Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  “Silverton?... That’s the name of her place, is it?... She is a lady of large fortune, I presume?”

  “Yes, she is, Miss Maddox,” replied Elizabeth, somewhat scandalized by the freedom of these inquiries; “but I really wish you would not speak so loud, for she must hear you.”

  “Oh no!... You see she is very busy looking for her friends. Good morning, Major!” said the same fair lady, turning to Major Allen, who stood close beside her, listening to all her inquiries and to the answers they received. “Are we to have a good ball on Tuesday?”

  “If all the world can be made to know that Miss Maddox will be there, all the world will assuredly be there to meet her,” replied the gentleman.

  “Then I commission you to spread the tidings far and near. I wonder if there will be many strangers?”

  “Some of the Stephenson and Hubert party, I hear — that is, Colonel Hubert and young Frederick Stephenson — they are the only ones left. The bridal party set off from the Mall this morning at eleven o’clock. Lady Stephenson looked more beautiful than ever.”

  “Lady Stephenson?.... Oh! Emily Hubert.... Yes, she is very handsome; and her brother is vastly like her.”

  “Do you think so?... He is so thin and weather-beaten ... so very like an old soldier.”

  “I don’t like him the worse for that,” replied the lady. “He looks as if he had seen service, and were the better for it. He is decidedly the handsomest man at Clifton.”

  The Major smiled, and turned on his heel, which brought him exactly vis-à-vis to Miss Elizabeth Peters.

  “Your party mean to honour the ball on Tuesday, I hope, Miss Peters?”

  “I believe so, Major Allen. It is seldom that we are not some of us there.”

  “Shall you bring us the accession of any strangers?” inquired the Major.

  “Mrs. Barnaby and her niece will be with us, I think.”

  “I flatter myself that altogether we shall muster strong. Good morning!” and with another sidelong glance at the widow, Major Allen walked out of the shop.

  Not a word of all this had been lost upon Mrs. Barnaby. She had thought from the very first that Elizabeth Peters must be selected as her particular friend, and now she was convinced that she would be invaluable in that capacity. It was quite impossible that any one could have answered better to questions than she had done. It was impossible, too, that anything could be more fascinating than the general appearance of Major Allen; and if, upon farther inquiry, it should prove that he was indeed, as he appeared to be, a man of fashion and fortune, the whole world could not offer her a lover she should so passionately desire to captivate!

  Such were the meditations of Mrs. Barnaby as she somewhat pensively sat at her drawing-room window, awaiting the return of Agnes to dinner on that day; and such were very frequently her meditations afterwards.

  VOLUME II.

  CHAPTER I.

  DIFFICULTIES ATTENDING A YOUNG LADY’S APPEARANCE AT A BALL. — A WET SUNDAY. — DIFFERENCE OF TASTE.

  Though it was two minutes and a half past the time named for dinner when Agnes made her appearance, she found her aunt’s temper very slightly acerbated by the delay, for the delightful recollections of her morning expedition still endured, and she was more inclined to boast than to scold.

  “Well, Agnes, I hope at last I have some news that will please you,” she said. “What think you of my having subscribed for us both for six weeks?”

  “Subscribed for what, aunt? ... to the library?”

  “Yes; I have subscribed there, too, for a month ... and we must go every day, rain or shine, to make it answer. But I have done a good deal more than that for you, my dear; I have subscribed to the balls entirely for your sake, Agnes: and whatever becomes of you in future life, I trust you will never forget all I have done for you now.”

  “But I am afraid, aunt, it will cost you a great deal of money to take me with you to the balls; and as I have never been yet, I cannot know anything about it, you know; and I do assure you that I shall not at all mind being left at home.”

  “And a pretty story that would make, wouldn’t it?... I tell you, child, I have paid the money already ... and here are the cutlets; so sit down, and be thankful for all my kindness to you.... Is my beer come, Jerningham?”

  Agnes sat down, and began eating her cutlet; but it was thoughtfully, for there were cares that rested heavily upon her heart; and though they were certainly of a minor species, she must be forgiven if at sixteen and a half they were sufficient to perplex her sorely. She had neither shoes nor gloves fit to appear at a ball. She dared not ask for them, she dared not go without them, and she dared not refuse to go at all.

  “This certainly is the most beautiful place I ever saw in my life!” said the widow, while renewing her attack upon the dish of cutlets; “such shops!... such a milliner! and, as for the library, its perfectly like going into public! What an advantage it is every morning of one’s life to be able to go to such a place as that! Elizabeth Peters seemed to know everybody; and I heard them talking of people of the highest fashion, as some of those we are sure to meet at the ball. What an immense advantage it is for you, Agnes, to be introduced in such a manner at such a place as this!”

  “It is indeed a most beautiful place, aunt, and the Peterses are most kind and charming people.”

  “Then for once in your life, child, you are pleased!... that’s a comfort.... And I have got something to shew you, Agnes, such a scarf!... real French blonde: ... its monstrous expensive, I’m afraid; but everybody says that the respectability of a girl depends entirely upon the style of her chaperon. I’m sure I would no more let my poor dear sister’s child go out with me, if I was shabbily dressed, than I would fly. I wonder Mrs. Duval does not send home my things; but perhaps she waits for me to send my turban. She’s going to put my feathers in for me, Agnes, — quite a favour I assure you; ... but she was so respectful in her manner to Elizabeth Peters. I am sure, if I had had any notion what sort of people they were, I should have made Barnaby leave his business to Mr. Dobbs for a little while, that he might have brought me to see them long ago.”

  “It is indeed a pleasure to meet with such friends,” said Agnes; “and perhaps...”

  “Perhaps what, child?”

  “If either of the three girls stay away from the ball, perhaps, aunt, you would be so kind as to let me stay away too, and we should pass the evening so delightfully together.”

  “God give me patience, Agnes, for I’m sure you are enough to drive one wild. Here have I been subscribing to the balls, and actually paying down ready money beforehand for your tickets; and now, ungrateful creature that you are, you tell me you won’t go!... I only wish the Peterses could hear you, and then they’d know what you are.”

  “My only objection to going to the ball, aunt,” said Agnes with desperate courage, “is, the fear that you would be obliged to get gloves and shoes for me.”

  “Gloves and shoes!... why, that’s just the advantage of mourning. You’ll have my black silk stockings, you know, all except a pair or two of the best, — and with black stockings I don’t suppose you would choose to put on white shoes. That would be rather too much in the magpie style, I suppose, wouldn’t it?... And for gloves, I don’t see how, in such very deep mourning, you would wear anything but black gloves too; and there are two pair of mine that you may have. I could lend you an old pair of my black satin shoes too, only your feet and your hands are so frightfully out of proportion to your height.... I was always reckoned to be most perfectly in proportion, every part of my figure; but your hands and feet are absolutely ridiculous from their smallness: you take after your father in that, and a great misfortune it is, for it will prevent your ever profiting by my shoes or my gloves either, unless you are clever enough to take them in, — and that I don’t believe you are — not fingers and all....”

  “May I wear long sleeves then, aunt?” said Agnes with considerable animation, from having suddenly conceived a project, by means of
which she thought she might render herself and her sables presentable.

  “Because you have got no long gloves, I suppose? Why yes, child, I see no objection, in such very deep mourning as yours. It is a strange whim you have taken, Agnes; but it is certainly very convenient.”

  “And will you give me leave, aunt, to use all the black you have been so kind as to give me?”

  “Use it?... use all of it?... Yes; I don’t want to have any of it again: the great desire of my life is to be liberal and generous to you in all ways, Agnes. But I don’t know what you mean about using it all, — you can’t mean all the things at once?”

  “No, aunt,” replied Agnes, laughing, “I don’t mean that; but if I may use the crape that covers nearly the whole of your best gown, I think I could make my own frock look very well, for I would make it the same as one I saw last year at Empton. May I?”

  “Yes, if you will, child; but to say the truth, I have no great faith in your mantua-making talents. However, I am glad to see that you have got such a notion in your head; and if it turns out well, I may set you to work for me perhaps one of these days. I have a great deal of taste in that way; but with my fortune it would be ridiculous if I did much beside ornamental work.... There.... Take away, Jerningham, and bring the two cheesecakes.... Agnes, do you wish for one?”

  “No, thank you, aunt.”

  “What an odd girl you are!... You never seem to care about what you eat.... I must say that I am a little more dainty, and know what is nice, and like it too. But poor dear Barnaby spoilt me in that way; and if ever you should be lucky enough to be the idol of a husband, as I was, you will learn to like nice eating too, Agnes ... for it is a thing that grows upon one, I believe. But I dare say at the out-of-the-way place your aunt Betsy put you to, there was no great chance of your being over-indulged that way.... That will do, Jerningham, give me that drop of beer; and now eat up your own dinner as fast as you can, and ask little Kitty to shew you the way to Mrs. Duval’s, the milliner; and take with you, very carefully mind, the hat-box that you will find ready tied up on my bed, and bring back with you my new scarf and gloves.... I long to shew you my scarf, Agnes.... You shall not be ashamed of your chaperon, — that’s a point I’m resolved upon.”

  It was Saturday night, and the important ball was to be on the following Tuesday; so Agnes, as soon as the dinner was ended, hastened to set about her work, a general idea of which she had very clearly in her little head, but felt some misgivings about her skill in the detail.

  Hardly, however, had she brought forth “her needle and her shears,” when her aunt exclaimed, —

  “Good gracious, child!... you are not going to set to work now?... Why, it is the pleasantest part of the day, and I mean to take you out to walk with me under the windows where we saw all the smart people last night. — Just look out, and you will see they are beginning to come already. Put on your things, my dear; and put your bonnet a little back, and try to look as smart as you can. You are certainly very pretty, but you are a terrible dowdy in your way of putting on your things. You have nothing jaunty and taking about you, as I used to have at your age, Agnes; and I’m sure I don’t know what to do to improve you.... I suspect that your aunt will get more eyes upon her now than you will with all your youth, — and that’s a shame.... But I always was famous for putting on my things well.”

  Agnes retired to her little room; but her quiet bonnet was put on much as usual when she came out from it; and Mrs. Barnaby might have been discouraged at seeing the very undashing appearance of her companion, had she not been conscious that the manner in which she had repaired her own charms, and the general style of her dress and person, were such as might well atone for it.

  Nor was she disappointed as to the degree of attention she expected to draw; not a party passed them without giving her a decided stare, and many indulged their curiosity by a very pertinacious look over the shoulder after them.

  This was very delightful, but it was not all: ere they had taken half a dozen turns, the widely-roaming eyes of Mrs. Barnaby descried two additional gentlemen, decidedly the most distinguished-looking personages she had seen, approaching from the further end of the walk.

  “That tall one is the man we watched last night, Agnes: I should know him amongst a thousand.”

  Agnes looked up, and felt equally convinced of the fact.

  The two gentlemen approached; and Mrs. Barnaby herself could not have wished for a look of more marked examination than the tall individual bestowed upon her as he went by: but satisfactory as this was, and greatly as it occupied her attention, she was aware also that his companion looked with equal attention at Agnes.

  “For goodness’ sake, Agnes, throw back that abominable veil; it is getting quite dark already, and I’m sure you cannot see.”

  “I can see very well, thank you, aunt,” replied Agnes.

  “Fool!...” muttered Mrs. Barnaby; but she would not spoil her features by a frown, and continued to enjoy for three turns more the repeated gaze of the tall gentleman.

  The following day being Sunday was one of great importance to strangers about to be initiated into the society of the place; and Mrs. Barnaby had fondly flattered herself that Mrs. Peters, or at least the young ladies, would upon such an occasion have extended their patronage, both to help them to a seat, and to tell them “who was who.” But in this she was disappointed: in fact, a compact had been entered into between Mrs. Peters and her son and daughters, by which it was agreed that, on condition of her permitting them to join her party at the balls, she was always to be allowed to go to church in peace. This was so reasonable that even the petted Mary submitted to it without a murmur; and the consequence was that Mrs. Barnaby found herself left to her own devices as to the manner in which she should make the most of the Sabbath-day.

  Fortunately for the tranquillity of Mrs. Peters, the landlady of the lodgings, on being questioned, gave it as her opinion that the chapel at the Hot Wells, which was within a very pleasant walk, would be more likely to offer accommodation to strangers than the parish church, that being always crowded by the resident families; so to the chapel at the Hot Wells Mrs. Barnaby resolved to go, and the tea-urn was ordered half an hour earlier than usual, that time enough might be allowed to “get ready.”

  “Now do make the best of yourself, Agnes, to-day, will you? I am sure those men are not Bristol people.... So different they looked — didn’t they? — from all the rest. Of course, you will put on your best crape bonnet, and one of my nicest broad-hemmed white crape collars ... there is one I have quite clean ... I have no doubt in the world we shall see them.”

  Having finished her breakfast, and reiterated these orders, Mrs. Barnaby turned her attention to her own toilet, and a most elaborate one it was, taking so long a time as to leave scarcely sufficient for the walk; but proving at length so perfectly satisfactory as to make her indifferent to that, or almost any other contretems.

  On this occasion she came forth in a new dress of light grey gros-de-Naples, with a gay bonnet of paille de riz, decorated with poppy blossoms both within and without, a “lady-like” profusion of her own embroidery on cuffs, collar, and pocket-handkerchief, her well-oiled ringlets half hiding her large, coarse, handsome face, her eyes set off by a suffusion of carmine, and her whole person redolent of musk.

  This was the figure beside which Agnes was doomed to make her first appearance at the crowded chapel of the Hot Wells. Had she thought about herself, the contrast its expansive splendour offered to her own slight figure, her delicate fair face seen but by stealth through her thick veil, and the sad decorum of her sable robe, might have struck her as being favourable; instead of that, however, it was another contrast that occurred to her; for, as she looked at Mrs. Barnaby, she suddenly recollected the general look and air of her aunt Compton, just at the moment when the widow attacked her so violently on the meanness of her apparel during their terrible encounter at the village school, and she could not quite restrain a sigh as she though
t how greatly she should have preferred entering a crowded and fashionable chapel with her.

  But no sighing could effect the change, and they set forth together, as strangely a matched pair in appearance as can well be imagined. They entered the crowded building just as the Psalms concluded, and were stared at and scrutinised with quite as much attention as was consistent with the solemnity of the place: moreover, seats were after some time offered to them, and there was no reason in the world to believe that they were in any way overlooked. Nevertheless Mrs. Barnaby was disappointed. Neither the tall gentleman nor his companion were there; nor did Major Allen, or any one like him, appear to reward her labour and her skill.

  Long and wearisome did the steep up-hill walk back to her lodgings appear after this unpropitious act of devotion, and sadly passed the remainder of the day, for it rained hard ... no strollers, not even an idle endimanché, came to awaken the musical echo she loved to listen to from the pavement under the windows. In short, it was a day of existence lost, save that she found out one or two new defects in Agnes, and ended at last by very nearly convincing herself that it was in some way or other her fault that it rained.

  But happily nothing lasts for ever in this world, and Agnes found herself quietly in bed at last.

  The next morning rose bright in sunshine, and the widow rose too, and “blessed the useful light,” which she determined should see her exactly at the fashionable hour take her way to the library, and the pastry-cook’s, or wherever else she was most likely to be seen; but, fortunately for the refacimento upon which Agnes desired to employ herself, this fashionable hour was not early, and her sable draperies had made great progress before her aunt gave notice that she must get ready to go out with her. To have a voice upon any question of this kind had fortunately never yet occurred to Agnes as a thing possible, and once more, like a Bella Donna beside a Hollyhock, she appeared, with all the effect of the strongest contrast, in the gayest part of Clifton.