“And is this the way you treat your poor brother’s children, Miss Betsy?... your own flesh and blood!... and they, poor girls, sitting at home in the midst of their faded, worn-out trumpery, and thinking what a disgrace they shall be to the name of Compton in the eyes of all the country, if their aunt Betsy won’t come forward to help them!”
“Stop a minute, Mrs. Compton, and I will help them in the best manner I can. But I must go into my own room first, and you may sit here the while.”
“Will you give me a draught of milk; sister Betsy?” said the again sanguine visitor, “my mouth is perfectly parched.”
The same little girl who had acted as her usher was again within call, and Miss Betsy summoned her by name.
“Go to your mother, Sally, and desire her to spare me a pennyworth of fresh milk; and here, my dear, is the money to pay for it. Don’t drop it, Sally.”
“Dear me, sister Betsy, I don’t want to put you to the expense of a penny for me; ... I thought that you had milk allowed you in your rent.”
“And so I have, as much as I can use. But you are not me, Mrs. Compton; and I make a great point of being just and exact in all ways.... And now I will go for what I promised you.”
In about ten minutes the little lady returned with something in her hand that looked like a sealed letter.
“Please to give this to my nieces, Mrs. Compton, with my good wishes for their well doing and happiness; and now, if you please, I will wish you good morning, for I am rather tired of talking. Don’t open that letter, but give it sealed to your daughters. Good morning, Mrs. Compton.”
Miss Betsy then carefully took up the empty cup which her visitor had drained, and returned to the house, leaving her sister-in-law to set off upon her homeward walk in a condition painfully balancing between hope and fear; nevertheless she obeyed the command she had received, and delivered the letter unopened into the hands of her daughter Martha.
That young lady tore it asunder by the vehemence of her haste to obtain information as to what it might contain, but Miss Sophia, who was of a more gentle nature, quietly took the dissevered parts, and having carefully placed them side by side upon the table, read as follows:
“Niece Martha and Niece Sophia,
“Your mother tells me that you are greatly troubled in your minds as to what dresses you shall appear in at a fête, or entertainment, about to be given by some officers. She tells me that your dresses are all very dirty, wherefore I hereby strongly advise you never on any account to put them on again till such time as they shall be made clean; for it is by no means an idle proverb which says, ‘Cleanliness is next to godliness.’ Your mother spoke also of some articles which, as she said, it would be necessary for you to put on upon this occasion, all of which you possessed, but in a state greatly faded — which means, as I take it, that they have lost their colour by exposure to the sun; observing, (what is indeed very obviously true,) that as this fête or entertainment is to be given by daylight, the loss of colour in these articles would, if seen at such a time, become particularly conspicuous. It is therefore her opinion, and it is in some sort mine also, that the wearing such faded apparel would be exposing yourselves to the unpleasant observations of your richer, cleaner, and smarter neighbours. For which reason my opinion is, (and I shall be very glad if it prove useful to you,) that you avoid such a disagreeable adventure, by staying at home.
“I am your aunt,
“Elizabeth Compton.”
The effect likely to be produced by such a communication as this, upon ladies in the situation of Mrs. Compton and her daughters, must be too easily divined to require any description; but the resolution taken in consequence of it by Miss Martha, being rather more out of the common way, shall be related in a chapter dedicated to the subject.
CHAPTER III.
GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION OF THE MOST INTERESTING OF THE SILVERTON LOCALITIES — A RENCONTRE NOT UNEXPECTED. — A SUCCESSFUL MANŒUVRE.
After uttering a few of those expressions which, by a very remarkable sort of superstition, most nations of the civilized world hold to be a relief under vexation, Miss Martha Compton resumed the bonnet and parasol which she had but recently laid aside, and without consulting either mother or sister, who were occupied in a reperusal of Miss Betsy’s epistle, she sallied forth, and deliberately took her way in a direction leading towards the barracks, which were situated close by the turnpike that marked the entrance to the town.
Let it not be supposed, however, that the young lady had any intention of entering within the boundary of that region, whose very name is redolent to all provincial female hearts as much of terror as of joy; she had no such desperate measure in her thoughts. Nor was there need she should; for between the curate’s dwelling and the barrack-yard there was a three-cornered open space, planted with lime trees, displaying on one side some of the handsomest shops in the town, among which were the pastry-cook’s and the circulating library, (both loved resorts of idle men,) and beneath the trees a well-trodden, a very well-trodden walk, rarely or never without some lounging red coat to enliven its shade. When it is added, that in this open space the band played morning and evening, all the world will be aware that if not the centre, it was decidedly the heart of Silverton, for to and from it the stream of human life was ever flowing, and all its tenderest affections were nourished there.
Being by necessity obliged to pass along this walk, or the pavement which skirted the road beside it, Miss Martha Compton had no occasion whatever to enter the barrack-yard, or even to approach its enclosure, in order to ensure meeting, within the space of any given hour before mess-time, any officer she might wish to see.
There was at this particular epoch much of constancy in the feelings of the fair Martha; for though she had parted from Captain Tate only three-quarters of an hour before, it was Captain Tate, and Captain Tate only, that she now wished to see. Nor did she long wish in vain. When her tall person, straight ankles, and flashing eyes first entered upon the “High Street Parade,” Captain Tate was swallowing the fourth spoonful of a raspberry ice; but, ere she had reached the middle of it, he was by her side.
“Oh! Captain Tate!” she exclaimed, with heightened colour and brightened eyes, ... “I did not expect to see you again this morning.... I thought for certain you would be riding with the colonel, or the major, or some of them.”
“Ah! Miss Martha!... You don’t know what it is to be ordered from quarters where ... you don’t know what it is to be torn heart and soul and body asunder, as I shall be in a few days, ... or you would not fancy one should be riding out of town, as long as one had the power of staying in it!”
“Oh dear!... you won’t mind it, I’m sure ... you will like Plymouth quite as well ... or perhaps better than you do Silverton: ... we shall all remember you longer than you will remember us.”
“Do not say so!... do not say so!... beautiful Martha! — you cannot think it.”
“I’m sure I do,” responded the young lady, with a very distinct sigh.
It was exceedingly wrong in Captain Tate (yet all his family and intimate friends declared that he was as worthy a fellow as ever lived) — it was exceedingly wrong in him to offer his arm to Miss Martha the moment he heard this sigh; for in fact he was engaged to be married to his cousin, and the marriage ceremony was only deferred till he should be gazetted as a major; yet he scrupled not, as I have related, to offer his arm, saying in a very soft, and even tender accent, —
“I know it is not the etiquette of dear, quiet little Silverton, for the officers to offer their arms to the young ladies; but just at the last ... at such a moment as this, not even the Lord Mayor of the town himself could think it wrong.”
This reasoning seemed quite satisfactory, for Miss Martha’s arm was immediately placed within his.
“It is very true, as you say, Captain Tate; the last time does make a difference. But it will be very dull work for you going to Smith’s shop with me; ... and I must go there, because mamma has sent me.”
“Dull!... Oh! Miss Martha, do you really think that any place can be dull to me where you are?”
“How do I know, Captain Tate?... How can any girl know how much, or how little.”
“Good heaven!... we are at the shop already!” said the Captain, interrupting her.... “How such dear moments fly!”
Miss Martha answered not with her lips, but had no scruple to let her fine large eyes reply with very intelligible meaning, even though at that very moment she had reached the front of the counter, and that Mr. Smith himself stood before her, begging to know her commands. Her arm, too, still confidingly hung upon that of the stylish-looking young officer; and there certainly was both in her attitude and manner something that spoke of an interest and intimacy between them of no common kind.
A few more muttered words were exchanged between them before the draper’s necessary question met any attention whatever, yet in general the Miss Comptons were particularly civil to Mr. Smith, and at length, when she turned to answer him, she stopped short before she had well pronounced the words “mull muslin,” saying with an air of laughing embarrassment, and withdrawing her arm, —
“Upon my word and honour, you must go, Captain Tate.... I can no more buy anything while you stand talking to me than I can fly.”
“Did not you promise me?” said the Captain reproachfully, and not knowing what in the world to do with himself till it was time to dress.
“Yes, I know I did,” she replied; “but the truth is,” ... and she pressed both her hands upon her heart, and shook her head ... “the thing is impossible.... You must leave me, indeed!... we shall meet to-night at the Major’s, you know ... farewell!...” and she stretched out her hand to him with a smile full of tender meaning.
The Captain looked rather puzzled, but fervently pressed her hand, and saying “Au revoir then!” left the shop. The young lady looked after him for a moment, and then, turning to Mr. Smith with a look, a sigh, and a smile not at all likely to be misunderstood, said, —
“I suppose, Mr. Smith, you have heard the news about me?... There never was such a place for gossip as Silverton.”
Mr. Smith smilingly protested he had heard nothing whatever about her, but added, with very satisfactory significance, that he rather thought he could guess what the news was, and begged very respectfully to wish her joy of it.
“You are very kind, Mr. Smith; I am sure it is the last thing I expected ... so much above me in every way.... And now, Mr. Smith, I want to speak to you about the things that must be bought. I am sure you are too neighbourly and too kind to put difficulties in my way. It is a very different thing now, you know, as to what I buy; and I am sure you will let me have quite on my own account, and nothing at all to do with papa, a few things that I want very much at the present moment.”
Miss Martha looked so handsome, and the whole affair seemed so clear and satisfactory, that Mr. Smith, careful tradesman as he was, could not resist her appeal, and declared he should be happy to serve her with whatever articles she might choose to purchase.
Her dark eyes sparkled with the triumph of success; she had often felt her own powers of management swelling within her bosom when she witnessed the helpless despondency of her father, or listened to the profitless grumbling of her mother, upon every new pecuniary pressure that beset them; and it is not wonderful if she now believed more firmly than ever, that much suffering and embarrassment might very often be spared, or greatly alleviated, by the judicious exercise of such powers as she felt conscious of possessing.
As a proof that her judgment was in some measure commensurate with her skill, she determined not to abuse the present opportunity by contracting a debt which it would be quite impossible for her father to pay; so, notwithstanding all the tempting finery with which the confiding Mr. Smith spread the counter, she restrained her purchases to such articles as it might really have endangered all their schemes of future conquest to have been without, and then took her leave, amidst blushes and smiles, and with many assurances to the gently-facetious shopkeeper, that let her be where she would, she should never forget his obliging civility.
It was a moment of great triumph for Martha when Mr. Smith’s man arrived, and the huge and carefully packed parcel was brought up to the chamber where Mrs. Compton and her daughters sat at work.
“What in the world is this?” exclaimed the mother, seizing upon it. “Is it possible that her letter was only a joke, and that the little fright has actually sent you some dresses at last?”
“It is much more likely, I fancy, that I have coaxed Mr. Smith into giving us a little more credit. It can all be paid off by a little and a little at a time, you know; and at any rate, here are some very pretty dresses for the fête, besides about three pounds’ worth of things that we really could not do without any longer.”
“And do you really mean, Martha, that you have got Smith to send in all these beautiful things on credit?”
“I do indeed, mamma.”
“Was there ever such a girl!... Only look, Sophy, at this lovely muslin! Why, it will wash, and make up again with different trimmings as good as new for a dozen regiments to come!... Oh! you dear clever creature, what a treasure you are!... I wish to God I had trusted all to you from the first, and not tired myself to death by walking over to that stingy little monster ... but, tired or not, we must cut these dear sweet dresses out at once. Nancy Baker must come in and make the bodies, and we must set to, girls, and run the seams ... and a pleasure it will be too, God knows!... I have worked at turning and twisting old gowns into new ones till I have hated the sight of an ironing box and a needle; but this is another guess sort of a business, and I shall set about it with a right good will, I promise you.”
And so she did, and the dresses went on prosperously, as well as everything else connected with the officers’ fête; and when the wished-for, but dreaded day arrived, in which so many farewell sighs were to be sighed, and so many last looks looked, and so many scrutinizing glances given, as to what might be hoped for from the flirtations of the ensuing year, the sun shone so brightly as evidently to take part with the new-comers, permitting not one single cloud to sympathise with those who were about to depart.
Of all the beauties assembled at this hybrid festival, none appeared to greater advantage than the Misses Compton. Their dresses were neither dirty nor faded, but exceedingly well calculated to set off their charms as favourably as their mother herself could have desired. Captain Tate, after dancing his last dance with Martha, pointed her out with some feeling of triumph to one of the new arrivals as the girl upon whom he had bestowed the largest share of his regimental gallantries; but he was far from imagining, as he did so, how very much better she had contrived to manage the flirtation than himself. She had made it the means of clothing herself and sister from top to toe, while to him it had been very costly in gloves, ices, eau de cologne, and dancing-pumps.
CHAPTER IV.
A WEDDING, AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. — A TRANSFER OF PROPERTY. — MISS MARTHA RECEIVES A PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE. — ANOTHER EXPEDITION TO COMPTON BASETT.
The regimental gala which had been looked forward to with so much interest, though very gay and very agreeable, did not perhaps produce all the results expected by the soft hearts and bright eyes of Silverton, for only one wedding was achieved in consequence of it. This one made a very hasty and imprudent bride of Sophia Compton. Her charming voice, joined to her pretty person, was too enchanting for the enthusiastic Lieutenant Willoughby to leave behind him; and just as the full moon rose upon the tents of the revellers, he drew her gently into the deep shadow of that appropriated to the sutlers, and there swore a very solemn oath that it was quite impossible he should continue to exist, if she refused to elope with him that evening.
Upon the whole, Miss Sophia was by no means sorry to hear this, but could not help expressing a modest wish that he would be so obliging as to change the plan of operations, and instead of eloping with her, would just speak to papa, and so be married
in a proper way.
For a considerable time, longer indeed than it was possible to remain in the shadow of the sutler’s tent, the young gentleman declared this to be impossible; because, in that case, his own relations must be informed of the affair, and he knew perfectly well that if this happened, effectual measures would be taken to prevent his ever possessing his adorable Sophia at all. These arguments were repeated, and dwelt upon with very convincing energy, for the space of one whole quadrille, during which the tender pair sat ensconced behind a fanciful erection, on the front of which was traced, in letters formed of laurel leaves, the words, “TO THE LADIES.” Nor was his pretty listener insensible to their force, or the probable truth of the “misery” they predicted; it was, therefore, all things considered, much to the credit of Miss Sophy that she persevered in her refusal of accepting him on the terms he offered.
Lieutenant Willoughby was by no means a wicked young man, but it was his nature to covet particularly whatever it was least convenient to obtain; and it was, I believe, of him that a youthful anecdote has been recorded which sets this disposition in a striking point of view. Upon occasion of some dainty, but pernicious delicacy, being forbidden, or some frolic tending too strongly to mischief being stopped, he is said to have exclaimed, “It is a very, very shocking thing, mamma, that everything that is nice is called wrong, and everything that is nasty is called right.” This was said when he was seven years old, but at twenty-two he was very nearly of the same unfortunate opinion, and invariably valued everything in proportion to the conviction he felt that he should be opposed in his pursuit of it.
When, therefore, Miss Sophia persisted in her declaration that she would not run away with him, Lieutenant Willoughby became perfectly desperate in his determination to obtain her; and having a sort of natural instinct which convinced him that no proposal of marriage would be ill-received by Mrs. Compton, he wrung the hand of his Sophy, implored her not to dance with anybody else, and then having sought and found her mother amidst the group of matrons who sat apart admiring their respective daughters, he drew her aside, and told his tale of love.
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 106
