“Not past forgiveness, aunt Betsy!” replied Mrs. Hubert, now stepping towards the door by which her son was entering, and offering, with successful rivalry, a mother’s arms to draw him from those of his sister’s, which still encompassed him.
“Is he not grown, mamma?” said Elizabeth. “Did you ever see anything so tall?”
“Rarely at sixteen, minus four months,” replied his mother, looking at him with irresistible admiration. “I only hope he does not mean to grow any taller.”
“I shall not answer that till I have measured myself with my father,” said the boy, drawing himself up, and exhibiting as fine a face and person as nature ever bestowed. “My intention is to be exactly as tall as General Hubert; for, as it is my full purpose and resolution to be a General Hubert myself, I really think the best thing I can do is to take him for my model. But do not talk of my being tall, Elizabeth is a perfect giantess! Thank Heaven! however, I do not think she is quite so ugly as she was — what do you think about it, aunt Betsy?”
* * * *
Altogether there never was a happier family-meeting, every heart was overflowing with love and joy; and had it not been that the recollection of the O’Donagough family once or twice mantled the cheeks of Agnes with a blush which the old lady saw, but could by no means understand, every one of the little party might have been said to be in a state of perfect enjoyment.
In about an hour after Mrs. Compton’s arrival, and when she was comfortably installed in the drawing-room, General Hubert returned from his ride, and again all the pleasure of the meeting was renewed. He was almost as fond of the eccentric old lady as Agnes herself, and felt a degree of pleasure from her society, and from the whimsical, but shrewd spirit of her conversation, which is rarely communicated by persons of her age. But in the midst of their lively talk, there were moments when the brave general looked almost as embarrassed as his fair lady, upon recollecting the nature of the family news he had undertaken to communicate, and not even the sight of his noblelooking boy, whom he had not seen since he left him at Sandhurst some months before, could drive Mrs. O’Donagough and her family from his head for ten minutes together, At length, suddenly coming to the conviction, like Macbeth, that —
If it were done, when ’tis done, then ‘twere well
It were done quickly.
He stopped his son Compton short in a very animated description, which he was addressing to his mother and sisters, of a royal review of which he had been recently a spectator, and saying, laughingly, “Aides-de-camp — chargers — dukes — marquises — firing and charging!
“Mercy on me, Compton! you are like a magazine of powder in the very act of ignition. Do explode, for the especial advantage of Elizabeth and Emily, in the dining-room, will you? — for I really want to converse a little with your aunt.”
The gay young trio started up, and made their exit, while the face of their mother, who perfectly comprehended the motive of the manoeuvre, instantly became of a very bright “celestial rosy red,” and she had actually the cowardice to walk to the other end of the room for her work-box, in order to have something on which to fix her eyes, that she might avoid the danger of encountering those of aunt Betsy.
“He-hem!” said the general.
“Are you going to work, dear Agnes?” said the old lady. “Don’t go to work yet, love! I have not looked at you half enough.”
“My dear aunt!” began the general, and paused.
“My dear general!” returned the old lady, gaily, with her head a little on one side, and her bright eyes twinkling in his face, with a look of exceeding pleasure; for there was nothing she liked better than to be called “aunt” by General Hubert.
“My dear aunt, we have some news to tell you,” he resumed; “and I am sorry to say that I am not quite sure you will like them.”
“Indeed! what can that be, I wonder? Montague is not ill, is he? I have seen all the rest of you — pooh! nonsense, general! — tell us your news, I do assure you I am not in the least afraid to hear them.”
“Aunt Betsy! — Mrs. O’Donagough and her family are come to England.”
A most perfect silence, which lasted at least two minutes, followed this announcement, and then the old lady said, in a sort of lively tone, peculiar to herself, quite indescribable, but exceedingly expressive of a little internal méchanceté— “Mrs. O’Donagough and her family arrived in England? Well, General Hubert! — I really cannot conceive why you should imagine this news would not be agreeable to me. All persons, I believe, rather like to have their prophecies come true. Remember what that keen observer the Dean of St. Patrick said,
He’d rather that his friend should die
Than his prediction prove a lie.
“Then why, my dear sir, should you entertain any doubt of my heartfelt participation of your joy on this occasion. Look up, my dear Mrs. Hubert! — never mind your carpet-work for a few minutes. Let me wish you joy, my dear. You are now about to reap the reward of all your unwearied and unceasing attentions to these amiable relatives! How you must enjoy the idea of it! And the general, too — just as his young family are growing up. What an advantage for them. Elizabeth in particular. I should think the young ladies must be nearly of the same age, and I cannot doubt that my niece, your aunt, Mrs. O’Donagough, formerly the widow Barnaby, keeping in mind the many proofs of affectionate remembrance which you have bestowed on her during the whole period of her absence, will indulge Miss Hubert with her daughter’s company both in town and country as much as you could possibly desire. I really wish you, heartily, joy of this most happy family re-union. It is, as indeed you well know, no more than I was quite sure would happen; but as you never appeared to agree with me in this opinion, the circumstance must come upon you with all the additional delight of being unexpected. — I wish you joy, General Hubert, heartily.”
General Hubert looked half angry at some parts of this harangue; but before it was ended he had perfectly recovered his good-humour, and said with a laugh, that was at least half genuine, “Come, come, aunt Betsy. As you are great, be merciful — you certainly appear to have seen further into futurity, than either Agnes or myself — I freely confess that I never thought these good people would return to England, and I will freely confess, also, that I should have been quite as well pleased if they had not. But jesting apart, their arrival cannot in reality be matter of any very serious uneasiness to us, and I confess I feel not in the least degree doubtful but that I shall be able to guard my stronghold, wife, daughter, and all, against all the attacks which the O’Donagough faction may be able to bring against it.”
The flexible and speaking features of the little old lady’s expressive face changed, as she listened to these words, from a sort of gaieté maligne to a look of lamb-like gentleness and submission.
“Oh! dear me, General Hubert. How can you for a moment suppose I doubt it. Don’t mind me, or anything I say. It is only my foolish joking way, you know. I should behave better if you had not all, young and old, conspired to spoil me. But do not fancy for a moment that I am not aware of the utter impossibility that you should blunder in any way.”
Agnes looked up at her aunt from the corner of her eye, and shook her head, though almost imperceptibly, as she listened to her; but the unsuspicious general walked across the room to the venerable mystifier, and taking her hand, replied, “Thank you, dear madam, for your confidence in me. Even Agnes must know by this time that it is impossible to pass through life without finding ourselves occasionally obliged to associate with persons extremely far from agreeable; and the great secret I believe is, to learn how this may be done without jostling against them.”
“I dare say it is,” said Mrs. Compton, in the same gentle tone; “and you must have had so much experience in the course of your varied and busy career, that it cannot be doubted but you must understand this better than most people — at any rate, better than a poor old recluse like me.”
“Perhaps I do know something about such mysteries,�
�� replied General Hubert, smiling, and dropping into a chair close beside the old lady; “and therefore I flatter myself that you will let me keep watch and ward over you all, and guard you from all social perils, let them come in what shape they may.”
“Happy are those so guarded,” responded Mrs. Elizabeth Compton, solemnly.
Here again Mrs. Hubert looked into the face of her aunt; but this time she did not shake her head, appearing on the contrary well satisfied at its expression, and looking herself more comfortable and at her ease than she had done since the discussion began.
“Perhaps,” said General Hubert, now fearlessly resuming the theme, “perhaps, under any other circumstances, I should be disposed to shake off the acquaintance of this O’Donagough family altogether, and so get rid of the inconvenience as you would do, my dear lady, at once. But I confess, after our long correspondence, it strikes me that there would be something very pusillanimous in this, and that it would look vastly as if we were conscious of not having tact and savoir faire enough to take care of ourselves.”
“‘A soldier, and afraid?’” cried Mrs. Compton, briskly. “Nay, then, my dear general, if such be your feeling, who can wonder at your scorning what none but an old woman, perhaps, would deem the better part of valour? But tell me, dears, in what part of England do our recovered relatives take up their abode?”
General Hubert and his wife exchanged a furtive glance; but the gentleman answered boldly, “I really do not know, dear aunt, where they mean to live; but at this moment, I believe, they are at Brighton.”
The old lady was engaged in neatly folding a silk scarf she had taken from her shoulders; but, on hearing these words, she stopped short in the middle of the operation, and remained for about a minute as still as if she had been shot; and then, having taken rather a long breath, she resumed her employment, and pronounced very tranquilly the monosyllable, “OH!”
It was precisely at this moment that a servant entered the drawing-room, and putting a visiting-card into the hands of Mrs. Hubert, said, “Are you at home, ma’am?”
This discreet individual was the old butler, who, although he had received no orders to deny his mistress, felt doubtful whether the recent arrival of Mrs. Compton might not render the admission of company inconvenient.
Mrs. Hubert changed colour as her eye glanced upon the card.
“Who is it, Agnes?” inquired the general. But Agnes, instead of answering, gave hack the card to the servant with a silent movement of the head, which indicated that it was to be handed to his master.
There could hardly be a greater proof of the high consideration in which Mrs. Compton was held, than that General Hubert coloured also as he read the same; but he rallied instantly, and said, “This is Mrs. O’Donagough’s card, my dear madam. Perhaps we had better send down word that we are engaged? You are too recently arrived to wish for company.”
“Decline seeing Mrs. O’Donagough on my account, General Hubert!” said the old lady, with a smile of ineffable sweetness. “Oh! no — I would set off for Compton Basset again Instantly, if I believed such a thing possible. I do assure you I shall be delighted to see her. I consider her coming just now as peculiarly fortunate.”
“Desire Mrs. O’Donagough to walk up,” said the general.
“This is quite an unexpected pleasure,” said Mrs. Compton, turning towards Agnes. “I assure you I feel quite curious to see her.” This was said so naturally, and, moreover, it appeared so very likely that the old lady might feel curious to see her travelled niece, that Mrs. Hubert was perfectly restored to composure by the assurance, and rose to receive her aunt and cousin with as little repugnance as if she had been alone.
This entire composure was, however, a little shaken by the ardour of Mrs. O’Donagough’s approach, who rushed forward with the same warmth of rapture that marked the first interview with her beloved Agnes upon her arrival; and it required very considerable self-command on the part of Mrs. Hubert to endure without wincing the long, close hug bestowed upon her, conscious the while that aunt Betsy’s eye was fixed upon her and the capacious mass by which she was enveloped. At length, however, she was released; and then, with the sweet, gentle gracefulness which could not forsake her, even when withdrawing from the arms of Mrs. O’Donagough, she said, “Give me leave, Mrs. O’Donagough, to introduce you to our aunt Compton. It is so many years since you met, that it is probable neither would now recollect the other.”
Mrs. O’Donagough started a little, but immediately put herself in an attitude of great dignity, while, probably to the astonishment of all parties, Mrs. Compton rose from her chair, and placing her hands before her, made the lowest possible courtesy, saying, as she did so, with a most courteous smile, “You wrong my memory, niece Agnes; and, as I should surmise, that of Mrs. Barnaby O’Donagough also. We are neither of us cast in moulds so common as to be easily forgotten. For myself, at least, I can declare, with all sincerity, that I should have recognised this lady as the daughter of Miss Martha Disett in any part of the world.”
“Well, ma’am, and I believe I can say as much for you,” replied Mrs. O’Donagough, ceremoniously returning the courtesy.
“You should have known me for Miss Martha Disett’s daughter!” retorted the old lady, in her gayest voice.
“No, ma’am, certainly not,” replied the swelling Mrs. O’Donagough, filling a good-sized sofa with her presence as she spoke. I could hardly have mistaken you for my mother’s daughter, I think. But I should have known you for my father’s sister anywhere.”
“I thought so, I thought so. And pray, is this beautiful young lady your daughter, ma’am?” said the whimsical spinster, fixing her looks upon Patty with a mixed expression of wonder and admiration.
Mrs. O’Donagough looked for a moment as if she did not quite know what she would be at; but her internal conviction of Patty’s extreme beauty, and the indisputable glory of maternity which she knew attached to herself, and which now, for the first time, was displayed before the (of course) envious eyes of her old aunt, speedily restored her complacency, and she replied with an air that perfectly enchanted the old lady, “Yes, ma’am, this young lady is my daughter, Miss Martha O’Donagough; as remarkable, I beg to assure you, for the accomplishments of her mind, as for the beauty of her person. Though I bring her up with the very greatest care, to prevent anything like vanity entering her head, I don’t scruple to allow that she is handsome before her face — because she well knows that handsome is as handsome does. Her excellent father, who is one of the best and most thoroughly gentleman-like men in the world, has always taught her to understand that beauty is of no consequence whatever in comparison to good behaviour.”
“What a treasure she must be!” cried Mrs. Compton, gently but fervently; “and so beautifully dressed too! It is easy to perceive, Mrs. Barnaby — O’Donagough I mean — that she is a young lady of great fortune.”
“Yes, ma’am, thank God! The days are gone and over with me when I wanted anybody’s help — Mr. O’Donagough is a man of fortune, and in every way a gentleman.”
“Indeed, ma’am, it seems to me that you are the most fortunate lady in the world,” said Mrs. Compton, gravely.
“And so I am, ma’am, and no thanks, I must say, to anybody but my own good conduct and knowledge how to conduct myself. However, I am willing, if other people are, to let bygones be bygones — and only to remember that my relations are my relations, without raking up any disagreeable old stories about what’s past.”
“I am sure, Mrs. O’Donagough,” replied the old lady, in what might be almost called a voice of contrition, “I am sure we must all be very wicked people indeed, if we returned such generosity on your part with ingratitude. I am grown older, and I hope wiser than I was, Mrs. O’Donagough, when I saw you last, and I hope my conduct will give proof of it.”
“Well, ma’am, it is never too late to mend,” replied the large lady, bestowing a sort of encouraging nod upon the little one, whose figure, by comparison, hardly seemed
to exceed the proportions of a fairy; “I dare say we shall get on very well together. And as you took such a fancy to my niece Agnes, because she was pretty, it’s likely enough you may do the same by my daughter; and if you do, you will find her everything that a gentleman’s daughter ought to be, — and as good and civil to you as if you were as handsome, and smart, and young as herself. Go over, Patty, and kiss your aunt Compton.”
The young lady rose, and so did the old lady also; but no one, save Mrs. Hubert, in the least degree comprehended her feelings.
“No, no, young lady!” she said, waving her off with her hand, and walking with a quick step towards the door as she spoke. “No, no, no! I know better than to let the kisses of a young beauty be wasted on a little hunchbacked old woman like me! You must let me look at you, and admire you, which I am sure I shall do without ceasing. But as to kissing — no, no, no! — the young lady knows better than that.”
With these words she slipped out of the room, and took refuge in one on the same floor, to which she had been already introduced as her own.
“What a funny old woman!” cried Miss Patty, a little before the door was closed after her.
“Hold your tongue, child!” said Mrs. O’Donagough, rather sotto voce; “as we have made up all our old quarrels so well, I shan’t let you put your own nose out of joint by any pertness, remember that. How wonderfully well the old lady takes care of herself!” continued Mrs. O’Donagough, addressing Mrs. Hubert; “I declare I think she looks better than ever she did in her life. By-the-by, my dear Agnes, what was all that stuff she told us, about her being as rich as a Jew? Don’t you remember? I suppose it was all a joke, wasn’t it?”
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 243
