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Updated: June 22, 2025
Since the Empress of Ealing, he had seen nothing so awful. "Does my appearance please you, little page?" asked the lady. "He would be very hard to please if it didn't," cried Madame Tusher. "Have done, you silly Maria," said Lady Castlewood. "Where I'm attached, I'm attached, Madame and I'd die rather than not say so." "Je meurs ou je m'attache," Mr. Holt said with a polite grin.
"Yes Tusher, my maid's son; and who has got all the qualities of his father the lackey in black, and his accomplished mamma the waiting-woman," cries my lady.
"My duty is to arrest the person of Thomas, Viscount Castlewood, a nonjuring peer of Robert Tusher, Vicar of Castlewood and Henry Holt, known under various other names and designations, a Jesuit priest, who officiated as chaplain here in the late king's time, and is now at the head of the conspiracy which was about to break out in this country against the authority of their Majesties King William and Queen Mary and my orders are to search the house for such papers or traces of the conspiracy as may be found here.
And when little Tom Tusher, his neighbour, came from school for his holiday, and said how he, too; like Harry, was to be bred up for an English priest, and would get a college scholarship and fellowship from his school, and then a good living it tasked young Harry Esmond's powers of reticence not to say to his young companion, "Church! priesthood! fat living!
"Make a pretty bow to my lady, Monsieur; and then another little bow, not so low, to Madame Tusher the fair priestess of Castlewood." "Where I have lived and hope to die, sir," says Madame Tusher, giving a hard glance at the brat, and then at my lady. Upon her the boy's whole attention was for a time directed. He could not keep his great eyes off from her.
And Harry Esmond, because of his promise to Father Holt, hiding away these treasures of faith from T. Tusher, delivered himself of them nevertheless simply to Father Holt; who stroked his head, smiled at him with his inscrutable look, and told him that he did well to meditate on these great things, and not to talk of them except under direction.
"And his scholars will always love him, won't they?" "Rachel, you're a good woman!" exclaimed my lord, with an oath, seizing my lady's hand. "I wish you joy!" he continued, giving Harry Esmond a hearty slap on the shoulder. "I won't balk your luck. Go to Cambridge, boy, and when Tusher dies you shall have the living here, if you are not better provided by that time.
When, then, Dr. Tusher brought the news that the little boy at the Inn was ill with the smallpox, poor Harry Esmond felt a shock of alarm, not so much for himself as for little Frank, whom he might have brought into peril.
It happened about Christmas-time, Harry Esmond being now past sixteen years of age, that his old comrade, adversary, and friend, Tom Tusher, returned from his school in London, a fair, well-grown, and sturdy lad, who was about to enter college, with an exhibition from his school, and a prospect of after promotion in the church.
Tom Tusher was sent off early, however, to a school in London, whither his father took him and a volume of sermons, in the first year of the reign of King James; and Tom returned but once, a year afterwards, to Castlewood for many years of his scholastic and collegiate life.
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