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Updated: June 22, 2025
Tusher from his prison, congratulating his Reverence upon his appointment to the living of Castlewood: sarcastically bidding him to follow in the footsteps of his admirable father, whose gown had descended upon him; thanking her ladyship for her offer of alms, which he said he should trust not to need; and beseeching her to remember that, if ever her determination should change towards him, he would be ready to give her proofs of a fidelity which had never wavered, and which ought never to have been questioned by that house.
She asked Harry what his profession was to be; and my lord, saying that the lad was to take orders, and have the living of Castlewood when old Dr. Tusher vacated it, she did not seem to show any particular anger at the notion of Harry's becoming a Church of England clergyman, nay, was rather glad than otherwise, that the youth should be so provided for. She bade Mr.
Tusher, the Vicar, sounded loudly amongst his flock. Coming up to London again some short time after this retreat, the Lord Castlewood despatched a retainer of his to a little Cottage in the village of Ealing, near to London, where for some time had dwelt an old French refugee, by name Mr.
Worksop, an old lady who was a kinswoman of the family in some distant way, and a Protestant, but a staunch Tory and kings-man, as all the Esmonds were. Harry used to go to school to Dr. Tusher when he was at home, though the Doctor was much occupied too.
What is it? Where lies it? the secret which makes one little hand the dearest of all? Whoever can unriddle that mystery? Here she was, her son by his side, his dear boy. Here she was, weeping and happy. She took his hand in both hers; he felt her tears. It was a rapture of reconciliation. "Here comes Squaretoes," says Frank. "Here's Tusher."
Rachel, what are you in a passion about? Ladies ought never to be in a passion. Ought they, Doctor Tusher? though it does good to see Rachel in a passion Damme, Lady Castlewood, you look dev'lish handsome in a passion." "It is, my lord, because Mr. Henry Esmond, having nothing to do with his time here, and not having a taste for our company, has been to the ale-house, where he has SOME FRIENDS."
"Sir," said young Esmond, bursting out indignantly, "she told me that you yourself were a horrid old man, and had offered to kiss her in the dairy." "For shame, Henry," cried Doctor Tusher, turning as red as a turkey-cock, while my lord continued to roar with laughter. "If you listen to the falsehoods of an abandoned girl "
Tusher said he was a young nobleman of gallant spirit; and Harry Esmond, who was eight years his little lordship's senior, had hard work sometimes to keep his own temper, and hold his authority over his rebellious little chief. Indeed, "Mr. Tutor," as my lady called Esmond, had now business enough on his hands in Castlewood house.
He put his small hand into the Father's as he walked away from his first presentation to his mistress, and asked many questions in his artless childish way. "Who is that other woman?" he asked. "She is fat and round; she is more pretty than my Lady Castlewood." "She is Madame Tusher, the parson's wife of Castlewood. She has a son of your age, but bigger than you."
Tusher, the parson's wife, was with my lady. She had been waiting-woman to her ladyship in the late lord's time, and, having her soul in that business, took naturally to it when the Viscountess of Castlewood returned to inhabit her father's house. "I present to your ladyship your kinsman and little page of honor, Master Henry Esmond," Mr. Holt said, bowing lowly, with a sort of comical humility.
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