English fiction -- 19th century; Marriage -- Fiction
Her letter’s embracing close was costly to them. It hurried him to
the compromise of a debateable business, and he fell into the Austrian
Government’s terms for the payment of the inheritance from his father;
calculating that--his sister’s share deducted-money would be in hand to
pay pressing debts and enable Henrietta to live unworried by cares
until he should have squeezed debts, long due and increasing, out of the
miserly old lord, his uncle. A prospect of supplies for twelve months,
counting the hack and carriage Henrietta had always been used to,
seemed about as far as it was required to look by the husband hastening
homeward to his wife’s call. Her letter was a call in the night.
Besides, there were his yet untried Inventions. The new gunpowder
testing at Croridge promised to provide Henrietta with many of the
luxuries she could have had, and had abandoned for his sake. The new
blasting powder and a destructive shell might build her the palace she
deserved. His uncle was, no doubt, his partner. If, however, the profits
were divided, sufficient wealth was assured. But his uncle remained a
dubious image. The husband and lover could enfold no positive prospect
to suit his wife’s tastes beyond the twelve months.
We have Dame Gossip upon us. --One minute let mention be of the
excitement over Protestant England when that rumour disseminated,
telling of her wealthiest nobleman’s visit to a monastery, up in the
peaks and snows; and of his dwelling among the monks, and assisting in
all their services day and night, hymning and chanting, uttering not one
word for one whole week: his Papistical friend, Lord Feltre, with him,
of course, after Jesuit arts had allured him to that place of torrents
and lightnings and canticles and demon echoes, all as though expressly
contrived for the horrifying of sinners into penitence and confession
and the monkish cowl up to life’s end, not to speak of the abjuration of
worldly possessions and donation of them into the keeping of the shaven
brothers; when either they would have settled a band of them here in
our very midst, or they would have impoverished--is not too strong a
word--the country by taking the money’s worth of the mines, estates,
mansions, freehold streets and squares of our metropolis out of it
without scruple; rejoicing so to bleed the Protestant faith. Underrate
it now--then it was a truly justifiable anxiety: insomuch that you heard
people of station, eminent titled persons, asking, like the commonest
low Radicals, whether it was prudent legislation to permit of the
inheritance of such vast wealth by a young man, little more than a boy,
and noted for freaks. And some declared it could not be allowed for
foreign monks to have a claim to inherit English property. There was a
general consent, that if the Earl of Fleetwood went to the extreme of
making over his property to those monks, he should be pronounced insane
and incapable. Ultimately the world was a little pacified by hearing
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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