I have met with misfortunes: I have sunk low in life: Ihave kept my carriage, and now walk on foot: but I did not know I was a murderess before, and thank you for the NEWS.""Mamma," said the poor girl, who was always ready for tears--"you shouldn't be hard upon me.I--I didn't mean --I mean, I did not wish to say you would to any wrong to this dear child, only--""Oh, no, my love,--only that I was a murderess; in which case I had better go to the Old Bailey.Though Ididn't poison YOU, when you were a child, but gave you the best of education and the most expensive masters money could procure.Yes; I've nursed five children and buried three; and the one I loved the best of all, and tended through croup, and teething, and measles, and hooping-cough, and brought up with foreign masters, regardless of expense, and with accomplishments at Minerva House--which I never had when I was a girl--when I was too glad to honour my father and mother, that I might live long in the land, and to be useful, and not to mope all day in my room and act the fine lady--says I'm a murderess.Ah, Mrs.Osborne! may YOU never nourish a viper in your bosom, that's MY prayer.""Mamma, Mamma!" cried the bewildered girl; and the child in her arms set up a frantic chorus of shouts.
"A murderess, indeed! Go down on your knees and pray to God to cleanse your wicked ungrateful heart, Amelia, and may He forgive you as I do." And Mrs.
Sedley tossed out of the room, hissing out the word poison once more, and so ending her charitable benediction.
Till the termination of her natural life, this breach between Mrs.Sedley and her daughter was never thoroughly mended.The quarrel gave the elder lady numberless advantages which she did not fail to turn to account with female ingenuity and perseverance.For instance, she scarcely spoke to Amelia for many weeks afterwards.
She warned the domestics not to touch the child, as Mrs.
Osborne might be offended.She asked her daughter to see and satisfy herself that there was no poison prepared in the little daily messes that were concocted for Georgy.
When neighbours asked after the boy's health, she referred them pointedly to Mrs.Osborne.SHE never ventured to ask whether the baby was well or not.SHEwould not touch the child although he was her grandson, and own precious darling, for she was not USED to children, and might kill it.And whenever Mr.Pestler came upon his healing inquisition, she received the doctor with such a sarcastic and scornful demeanour, as made the surgeon declare that not Lady Thistlewood herself, whom he had the honour of attending professionally, could give herself greater airs than old Mrs.Sedley, from whom he never took a fee.And very likely Emmy was jealous too, upon her own part, as what mother is not, of those who would manage her children for her, or become candidates for the first place in their affections.It is certain that when anybody nursed the child, she was uneasy, and that she would no more allow Mrs.Clapp or the domestic to dress or tend him than she would have let them wash her husband's miniature which hung up over her little bed--the same little bed from which the poor girl had gone to his; and to which she retired now for many long, silent, tearful, but happy years.
In this room was all Amelia's heart and treasure.Here it was that she tended her boy and watched him through the many ills of childhood, with a constant passion of love.The elder George returned in him somehow, only improved, and as if come back from heaven.In a hundred little tones, looks, and movements, the child was so like his father that the widow's heart thrilled as she held him to it; and he would often ask the cause of her tears.It was because of his likeness to his father, she did not scruple to tell him.She talked constantly to him about this dead father, and spoke of her love for George to the innocent and wondering child; much more than she ever had done to George himself, or to any confidante of her youth.To her parents she never talked about this matter, shrinking from baring her heart to them.Little George very likely could understand no better than they, but into his ears she poured her sentimental secrets unreservedly, and into his only.The very joy of this woman was a sort of grief, or so tender, at least, that its expression was tears.Her sensibilities were so weak and tremulous that perhaps they ought not to be talked about in a book.I was told by Dr.Pestler (now a most flourishing lady's physician, with a sumptuous dark green carriage, a prospect of speedy knighthood, and a house in Manchester Square) that her grief at weaning the child was a sight that would have unmanned a Herod.He was very soft-hearted many years ago, and his wife was mortally jealous of Mrs.Amelia, then and long afterwards.
Perhaps the doctor's lady had good reason for her jealousy: most women shared it, of those who formed the small circle of Amelia's acquaintance, and were quite angry at the enthusiasm with which the other sex regarded her.For almost all men who came near her loved her; though no doubt they would be at a loss to tell you why.She was not brilliant, nor witty, nor wise over much, nor extraordinarily handsome.But wherever she went she touched and charmed every one of the male sex, as invariably as she awakened the scorn and incredulity of her own sisterhood.I think it was her weakness which was her principal charm--a kind of sweet submission and softness, which seemed to appeal to each man she met for his sympathy and protection.We have seen how in the regiment, though she spoke but to few of George's comrades there, all the swords of the young fellows at the mess-table would have leapt from their scabbards to fight round her; and so it was in the little narrow lodging-house and circle at Fulham, she interested and pleased everybody.If she had been Mrs.
