After a while, the little lad grew accustomed to the loneliness of the place; and in after days remembered this part of his life as a period not unhappy.  When the family was at London the whole of the establishment travelled thither with the exception of the porter—­who was, moreover, brewer, gardener, and woodman—­and his wife and children.  These had their lodging in the gate-house hard by, with a door into the court; and a window looking out on the green was the Chaplain’s room; and next to this a small chamber where Father Holt had his books, and Harry Esmond his sleeping closet.  The side of the house facing the east had escaped the guns of the Cromwellians, whose battery was on the height facing the western court; so that this eastern end bore few marks of demolition, save in the chapel, where the painted windows surviving Edward the Sixth had been broke by the Commonwealthmen.  In Father Holt’s time little Harry Esmond acted as his familiar and faithful little servitor; beating his clothes, folding his vestments, fetching his water from the well long before daylight, ready to run anywhere for the service of his beloved priest.  When the Father was away, he locked his private chamber; but the room where the books were was left to little Harry, who, but for the society of this gentleman, was little less solitary when Lord Castlewood was at home.

The French wit saith that a hero is none to his valet-de-chambre, and it required less quick eyes than my lady’s little page was naturally endowed with, to see that she had many qualities by no means heroic, however much Mrs. Tusher might flatter and coax her.  When Father Holt was not by, who exercised an entire authority over the pair, my lord and my lady quarrelled and abused each other so as to make the servants laugh, and to frighten the little page on duty.  The poor boy trembled before his mistress, who called him by a hundred ugly names, who made nothing of boxing his ears, and tilting the silver basin in his face which it was his business to present to her after dinner.  She hath repaired, by subsequent kindness to him, these severities, which it must be owned made his childhood very unhappy.  She was but unhappy herself at this time, poor soul! and I suppose made her dependants lead her own sad life.  I think my lord was as much afraid of her as her page was, and the only person of the household who mastered her was Mr. Holt.  Harry was only too glad when the Father dined at table, and to slink away and prattle with him afterwards, or read with him, or walk with him.  Luckily my Lady Viscountess did not rise till noon.  Heaven help the poor waiting-woman who had charge of her toilet!  I have often seen the poor wretch come out with red eyes from the closet where those long and mysterious rites of her ladyship’s dress were performed, and the backgammon-box locked up with a rap on Mrs. Tusher’s fingers when she played ill, or the game was going the wrong way.