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Updated: May 14, 2025
'If you wish to see David, Mrs Griffey, I will call him, said timid Mrs Prothero, at her wits' end for anything to say or do. 'Seurely I am wishing to see him, said Mrs Jenkins majestically. David had not come in from his farm, so there was nothing for it but to ask Mrs Jenkins to take off her bonnet and have some tea, to which that lady graciously consented.
He had arrived in London, and been lodged in Newgate the previous day, the one on which that letter was written. Rowland gently told his mother the contents of it. 'Thank God that my child did not live to see this day! exclaimed Mrs Prothero. 'Better dead, cousin, than to be living as Howels is! sobbed Mrs Griffey. 'In a prison, too, my beauty Howels!
'He means that old Griffey Jenkins, the miser, is dead, and that Howel comes into all his immense wealth. Miss Gwynne gave her head such a magnificent toss that her neck looked quite strained. 'I do not imagine many young ladies will purchase tickets in that lottery, she said, with a stress upon the 'young ladies.
Only poor Griffey oh dear! oh dear! was never knowing that, because I did be hiding it from him as much as I could. Whilst the widow talks on in this strain to her sympathising friends, her son and Rowland Prothero are in another small room of the house, engaged in a very different style of conversation.
'How d'ye do, Mrs Griffey? Rowland opened his letters. One was from Mr Jones, the other, as Minette said, was from a bishop the Bishop of London. He read Mr Jones' first, and turned more than usually red as he did so. He uttered an exclamation of surprise when he finished reading it, and put it into his father's hands. He then read the second letter. It was short.
Plas Abertewey was a fine old country seat, that had been in Colonel Vaughan's family for generations. Miss Gwynne was not the only scion of the good old county gentry who was disgusted at seeing it in the possession of a son of old Griffey Jenkins, the miser. But so it was to be.
If 'Netta will have me, perhaps I may; indeed I am sure I could. We will come here and cut a dash first, however. I should like to humble some of our Welsh aristocrats by showing them how the son of Griffey Jenkins can eclipse their genealogies, by the magic power of the Golden God.
I wonder his very ghost doesn't appear? but still money won its usual way. And when Howel's chariot came to the door, there were more surprised and admiring eyes fixed upon it from the bystanders without, than on that of any other of the assembled party. As Mrs Griffey Jenkins said when she heard of the evening gaieties, 'Deet to goodness, and my Howel's was grander than any one.
He was rather near or so, you know, was my poor Griffey; but I never was letting him rest day or night, and the only thing he wasn't liking was being much talked over.
I do be wishing all day long that she hadn't gone off with him, and that my Griffey hadn't left all that money and and tak you a glass of brandy and water, Owen, it will be warming you after your cold walk, and I do feel so poorly and wretched all over, that I'll be having a drop along. 'No thank you, aunt, we must be going; what of the counsel for Howel?
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