Collected Works of Frances Trollope, page 423
This statement was not listened to with quite so great an appearance of philosophy as Mrs. Mathews would have wished; for she bit her nether lip and became crimson. But when she spoke it was only to repeat her own words, “Nothing lasts for ever, Sally.”
But this was so far from satisfying the indignant feelings of Mrs. Spicer, that her nest words were uttered very solemnly indeed, “If you please, ma’am, I wish to give you warning.”
This seemed to be rather more than poor Mrs. Mathews could bear, for she drew forth her pocket-handkerchief and covered her face.
“Come with me, dear Sally! Come with me for one moment!” said Janet, rising, and taking her by the arm; and the now repentant Sally, who felt that her anger had made her forget herself, permitted the pale girl to lead her away without a shadow of opposition, though in going she swerved a little from the direct line, in order to approach her mistress, to whom she whispered in passing, “I did not mean that of course, Miss Mary!”
It was to her own room that Janet led the indignant Sally Spicer; and having got her there and shut the door, Janet began scolding in her turn.
“You are very, very wrong! You are very, very cruel!
Sally Spicer, to add to all the misery that my poor dear mamma is suffering, by talking to her in the way you have done! And it seems very strange to me, Sally, if you really love her, that you should go on for so many years being kind to her when she was happy, and then to get into a passion and give her warning just when you know that she must be miserable!”
“Oh! what a way you put it in, Miss!” exclaimed Sally, fully awakened to a sense of her own misdeeds. “Let me go back to her this very minute, Miss Janet, and offer my faithful service to her on my bended knees? Give her warning, indeed! — Bless her, dear soul! she knows well enough that I would not leave her, not even if her beautiful grandson was to try to kick me out of doors!”
“That is all very true, Sally; I believe it perfectly, and so would your dear mistress too, for she would be the very last in the world to think that you would really wish to leave her. Depend upon it, Sally, Mrs. Mathews is not the sort of person to let herself be treated in this way. Let us trust to her. She deserves all our trust, as well as all our love; and depend upon it, the best way of serving her will be to leave everything to herself, and to follow wherever she leads, without increasing her difficulties by any foolish attempts to do anything that we have not power to do effectually. What she said just now, you know, was very true. Things do not last for ever; and, trust me, a favourable change and a speedy one, is much more likely to be brought about by her than either by you or by me.”
Never was a lecture better timed, or more effective. Sally Spicer grumbled no more; nay, so completely did she seem to give way before all the violent innovations introduced by the three gentlemen who now held possession of the Grange, that it looked very much as if, in addition to all her respect for Janet’s preaching, she had in her memory the pithy old proverb which points out the final advantage of allowing a sufficient quantity of rope to a dog, when he is troublesome.
CHAPTER LV
THE event which followed next was the presentation of this newly-arrived Mr. William White to the mistress of the mansion at which he had arrived, and to her adopted daughter.
This took place in the drawing-room, about three minutes before the dinner was announced. The ceremony was, of course, performed by Mr. Mathews, who sustained his courage under it manfully; considering that he felt the while quite as fully aware as the ladies themselves could do, that the man he thus presented to them in the character of an honoured guest had no more the appearance or manners of a gentleman than a marker at a billiard-table, or a horse-jockey at a fair. But the infatuated gentleman knew it must be done, and he set about it with a degree of firm audacity that a little resembled desperation.
Yet Mr. William White was, for his age, which was about fifty, extremely handsome. That is to say, that his large features were perfectly regular and well-formed; and though his dark hair was mingled with grey, it was still abundant, and still curled naturally. He wore a large, full moustache, which gave him a good deal the appearance of a foreigner; and though when he spoke it was impossible to doubt his being an Englishman, he had now and then an accent, and now and them an expression, which showed that he must have lived a good deal in France. In stature, he was as tall as his dear friend Stephen, — and, like him, though perfectly well-proportioned, he was rather too stoutly framed to suggest any idea of elegance or grace.
Yet, notwithstanding his age, grey locks, and too athletic frame, he was still a splendidly handsome man. But he was also most unmistakably and most widely removed from bearing, either in appearance, accent, or manner, anything approaching the stamp of a gentleman.
His salutation to the two ladies, though probably intended to be very civil, was by no means particularly respectful, and twice before they had left the dining-table he had contrived to make Janet understand that he thought her extremely handsome, and that though no longer a young man, he was by no means old enough to be insensible to her attractions.
The second opportunity which he found for the communicating this interesting intelligence, was about three minutes after the cloth was removed; but it was evident that both the ladies thought they had sat long enough, for after exchanging one single glance together, they both rose and left the room.
Now Mr. Mathews, though very decidedly a silly man, was not, either from association or habit, a vulgar one; and notwithstanding his fanaticism of affection for his handsome grandson, he did not remain for a moment insensible to the fact that this dear grandson’s dear friend was an extremely vulgar fellow Nor was it without a painful twinge that he made the observation, and it certainly recalled to him, in a manner more accurate than agreeable, the style of persons with whom he had seen the grandmother of Stephen associate, and it could not, therefore, be fairly a matter either of blame, or of wonder, that the friends of the young man should, at least, occasionally be found among the same class.
The versatile talents and showy accomplishments of the handsome Stephen had more than atoned in the eyes of his grandfather for the want of finish, of which, perhaps, he was not quite insensible, though he would probably have been exceedingly indignant if any other person had pointed it out; but even if Mr. William White had presented himself under the interesting name of a near relative, his atrocious vulgarity was too strongly marked to be overlooked in the same way.
But what was he to do? If the same question had been put to his wife, it might have been answered without the least difficulty, and the answer would probably have been, “He must be got out of the house with the least possible delay, and if he makes any difficulty about going, we must send for a policeman.” But had such words been uttered in the hearing of Mrs. Mathews it is not very easy to say what the result would have been. That the old gentleman was vehemently and extravagantly fond of his grandson is quite certain, and, moreover, notwithstanding the stain upon his birth, he was most wonderfully proud of him, proud of having such a grandson, proud to excess of being his grandfather.
Had he, some forty years earlier, married a lady of suitable age, and become the father of a legitimate progeny, such a feeling as was now inspired by the sight of Stephen Cornington could never have existed. But though exceedingly well pleased by his union with the heiress of Weldon Grange, he was quite aware that he had married an old maid, — and not being quite unconscious that he was himself an old bachelor, his ruling passion, which, beyond all question, was personal vanity, was wounded by feeling that not all his personal grace, not all his hospitable propensities, and not even his now handsome income, could prevent his new home from having a rather dowdy and quizzical air.
But the arrival of this splendid grandson had completely removed the reproach, and a good deal of the old gentleman’s devotion to Mr. Stephen Cornington may be attributed to this.
Then came the delightful conviction that the handsome youth was equally devoted to him, and then the fond persuasion that the resemblance between them was so great, as to render it almost impossible to look at the grandson without feeling an admiring conviction of what the grandfather must once have been! And all this together brought on the habit of indulging him, till by degrees, and not very slow degrees either, this habit became too strong to be easily resisted; and most assuredly it was something very like a fear of offending Stephen which induced the poor old gentleman to endure such a guest as Mr. William White.
Endure him, however, he did; and when on returning to the drawing-room, he found no ladies to receive them there, but instead of the presence of his wife he was greeted by a message from her, stating that she was not quite well, and that tea should be sent into the gentlemen; he exerted himself strenuously to convince both Stephen and his large friend, that the indisposition of the lady made no difference in the world, and that he only hoped that they would set about making themselves comfortable in any way they liked.
He proposed cards, and he proposed billiards, and then he proposed that his dear Stephen should open the pianoforte, and regale them with some of his charming imitative performances.
“Which, if you have never heard them,” said Mr. Mathews rubbing his hands, and trying to look in particularly high spirits, “will make you die with laughing.”
“My service to you, Sir, but I have no wish for it,” replied Mr. William White, almost as solemnly as if declining any other sort of death. “And as to cards or billiards with him there would be no sport in that, — would there, Stephen?”
“Perhaps not,” replied the young man, colouring; “there is no fun in playing with intimate friends.”
“Besides, to say the truth,” added Mr. White, “I feel a little in the same way as your old lady, — that is to say, you know, a little touch of headache; and there is nothing I should like so well as going up into my own sleeping room, and taking my old acquaintance with me. I have lots of thing’s that I want to say to him, — so if you will let me have a good hit of fire up there, and a jug of hot water, with a bottle of spirits and some sugar, we can have our talk and be in nobody’s way.”
Mr. Mathews immediately rang the boll; saying, however, as he did so, —
“As to your being in anybody’s way, Mr. White, I hope you will not conceive anything of the sort to be possible. My house is always open to my own friends, and, of course, to the friends of my dear grandson also. The accident of Mrs. Mathews’ being unwell, cannot, I assure you, make any difference whatever.”
“That’s your sort, Sir!” replied Mr. William White, with a broad grin. “You are a fine old fellow, and it does you honour to speak out after that fashion, for your madam does not look like the very meekest of God’s creatures.”
And then the facetious stranger laughed aloud, Mr. Mathews making a strong effort to join in his mirth. But the effort, as it seemed, was not very successful; for his lively new acquaintance, after looking at him for a moment, laughed again, and said, —
“You ought to bribe us, old gentleman, not to tell of you; for the marc, you know, will sometimes be the better horse, let us do what we can to prevent it. But if I was you, Mr. Mathews, I should try to get a kiss now and then from that devilish pretty girl that your old dragon has got with her. That girl suits my taste to a nicety.”
“It is lucky then, that she does not suit mine,” said Stephen, brutally; “but, for my part, I hate the very sight of her.”
“Well, Master Stephen, there is no accounting for taste,” rejoined his friend, “and at any rate we shan’t quarrel on that point. And now let’s be jogging. The hot water can come after us. So I wish you a sound sleep, and no curtain-lectures to disturb it.”
And having said these words, with the addition of a good loud laugh, he rolled his enormous person out of the room, and was immediately followed by his friend Stephen.
CHAPTER LVI.
“You know the road better than I do,” said Mr. William White, standing aside to let Stephen pass him. “Lead on to your own sleeping-room, young master; that’s where I want to go to.”
Stephen obeyed, — and they were presently in the very comfortable apartment allotted to the grandson of Mr. Mathews.
Stephen, as he entered, immediately closed the door after him, but Mr. William White did not appear to think this precaution sufficient to secure their privacy — for first with his own massive hand he locked the door, and then taking a candle in his hand, he opened two cupboards, to ascertain that they were not inhabited, and then, dropping upon one knee, he thrust the candle under the bed, in order to convince himself that no listener was sheltered there. Having satisfied himself on this point, he took a deliberate survey of the premises, and spying out a comfortable-looking arm-chair that stood beside the bed, he conveyed it to the chimney-corner; and having stirred the fire, and thrown on it a copious supply of coals, he seated himself, and stretching his enormous length of limb across the hearth, he said, —
“How then, Master Stephen, you sit down there exactly opposite to me, for I like to look into your handsome face when my intention is to cross-examine you. You shall mix a stiff tumbler for me presently, but I have two or three questions to ask before we get to that.”
“And I have got two or three questions to ask on my side,” cried Stephen fiercely; “and I’ll have them answered too, were you ten times were you a hundred times over what you are.”
“You need not go to your multiplication table, Master Stephen, to express either your courage or your impudence. Being what I am, once will be quite enough for you.”
“How tell me, then,” said the young man with savage sternness, — yet not without some symptoms of fear too, as he looked at the powerful features of his gigantic visitor, “now tell me if you can, what devil or devil’s imp it was which inspired you with the mad thought of coming after me here.”
“Devils’ imps, you know, are all friendly to their masters, Stephen, — and it was a friendly imp that sent me here. And take my word for it, Master Stephen, it was no mad thought that brought me here, but a thought very particularly the reverse. I was as sober as a judge, and as wise as Solomon, when I determined to come here,” replied the visitor.
“You are likely to find yourself most lamentably out in your reckoning,” replied the angry boy; “but it would serve you right to let you go on right ahead, till you get into such rough water as might chance to give you just what you deserved.”
“You do not express yourself at all respectfully, Stephen, or by many degrees so much like a gentleman as your accounts of yourself had led me to hope that I should find you,” said Mr. White. “However, as my affairs are rather of a pressing nature, I will postpone for the present the lecture which you seem so greatly to require on the article of proper respect. I am come here, dearly-beloved, for the purpose of receiving from your dutiful and affectionate hands, the largest sum of money which it will be possible for you to procure me. And if your means fail, I shall not shrink from giving you a little help, my boy. The fact is, Stephen, that you are in capital good quarters for such a job, — and I am in no condition, I can tell you, to let that or any other good chance slip by me.”
“A good chance, indeed?” replied Stephen; “why, if you would but leave me alone, it would be an absolute certainty, and a certainty more than you ever dreamed of in your life. I stand at this moment,” he continued, “with this house and two thousand a year settled upon me as firmly as the law can settle it, if you are not mad enough to come in the way and prevent it.”
“And it would be a mad act to do, if there was not a reason for it worth more than two thousand a year,” returned the other. “The law, you say, my dear, will take care of you, if I don’t prevent it; and I may say just the same words to you, Stephen, in return, — the law will settle my business for me, if you do not come in the way and prevent it. I have made a troublesome little blunder lately, my dear Stephen. I have written another man’s name, by mistake, instead of my own. A few years ago I should have been hanged for it; but now, if I am caught, I shall be only transported for life.”
“Did you get the money?” demanded Stephen, eagerly. “Yes, my dear, I got the money, every shilling of it; and it might have helped me to run off with itself, — as you told me in your letters that a beautiful young heiress was going to do with you; only that here again is a striking’ likeness between us, — for you have lost the lady, and I have lost the money.”
“Lost it!” exclaimed Stephen, looking’ petrified.
“Yes, my dear; I lost it at HAZARD,” replied his gigantic companion, affecting a stultified look of innocence that might have well become a five-year-old baby of Brobdignag.
“I presume, Sir,” said the young man, “from your manner of speaking, that you are indulging in a joke at my expense; but before you go on to explain it, I greatly wish that you would permit me to relate, in the shortest manner possible, the real situation in which I stand, which I faithfully promise to do without indulging in any joke at all.”
“It may be, dearly-beloved Stephen, that there may be quite as much of gravity in my history as in yours. But patience is the virtue of ripe age; impatience the folly of unripe youth. I will, therefore, submit to listen to your story before. I insist upon your listening to mine; but make it as short as you can, my dear boy, for trust me there is no joke in what I will afterwards tell you.”
Stephen looked at him earnestly for a moment, and took his cue from the expression of a countenance with which he was well acquainted, and which indicated with sufficient plainness that this was, in truth, no fitting season for jesting.
“There never was a more successful letter written,” began the young man, “than that of my grandmother to Mr. Mathews. It opened his heart to me directly; and from the first hour in which he read it, up to the present moment, he has made it evident that the claim which her letter gave me upon his affections superseded every other feeling of his heart. He was, I believe, living upon very good terms with his wife when I arrived; but it was easy enough for me to see that I soon became, in his eyes, a person of much greater importance than wife or father-in-law either Nor did he leave me long in ignorance of the agreeable position in which I stood. It seems that when he first heard the agreeable news that he was a grandfather, he covenanted with the lady he was going to marry, and with the father likewise, that his own property should after the death of his wife, devolve to this grandson. The lady consented to this, but upon condition that during the lives both of her father and her husband she should enjoy the independent possession of five hundred a year; and, moreover, provided this were granted, she offered, having no relations of her own, to permit Mr. Mathews to dispose of the joint property, provided that in ease of her surviving her father and her husband she should have the enjoyment of the whole income during her life; and it is thus that the settlement now stands.”
