Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  What a question for Mrs. Barnaby to answer!... Pleased!... Was she pleased?... Pleased at having every reason in the world to believe that she had given a promise of marriage to the friend and associate of a common thief!... But the spirit of the widow did not forsake her; and, after one little hysterical gasp, she replied by uttering a thousand thanks, and a million assurances that nothing could possibly be more satisfactory.

  She was not, however, quite in a condition to meet the questionings which would probably await her at Rodney Place; and as Mr. Peters did not return in the carriage, she ordered the man to set her down at Sion Row. She could not refuse to Mrs. Crocker the satisfaction of knowing that Jerningham was the thief, that Jerningham was committed to prison, and that she was bound over to prosecute; but it was all uttered as briefly as possible, and then she shut herself in her drawing-room to take counsel with herself as to what could be done to get her out of this terrible scrape without confessing either to Mr. Peters or any one else that she had ever got into it.

  For the remainder of the day she might easily plead illness and fatigue to excuse her seeing anybody; and as it was not till the day following that she expected the return of the Major, she had still some hours to meditate upon the ways and means of extricating herself.

  Towards night she became more tranquil, for she had made up her mind what to do.... She would meet him as fondly as ever, and then so play her game as to oblige him to let her look at the promise she had given. “Once within reach of my hand,” thought she, “the danger will be over.” This scheme so effectually cheered her spirits, that when Agnes returned home in the evening she had no reason whatever to suspect that her aunt had anything particularly disagreeable upon her mind, ... for she only called her a fool twice, and threatened to send her upon the stage three times.

  CHAPTER IX.

  MAJOR ALLEN PAYS A VISIT AT BATH PRODUCTIVE OF IMPORTANT RESULTS. — SYMPATHY BETWEEN HIMSELF AND THE WIDOW BARNABY. — EXCHANGE IS NO ROBBERY. — VALEDICTORY COMPLIMENTS.

  The adventures of Major Allen have no connexion with this narrative, excepting as far as the widow Barnaby is concerned, and therefore with his business at Bath, or anything he did there, we have nothing to do beyond recording about ten minutes’ conversation which he chanced to have with one individual of a party with whom he passed the evening after his arrival.

  Among the many men of various ages who were accustomed to meet together wherever those who live by their wits were likely to prosper, there was on this occasion one young man who had but recently evinced the bad ambition of belonging to the set. Major Allen had never seen him before; but hearing him named as a famous fine fellow who was likely to do them honour, he scrupled not to converse with perfect freedom before him. The most interesting thing he had to record since the party last met, was the history of his engagement with the widow Barnaby, whom he very complacently described as extremely handsome, passionately in love with him, and possessed of a noble fortune both in money and land.

  The Nestor of the party asked him with very friendly anxiety if he had been careful to ascertain what the property really was, as it was no uncommon thing for handsome widows to appear richer than they were.

  “Thank you for nothing, most sage conjuror,” replied the gay Major; “age has not thinned my flowing hair; but I’m not such a greenhorn neither as to walk blindfold. In the first place, the lady is sister-in-law to old Peters, one of the wealthiest of turtle-eaters, and it was from one of his daughters that I learned the real state of her affairs, — an authority that may be the better depended on, because, though they receive her as a sister, and all that, it is quite evident that they are by no means very fond of her.... In fact, they are rather a stiff-backed generation, whereas my widow is as gay as a lark.”

  “Is she a Bristol woman?” inquired one of the party.

  “No, she is from Devonshire,” was the reply. “The name of her place is ‘Silverton Park.’”

  “Silverton in Devonshire?” said the young stranger. “May I ask the lady’s name, sir?”

  “Her name is Barnaby,” replied Major Allen briskly; “do you happen to know anything about her?”

  “The widow Barnaby of Silverton?... Oh! to be sure I do, and a fine woman she is too, — no doubt of it. She is the widow of our apothecary.”

  “The widow of an apothecary?... No such thing, sir; you mistake altogether,” replied the Major. “Do you happen to know such a place as Silverton Park?”

  “I never heard of such a park, sir; but I know Silverton well enough,” said the young man, “and I know her house, or what was her house, as well as I know my own father’s, which is at no great distance from it neither. And I know the shop and the bow-window belonging to it, and a very pretty decent dwelling-house it is.”

  Major Allen grew fidgety; he wanted to hear more, but did not approve the publicity of the conversation, and contrived at the moment to put a stop to it, but contrived also to make an appointment with his new acquaintance to breakfast together on the following morning; and before their allowance of tea and toast was dispatched, Major Allen was not only fully disenchanted respecting Silverton Park, and the four beautiful greys, but quite au fait of the reputation for running up bills which his charmer had enjoyed previous to her marriage with the worthy apothecary.

  It was this latter portion of the discourse which completed the extinction of the Major’s passion, and this so entirely, that he permitted himself not to inquire, as he easily might have done, into the actual state of the widow’s finances; but, feeling himself on the edge of a very frightful precipice, he ran off in the contrary direction too fast to see if there were any safe mode of descending without a tumble. It may indeed be doubted whether the snug little property actually in possession of his Juno, would have been sufficient for his honourable ambition, even had he been as sure of her having and holding it, as she was herself; for, to say the truth, he rated his own price in the matrimonial market rather highly, — had great faith in the power of his height and fashionable tournure, and confidence unbounded in his large eyes and collier Grec. It is true, indeed, that he had failed more than once, and that too “when the fair cause of all his pain” had given him great reason to believe that she admired him much; nevertheless, his self-approval was in no degree lessened thereby, nor was it likely to be, so long as he could oil and trim his redundant whiskers without discovering a grey hair in them.

  In short, what with his well-sustained value for himself, and his much depreciated value for the widow, he left Bath boiling with rage at the deception practised upon him, and arrived at Clifton determined to trust to his skill for obtaining a peaceable restitution of the promise of marriage, without driving his Juno to any measures that might draw upon them the observation of the public, a tribunal before which he was by no means desirous of appearing.

  The state of Mrs. Barnaby’s mind respecting this same promise of marriage has already been described, wherefore it may be perceived that when Major Allen made his next morning visit at Sion Row, a much greater degree of sympathy existed between himself and the widow than either imagined. It was in the tactics of both, however, to meet without any appearance of diminished tenderness; and when he entered with the smile that had so often gladdened her fond heart, she stretched out a hand to welcome him with such softness of aspect as made the deluded gentleman tremble to think how difficult a task lay before him.

  Neither was Mrs. Barnaby’s heart at all more at ease. Who could doubt the sincerity of the ardent pressure with which that hand was held?... Who could have thought that while gazing upon her in silence that seemed to indicate feelings too strong for words, he was occupied solely in meditating how best he could get rid of her for ever?

  The conversation was preluded by a pretty, well-sustained passage of affectionate inquiries concerning the period of absence, and then the Major ejaculated ... “Yes, my sweet friend!... I have been well in health, ... but it is inconceivable what fancies a man truly in love finds to torment
himself!”... Whilst the widow mentally answered him,... “Perhaps you were afraid I might see your friend Maintry stuck up in the pillory, or peeping at me through the county prison windows;” ... but aloud she only said with a smile a little forced,... “What fancies, Major?”

  “I am almost afraid to tell you,” he replied; “you will think me so weak, so capricious!”

  This word capricious sounded pleasantly to the widow’s ears ... it seemed to hint at some change — some infidelity that might make her task an easier one than she expected, and assuming an air of gaiety, she said, —

  “Nay ... if such be the case, speak out without a shadow of reserve, Major Allen; for I assure you there is nothing in the world I admire so much as sincerity.”

  “Sincerity!” muttered the half entrapped fortune hunter aside.... “Confound her sincerity!...” and then replied aloud,— “Will you promise, dear friend, to forgive me if I confess to you a fond folly?”

  Mrs. Barnaby quaked all over; she felt as if fresh grappling-irons had been thrown over her, and that escape was impossible. “Nay, really,” said she, after a moment’s reflection; “I think fond follies are too young a joke for us, Major; they may do very well for Agnes, perhaps ... but I think you and I ought to know better by this time.... If I can but make him quarrel with me,” thought she, ... “that would be better still!”

  “If I can but once more coax her to let me have my way,” thought he, ... “the business would be over in a moment!”

  “Beauty like yours is of no age!” he exclaimed; “it is immortal as the passion it inspires, and when joined with such a heart and temper as you possess becomes....”

  “I do assure you, Major,” said the widow, interrupting him rather sharply, “you will do wrong if you reckon much upon my temper ... it never was particularly good, and I can’t say I think it grows better.”

  “Oh! say not so, for this very hour I am going to put it to the test.... I want you to....”

  “Pray, Major, do not ask me to do anything particularly obliging; for, to say the truth, I am in no humour for it.... It has occurred to me more than once, Major Allen, since you set off so suddenly, that it is likely enough there may be another lady in the case, and that the promise you got out of me was perhaps for no other purpose in the world but to make fun of me by shewing it to her.”

  “Hell and furies!” growled the Major inwardly, “she will stick to me like a leech!”

  “Oh! dream not of such villany!” he exclaimed; “it was concerning that dear promise that I wished to speak to you, my sweet Martha.... Methinks that promise....”

  “I tell you what, Major Allen,” cried the widow vehemently, “if you don’t let me see that promise this very moment, nothing on earth shall persuade me that you have not given it in jest to some other woman.”

  “Good Heaven!...” he replied; “what a moment have you chosen for the expression of this cruel suspicion! I was on the very verge of telling you that I deemed such a promise unworthy a love so pure — so perfect as ours; and therefore, if you would indulge my fond desire, you would let each of us receive our promise back again.”

  The Major was really and truly in a state of the most violent perturbation as he uttered these words, fearing that the fond and jealous widow might suspect the truth, and hold his pledge with a tenacity beyond his power to conquer. He had, however, no sooner spoken, than a smile of irrepressible delight banished the frowns in which she had dressed herself, and she uttered in a voice of the most unaffected satisfaction,... “If you will really do that, Major Allen, I can’t suspect any longer, you know, that you have given mine to any one else.”

  “Assuredly not, most beautiful angel!” cried the delighted lover: “thus, then, let us give back these paper ties, and be bound only by....”

  The widow stretched out her hand for the document which he had already taken from his pocket-book; but to yield this, though he had no wish to keep it, was not the object nearest his heart; holding it, therefore, playfully above his head, he said, “Let not one of us, dearest, seem more ready than the other in this act of mutual confidence!... give mine with one hand, as you receive your own with the other.”

  “Now then!...” said Mrs. Barnaby, eagerly extending both her hands, in order at once to give and take.

  “Now then!...” replied the Major joyously, imitating her action; and the next instant each had seized the paper held by the other with an avidity greatly resembling that with which a zealous player pounces upon the king when she has the ace in the hand at “shorts.”

  “Now, Mrs. Barnaby, I will wish you good morning,” said the gentleman, bowing low as he tore the little document to atoms.... “I have been fortunate enough, since I last enjoyed the happiness of seeing you, to discover the exact locality of Silverton Park, and the precise pedigree of your beautiful greys.”

  The equanimity of the widow was shaken for a moment, but no longer; she, too, had been doing her best to annihilate the precious morsel of paper, and, rising majestically, she scattered the fragments on the ground, saying in a tone at least as triumphant as his own, “And I, Major Allen, or whatever else your name may chance to be, have, since last I had the felicity of seeing you, enjoyed the edifying spectacle of beholding your friend Captain Maintry, alias Purdham, in the hands of justice, for assisting your faithful servant William in breaking open my boxes and robbing me.... Should the circumstance be still unknown to you, I fear you may be disappointed to hear that both my money and plate have been recovered. There may be some fanciful difference between Silverton Park and a snug property at Silverton, ... but I rather suspect that, of the two, I have gained most by our morning’s work. Farewell, sir!... If you will take my advice, you will not continue much longer in Clifton.... I may feel myself called upon to hint to the magistrates that it might assist the ends of justice if you were taken up and examined as an accomplice in this affair.”

  The lady had decidedly the best of it, as ladies always should have; for the crest-fallen Major looked as if he must, had he been poetically inclined, have exclaimed in the words of Comus, —

  “She fables not, I feel that I do fear,”...

  and without any farther attempt to carry off the palm of victory, he made his way down stairs; and it is now many years since he has been heard of in the vicinity of Clifton.

  CHAPTER X.

  A DISAGREEABLE BREAKFAST-TABLE. — MR. STEPHENSON GIVES HIS FRIEND COLONEL HUBERT WARNING TO DEPART. — A PROPOSAL, AND ITS CONSEQUENCES.

  Mrs. Barnaby and Major Allen were not the only persons to whom that twenty-sixth of April proved an eventful day.

  Colonel Hubert and his friend Stephenson met as usual at the breakfast-table, and it would be difficult to say which of them was the most pre-occupied, and the most unfit for ordinary conversation. Stephenson, however, though vexed at not being already the betrothed husband of his lovely Agnes, was full of hopeful anticipation, and his unfitness for conversation arose rather from the fulness of his heart, than the depression of his spirits.

  Not so Colonel Hubert: it was hardly possible to suffer from a greater feeling of melancholy dissatisfaction with all things than he did on the morning after Mrs. Peters’s concert.

  That the despised Agnes, the niece of the hateful Mrs. Barnaby, had risen in his estimation to be considered as the best, the first, the loveliest of created beings, was not the worst misfortune that had fallen upon him.

  There was, indeed, a degree of perversity in the case that almost justified his thinking himself the most unfortunate of mortals. After having attained the sober age of thirty-seven years, if not untouched, at least uninjured, by all the reiterated volleys which he had stood from Cupid’s quiver, it was certainly rather provoking to find himself falling distractedly in love with a little obscure girl, young enough to be his daughter, and perhaps, from the unhappy circumstance of her dependence upon such a relative as Mrs. Barnaby, the very last person in the world with whom he would have wished to connect himself. This was bad enough
; but even this was not all. With the airs of a senior and a Mentor, he had taken upon himself to lecture his friend upon the preposterous absurdity of giving way to such an attachment, thus rendering it almost morally impossible for him under any imaginable circumstances to ask the love of Agnes, even though something in his inmost heart whispered to him that he should not ask in vain. Nor did the catalogue of his embarrassments end here, for he was placed vis-à-vis to his open-hearted friend, who, he was quite certain, would within five minutes begin again the oft-repeated confidential avowal of his love; accompanied, probably, with renewed assurances of his intentions to make proposals, which Colonel Hubert, from what he had seen last night, fancied himself quite sure would never be accepted.

  What a wretched, what a hopeless dilemma was he placed in! Was he to see the man he professed to love expose himself to the misery of offering his hand, in defiance of a thousand obstacles, to a woman who, he felt almost sure, would reject him? Or could he interfere to prevent it, at the very moment that his heart told him nothing but the pretensions of Frederick could prevent his proposing to her himself.

  Colonel Hubert sat stirring his coffee in moody silence, and dreading to hear Frederick open his lips; but his worst fears as to what he might utter, were soon realized by Stephenson’s exclaiming, —

  “Well, Hubert!... it is still to do. I was defeated last night, but it shall not be my fault if I go to rest this, without receiving her promise to become my wife. Her aunt is a horror — a monster — anything, everything you may please to call her; but Agnes is an angel, and Agnes must be mine!”

  Colonel Hubert looked more gloomy still; but he continued to stir his coffee, and said nothing.

  “How can you treat me thus, Hubert?...” said the young man reproachfully. “There is a proud superiority in this affected silence a thousand times more mortifying than anything you could say. Begin again to revile me as heretofore for my base endurance of a Barnaby ... describe the vexation of my brother, the indignation of my sisters!... this would be infinitely more endurable than such contemptuous silence.”