Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  In addition to all this, the active O’Donagough contrived, before the day was half over, to have himself and his appendages established in private lodgings in Hatton-garden, where, by the aid of a neighbouring ham-shop, and a little lodging-house cookery, they contrived to live for a week at very trifling expense.

  But what a week of ecstasy it was! And how fully was it demonstrated in the case of Mrs. O’Donagough, that mind is omnipotent over matter! Few people enjoyed “nice things,” as she was wont to call them; that is to say, such eating as particularly suited her fancy, with more keen relish than Sirs. O’Donagough; yet, during this week of strongly-excited sensibilities, although nothing of an edible nature was set before her that she could upon reflection approve, she scarcely uttered a murmur. Tough steaks, and greasy cutlets appeared, and were consumed almost without an observation; while the soaring spirit enjoyed a banquet in the contemplation of caps, bonnets, gowns, and mantles, not yet perceptible to the eye, perhaps, but of which the intellectual faculties were fully cognisant, which rendered all grosser gratifications contemptible.

  “I do enjoy my porter, though!” uttered after the dismissal of a peculiarly unmanageable specimen of what is called animal food, was almost the only symptom betrayed by Mrs. O’Donagough of her being alive to anything of the kind.

  At length,

  Industrious man had done his part,

  and industrious women also. “The things,” were all sent home, and all that remained to be done before their places were taken for Brighton, was “to pack them up,” as Patty said, “so that they might all come out, looking as lovely and beautiful as when they were put in.”

  “And where are we to leave all the rubbish we have brought over, Donny, while we make this delightful little trip?” inquired his lady.

  Mr. O’Donagough had hired a garret in the house for the purpose — Mr. O’Donagough had secured three outside places by the earliest coach — Mr. O’Donagough had, with his own hands, brought home a little basket in which their necessary refreshments during the following day were to be deposited — in short, Mr. O’Donagough had forgotten nothing.

  “Well now, everything seems smooth before ns,” said Mrs. O’Donagough, over their last Hatton-garden tea-table, “Oh! my darling Agnes! How I do long to get at her! By-the-by, Donny, I do think it was rather silly of you never to let me mention to her the time of our coming over. If I had, they would be expecting us, and I am not quite certain if I should not like that better than taking them by surprise.”

  “We have discussed that matter already, my dear,” replied her peaceable husband. “My notion was, that it would be better to take them by surprise, and I think so still.”

  “Well! that’s settled now, so there is no good in talking any more about it. But don’t you think that if they were any of them to see Patty and me scrambling down from the top of the coach, they might think it did not look as if we were really people of fashion, as you have all along promised we should be?” said his wife.

  Mr. Allen O’Donagough paused a little before he replied. This was one of the points upon which his system of tactics dictated very strong regulations, and though he was very sleepy, and much more inclined to dose than to talk, having secured himself from slipping off the horse-hair bottomed chair, by fixing his feet upon the mantelpiece, he roused himself sufficiently to express what he thought the occasion called for.

  “As to that, my dear, and, indeed, as to all things of the same kind, it is quite necessary that you, and Patty too, should understand matters thoroughly at once. I do mean that we should appear like people of fashion — I am making immense sacrifices, and running enormous risks for this purpose; but it is altogether childish and silly to suppose that this can be done by people no richer than we are, without a vast deal of very clever management. The real secret is, Mrs. O’Donagough, to keep all your contrivances out of sight; and if you can find out the way to do that, it don’t signify a single straw what saving tricks you practise behind the scenes. As to my driving about the country like your fine cousins and nieces, and I don’t know what all — it is perfect madness to dream of such a thing — I give you my honour that I should he in jail before I was six months older. But if we all carry on the war upon the same principle, setting our wits to work, one and all, to save money when nobody is looking at us, and to spend it in good style when they are, we may go on making an excellent appearance, and with no danger of getting into a scrape either. Do you understand what I mean, Patty?”

  “Oh! dear yes, papa, I do indeed; and I think it is a very good way. I never do care how dirty or shabby my clothes are when I am out of sight, so that I can be smart when I go out to he seen,” was the young lady’s reply.

  “Kiss me, darling!” said the delighted father, who was really becoming more fond of her every day; “that is exactly the principle on which we must all act; and I hope, Mrs. O’D., that you intend to be as reasonable about it as your daughter?”

  “Let me alone for that sort of thing, O’Donagough. I don’t believe that there is a woman in the world who would be more capable of sacrificing everything to the making a good appearance, than I should. I was always brought up from my earliest infancy to think a great deal of it. My poor, dear mother, I am sure, never thought of anything else, and I should be sorry if my daughter did not come after me with the same right feelings. All that is to be said, therefore, about this going outside, is just that we must take care not to be seen or known.”

  “That is quite right, my dear, and speaking like yourself. This time, of course, there can he no danger, as nobody that you ever saw in your life before would be likely to find you out on the top of the Brighton coach. However, as a general rule, it may be well to remember, that on all such occasions, the best and safest way is to make yourself look as little like what you are as possible. So that instead of being rather better dressed than the rest of the company on the top of a coach, people that understand the sort of thing that we have in view would take care to be the worst. For just observe: now, supposing we sat opposite to some sharp-sighted body, who, having scoured us from hat to shoe, should make up his wise noddle to believe that we were tallow-chandlers, taking our daughter from the melting to get a puff of sea-air. Well, suppose that same person saw us afterwards, in the very best and grandest society, would he not be ten times less likely to know us in our fine traps, than if we had worn something in the same shape and fashion when he met us on the coach?”

  “That’s very true, my dear,” said Mrs. O’Donagough, “and late as it is, I think I shall take the hint, and make some little alteration in what I was going to wear. You understand the sort of thing, Patty, that your papa means, don’t you, my dear?”

  “Yes, to be sure I do, and you shall see if I can’t make a good sight of myself!” replied Miss Patty, starting away from the tea-table; and seizing upon one of the bonnets that lay on the top of a trunk ready for the morrow she began to take out pins, and demolish bows at a great rate.

  “My dear child, what are you about?” cried her mother; “you ain’t going to waste all that good ribbon, I hope?”

  “Waste it! How can you talk such nonsense, mamma, as if that was what papa wanted? No, I won’t waste it, but do just look here; don’t I look like a vulgar dowdy?”

  “Well, to be sure, fine feathers do make fine birds, there is no denying it,” said Mrs. O’Donagough, looking with some mixture of vexation at Martha’s very successful attempt to make herself look a vulgar dowdy.

  “Capital, girl!” cried her father, chuckling. “She is up to everything.”

  At an early hour the next morning, the active, enterprising, hopeful trio, were making as much noise in their sitting-room as if a dozen ordinary persons were about to take their departure from it.

  “Pray, pray don’t set that box up on end! It has got both our best bonnets in it!” cried the elderly lady.

  “Oh, my! that’s all the artificial flowers for mamma and me!” screamed the young one, fiercely ext
ricating a deal case from the hands of the maid, who was irreverently jerking it out the way.

  “Make the tea, can’t you?” bawled Mr. O’Donagough to his wife. “The branch coach will be here in a minute, and I positively will not stir an inch till I have had my breakfast.”

  At length, however, they were snugly accommodated; father, mother, daughter, packages, and all; not only on the branch coach, but on the very vehicle itself that was to convey them to the goal of their wishes. But this was not effected without some difficulty, Mrs. O’Donagough wag large, and none of her adventures had hitherto accustomed her to such a degree of activity as was necessary to bring her to the place she was to occupy, so that the assistance of a man putting the last touch to the luggage on the roof, as well as that of Mr. O’Donagough, who was stationed below, was required to aid the operation. The young My had skipped up with great agility, the moment her father indicated to her the place where she was to sit; and while her mamma was mounting, she stood up, clapping her hands, and shouting with laughter, as she watched the difficult process. After this first impediment to their setting off had been overcome, however, nothing could be more prosperous or satisfactory than their journey; the whole family, each in their respective style, ably sustained the incognito which had been enjoined. Sir. O’Donagough, during the entire distance, preserved total silence. Mrs. O’Donagough talked a good deal, it being an exercise to which she was too much accustomed, to leave it off without great inconvenience; but she so cautiously avoided every allusion to her own dignity, and so steadily abstained from addressing either of her companions by name, that a young Sussex farmer, who was the person to whom she chiefly addressed herself, would have been a very clever fellow, indeed, had her conversation left information of any kind upon his mind. Miss O’Donagough as steadily kept in view the part she had to perform, as either father or mother; but this did not prevent her from looking pretty constantly in the face of the young farmer, thinking, however, all the time, how very much handsomer her dear Jack was.

  According to his usual system, Mr. O’Donagough, while appearing to consult his wife on many points with the most amiable conjugal confidence, had hitherto uttered nothing definitive respecting his projects on arriving at Brighton; and in this he acted wisely, as before he could be said to know what he intended himself, he had one or two little experiments to make, and one or two questions to ask.

  The first words he had been heard to utter since he placed himself beside his daughter, on the top of the vehicle, were spoken to that young lady as soon as herself and her ponderous mamma were once more safely lodged on the pavement, and they ran thus, as he eyed the waiter, who came forth from the hotel at which the coach stopped:

  “I suppose the thing you would like best to do just at present, would be to eat, wouldn’t it?”

  “Well done you for a good guess, papa!” replied Miss Patty, in high glee, “and you couldn’t be more right if I had been a glass case, and you had seen through me. ’Tis good news hearing that word, isn’t it, mamma?”

  “Indeed it is, Patty,” replied Mrs. O’Donagough; “I feel perfectly sinking and exhausted. It is no joke, travelling from London to Brighton, with nothing on earth to keep soul and body together, but a miserable dry sandwich of salt ham.”

  “Come, come, let’s have no grumbling!” cried Mr. O’Donagough, turning sharply round from the waiter to whom he had been giving his orders. “If you will follow this person up stairs, he will shew you into a sitting-room, while I see after all your multitude of boxes.”

  “Grumbling!” muttered Mrs. O’Donagough, in reply, “I should like to know where the most grumbling comes from?” But perceiving her husband to be no longer within hearing, she peaceably followed the waiter into the room to which he led them, and only indulged herself by saying, as he opened or shut the window — drew the blinds up or drew them down — or employed himself on some other of the numerous assiduities which denote the presence of a waiter, “Let everything in the way of refreshment which the gentleman has ordered be of the very best that the place can furnish; and let it all be brought with as little delay as possible — that is, I mean to say, instantly.”

  “Why, mamma!” cried Miss Patty, who the instant the waiter had quitted the window, flew to throw it open as widely as the sash would permit, “this place is more lovely, ten times over, than even London itself! My! what a sight of beautiful full-dressed gentlemen I do see crossing along at the bottom of the street! And such bonnets! I shall grow wild, I can tell you that, if I am kept in long, either for eating, or drinking, or anything else. Why there’s officers by dozens, mamma! Oh! my goodness! what a delightful place!”

  Her indulgent mother did not long delay to station her own ample person beside the juvenile form of her delighted daughter; and so much was there within reach of their eager eyes, as they fearlessly thrust forward their heads and shoulders to obtain a view of the point where the street opened upon the Marine-parade, that, hungry as they were, the cold meat and porter arrived before they had more than once turned round their heads to look for them.

  Mr. O’Donagough entered in the wake of the tray, and for some reason or other seemed in high good-humour. “Come along, both of ye!” he exclaimed, gaily. “The deuce is in it if you are not ready. ’Tis wonderful how quickly the sea air gets hold of one.” And then seating himself before a prodigious mass of cold beef, he began to handle the outlass-like weapon which was placed beside it, with such skilful zeal, that his fair companions seemed to forget for a while all earthly blessings, save such as he heaped upon the plates before them.

  “And what do you think of Brighton, Miss Patty?” said he, as distinctly as his occupation would allow.

  “It is a beautiful divine glory of a place, papa!” replied Patty; “and I am sure I shall like it a monstrous deal better than London.”

  “It really does seem an enchanting spot, Donny,” said his wife, setting down an empty beer-glass, of majestic size; “and if things go on well here, about the Huberts, and everything else, you know, I do hope and trust you will give us a decent lodging, and let us enjoy ourselves.”

  “I shall be able to tell you more about it, my dear, an hour hence,” replied Mr. Allen O’Donagough, continuing to carve and to eat with a degree of celerity that not only showed his seaward appetite, but proved his time to be precious. “As soon as you have done eating, you must go into the room where I have had all the luggage stowed, and let us see what’s what a little. You must unpack right away the trunk that has the things which came from the tailor’s for me — and Patty, when you have done cramming, I’ll get you to look out my shaving tackle; I shall want the key of the hat-box too. Come along, both of ye, there’s good girls.”

  “Lor, papa! Do stop a moment. You never do care for tarts, like mamma and me. ’Tisn’t fair to take us away in the very midst of our treat,” said Patty, making, however, no unnecessary delay as she spoke.

  “You must stop a little, if you please,” added his wife, in like manner continuing her employment, with all possible activity. “’Tis such abominable extravagance to pay for things and not eat them.”

  Mr. Allen O’Donagough listened to reason, and continued to amuse himself with a crust of bread and cheese, till the last tartlet disappeared, when starting up he exclaimed, “Now for it, then — I want to be stirring, I promise you!”

  “But to be sure you are not going to dress yourself in new clothes before you go out to look for lodgings, Mr. O’Donagough, are you? Patty and I must go as we are, I can tell you that,” said Mrs. O’Donagough.

  “I declare I will do no such thing, mamma!” cried the young lady, bursting into open rebellion; “I would no more go out and meet all those beautiful officers in that horrid bonnet and shawl, than I’d fly. I would rather be whipped a great deal.”

  “Nonsense, Patty!” replied her mother. “It is much better to do that, I can tell you, than to begin the thing half-and-half. You may he quite sure, my dear, that there is not one of them
will know you again when they see you in your pink satin bonnet, and your beautiful pink scarf.”

  “Don’t trouble yourselves to squabble any more about it, for you are not to go out with me at present, let your dress be what it may,” said the gentleman.

  “Not go out with you, O’Donagough?” exclaimed his wife, with equal disappointment and surprise. “Why, you don’t mean to take lodgings for us, without ever letting me see them?”

  “No, my dear, of course, not for my eyes! I am not going to take lodgings, Mrs. O’Donagough, but only just to take a look at the place, and judge whether our taking lodgings here at all would be likely to answer or not.”

  Mrs. O’Donagough understood her husband’s voice, and knew that he most certainly would go out alone. So, without further opposition, she prepared to obey his behests, and having done her part in finding the various articles he wanted, left the room followed by her daughter, without making any further observations on his mode of proceeding. But though she made the chamber-door in some degree dam after her, the sitting-room window soon restored her good humour, and she and her daughter continued to recreate themselves by gazing through it, at all things within reach of their eyes, wholly insensible to the progress of time.

  How long they had remained thus pleasantly engaged they would have been at a loss to say, when at length their attention was drawn from without, by opening of the door behind them. They both turned their heads at the same moment, and saw a gentleman enter the room, whom, at the first glance, neither of them recognised — yet, nevertheless, it was no other than Mr. O’Donagough himself. He was dressed very handsomely in a suit, which, though not exactly mourning, and not exactly clerical, might, at the first glance, have been mistaken for either. But the circumstance which, though seemingly trifling, made the change in his general appearance the most remarkable, was his having substituted a white muslin cravat, without any shirt-collar being visible, for his usual black stock, above which was wont to arise two well-stiffened ears, of dimensions considerably larger than common. This, and the metamorphosis his hair had undergone, which, when he left the room had been “sable silvered,” but when he re-entered, it presented a wavy, yet closely-fitted outline of locks, nearly flaxen, made him look so totally unlike himself, that when at length his wife and daughter became aware of his identity, they both burst into violent laughter.