power across the Atlantic, of that I have grave doubts.'

'Jenny,' I took her hand. 'Do you trust my word? Could I deceive you? Could I ever hold out hopes unless I knew that they were well grounded?'

'Why, Will, whom should I trust if not you?'

'Then, Jenny, listen and believe. It is so arranged and provided that on landing in America you will be provided with a house fit for your station and with everything, so long as you may stay in the country, that a gentlewoman can require. And all that you have or enjoy will be yours – your own – and over all you shall be mistress.'

'Dear Will – this providing is your providing.'

'A manservant you must have to begin with. Negroes there are in plenty, but an English manservant – an honest' – here I looked Jack in the face; he reddened and was confused – 'an honest, strong, capable, faithful servant, that you want, Jenny; and that you must have, and here he is.' I clapped the fellow on the shoulder as he still knelt before his mistress.

'Get up, Jack,' she said. 'Since it must be so, it must. But you must thank Mr. Halliday and not me.'

It was not a servant that she took out with her but a slave, one of those willing slaves to whom their slavery is freedom, who have no thoughts or desires of their own; none but the thought how best to please their Lords or Ladies. Such servants are rare, except those who have served in the army, where duty is taught to be the first virtue.

'At least,' said Jenny, 'I shall not be put ashore alone or among the gang of poor creatures with whom I ought to stand as a companion.' And indeed the prospect of this strong fellow to protect her at the outset caused her, I was pleased to find, no slight consolation. Yet I dared not tell her till it was too late to be altered, the resolution which we had formed to go with her as well.

Despite the injurious treatment of my two cousins, I took it greatly to heart that the unfortunate Alderman should, for no fault of his own, be condemned to imprisonment for the short remainder of his days. He was past understanding where he was. In imagination he rolled in his chariot from Clapham Common to the Wharf and Counting House: he received the Captains of the West Indiamen: he appeared on Change: he dined with his Company: he sat on the Bench: he walked in his garden: he cut pine-apples and grapes in his hothouses. He was quite happy. But there was the shame of knowing that he was there and that he was supported by the charity of his old friends.

Accordingly I sought Mr. Dewberry's advice and help. There was now but little time to be lost, a matter which made things easier, because, Mr. Dewberry said, so long as there was any chance of getting more by putting off the matter it would be put off. In a word, he called together the creditors. They were fortunately a small body: all those who had claims in respect to Jenny's liabilities were cut off by Matthew's death. The debt of Mr. Probus was also removed by his death because it was an account of monies borrowed by Matthew privately. There remained the debts of the House, and these were due to merchants and to banks. The creditors met, therefore, and I attended. Mr. Dewberry pointed out that my desire was the release of my uncle: that the creditors had no claim upon me: that anything I might offer with the view of attaining that object was a free and voluntary gift: that if the creditors refused this gift they would never get anything at all: and finally that they should consider that the poor man now in prison had not been a party to any of the transactions which led to the ruin of the House.

They asked half an hour to consider. At the end of that time, they offered to accept in full discharge of all claims, two shillings in the pound. I was advised to accept this offer. It took nearly £20,000 out of my fortune; in fact, all the accumulations. But I had the satisfaction before I left of releasing my uncle from his chamber in the loathed King's Bench.

I knew how I should be received by my cousins: but words break no bones. Besides, I wished to release him, so to speak, with my own hands.

'You are come again then,' said my elder cousin, who for some reason unknown, was much the more bitter of the two. There is your handiwork. Gaze upon it,' she pointed to her father, 'and exult! Exult!'

'On the whole,' I said, 'I can, this day at least, exult in my work.'

'It is your doing. None but yours. If you had signed what he wished this misery would have been saved. And you would have had quite as much as one in your beggarly trade could desire.'

'Thank you, cousin. You are always kind to me.'

'You are my brother's murderer. You have ruined my father,' she added.

'I am anything you wish. Indeed, I have no reply to make to such charges as these. Meantime I have come here to-day in order to release your father. Down below waits the attorney with his discharge in due form. He is free. You can take him out of the Prison.'

'Out of prison?'

They both stared at me. Their eyes flashed: the sudden joy of liberty seized them: they sprang to their feet.

'Free? He is free?' cried the younger. 'Father, you are free – do you hear?'

'Free?' he replied. I have been free of the City for six-and-thirty years.'

'Free!' echoed the elder. 'What is the good of freedom without the means of getting a living? Free? Let us stay here, where at least we have a guinea a week.'

'Your livelihood is provided for. You will receive during your three lives the sum of three guineas paid weekly.'

'Three guineas?' The younger caught my hand, 'Cousin Will! Oh! It is our living. It is everything to us poor paupers. Will, I doubt we have misjudged you.'

Her sister snatched her hand away. 'Don't touch him!' she cried. 'Don't speak to him! Three guineas a week! The miserable pittance! and he has thousands – thousands – thousands a year' – her voice rose to a shriek – 'which ought to have been our murdered brother's and our own!'

One must never look for gratitude or even for reasonable recognition: or for the courtesy of thanks: but these words were really more shrewish and more bitter than one can endure. However, I made no reply and left them, pleased at least that one of them could be moved to confessing her prejudice. I know not what became of them, nor have I ever heard tidings of them since that day.

One more addition was made to our party.

My brother-in-law, Tom Shirley, came to me one morning with a serious face – serious at least, for him. 'Will,' he said, 'I have been thinking about my own concerns, that is, my wife has been thinking about them for me. It is a great advantage for a man to give over that part of his business to his wife.'

'Well, Tom?'

'She says, if I remember right, because she has been saying a good deal, that so long as I am content to play first fiddle at the Dog and Duck for thirty shillings a week it matters not, as we shall never get on, and shall have to live in the Rules all our life. Well, Will, I would as lief live in the Rules as out of them. There is very good company in the Rules, almost as good as in the King's Bench itself.'

'She is not content that you should always play the fiddle at that place, and you are. Is that so?'

'For the patronage of aristocracy and the esteem of an audience of taste there is no equal to the Dog and Duck,' he replied gravely, as if he meant what he said of the dirty disreputable haunt of 'prentices and their kind. 'But I confess, Will, that there are times when I consider my musical compositions and when I long for a wider popularity. I think that I should like an opportunity to get my name better known. At the Dog and Duck the noble audience doth not ask the name of the composer.'

'You would leave the Rules if you could, and go live at Westminster, where there are concerts and rich patrons? Well, Tom, we are now rich. We might manage that for you I believe.'

He shook his head. 'No. Best not waste good money. I should only get back here again in a month or two. My dear Will, if you only knew how difficult it is to refuse when things are offered on credit. Now, in the Rules no one has any credit, so that we save all our money.'

I never heard of Tom's saving any money. However, I asked him what he would have.

He would go with me. But did they want music in Virginia?

'Perhaps not now. Wait, however, till they have heard and seen me. I believe there is no musical composer, yet, in the Province. I will be the first Virginian musician. I will be the Handel of Virginia.'

'Well, Tom, why not?' The knowledge of my great income made me yielding. Was there not enough for a dozen Toms? 'I dare say we could pay out your detaining creditors with no great difficulty.'

'Not for the world, my dear brother-in-law. Even from you I could not accept such a favour. Pay me out? Why, it would be no favour: it would be a crime. Do you know that my only detaining creditor is an attorney? Pay an attorney? Never. Remember Probus. Surely you have had enough of attorneys.'

'Indeed I am not likely to forget Probus as long as I live. But then, if you are not paid out, Tom, how will you get out?'