“Your ever affectionate aunt,
“MARTHA O’DONAGOUGH.”
CHAPTER XVI.
THE note of invitation being written, Mrs. O’Donagough rose, walked across the room, and putting it into her husband’s hand, said, while she gave him an affectionate pat on the shoulder, “Bead that, Donny, and tell me if you don’t think I’m good for something!”
Mr. O’Donagough perused the billet with attention, and replied, “Yes, upon my honour you are, Barnaby! and if you carry this through, and get those stiff, formal people here to a regular evening party, you will do an uncommon good thing, and I shall give you more credit for that sort of talent (the most important that a woman can have, by-the-by) than ever I did in my life before.”
It was just at this moment, and while Mrs. O’Donagough was still rubbing her hands, and giving by her countenance every indication of “measureless content,” that Miss Patty entered the room.
“What have you got there, papa?” she cried, gaily, jumping forward towards him. “Give it to me, I will see it, that’s poz. Mamma looks as if she were going to dance for joy about it.”
“Give it to her, Donny,” said her mother, “and then she will see what is going on.”
Patty took the note, and having read it, exclaimed, raising both hands and eyes to heaven, “Well done, mamma! If you ain’t the greatest liar that ever broke bread, I’ll he hanged. Do you think the old soul will swallow all this? Lord, papa! when you see her you will he ready to crack, as I was — Love her! — I love her! Nasty little withered old weasel! — How can you write such lies, mamma?”
“Patty!” replied Mrs. O’Donagough solemnly, “there is one truth which, if you do not know it already, it is time you should. There is no duty more necessary to learn in the state in which it has pleased Providence to place us, than that we must lie, as you vulgarly call it, when it is necessary. A wife and a mother, Patty, has other things to think of, besides just her own conscience and convenience. Of course it is much easier to say the truth out, plump at once, and tell people that you don’t like ’em, if you don’t. But I should like to know how that would answer? Never you trouble yourself about my lying, I beg. I will never lie more than it is my bounden duty to do — and I certainly shall never neglect that, for any object.”
“Your mother’s a pattern, Patty,” said Mr. O’Donagough, winking aside at his daughter. And then added, more gravely, “I’ll tell you what, my beauty, I expect she’s got hold of a fine hand of cards just now, and neither you nor I must spoil the playing of them.”
“Bless your souls! good people, I don’t want to spoil anything,” replied Patty, flinging the letter on the table; “only I say, papa, mind one thing — if you expect that I’ll palaver these nasty, disagreeable people for nothing, you’re mistaken; but if you will give me a black silk mantelet, trimmed with lace, just like Matilda Perkins’s, I’ll engage to do whatever mamma wants with this little old mummy of an aunt. The old soul had sense enough to say that I need not kiss her, because I could make better use of my kisses than that, so I needn’t cuddle her up, as mamma does Mrs. Hubert — and I’m sure I couldn’t, without making all her, little bones crack, and fall to pieces; but if you will give me the cloak, you’ll see how I’ll smile, and courtesy, and behave pretty.”
“Get away with you,” said her father, laughing; “you won’t leave me a penny in my pocket, with your coaxing ways, if I don’t take care. Come, my dear,” he added, to his wife, “make haste, seal your note, and send it.”
“There’s a difficulty about that, Mr. O’Donagough,” she replied. “It will be very awkward sending the maid of the house with it. Of course, if they come, we must hire a waiter, and take care to have everything in the very best possible style. That’s the only way, depend upon it, to give us a fair chance against the Huberts. How can I manage, my dear, about sending the note, without their seeing a maid-servant?”
“Give it to me — I’ll send it by a fellow that shall look like a groom. That will do, I suppose?” said Mr. O’Donagough.
“Delightfully!” replied his wife. And the note was sent.
* * * *
When Mrs. Hubert joined her venerable aunt in her room, she found her in her usual mood, full of interest and affection about the children, Mr. Willoughby, the Stephensons, and all in short, who were objects of interest and affection to Agnes herself; but all trace of persiflage was gone, and, as it seemed, all memory of Mrs. O’Donagough with it.
After an hour’s pleasant family gossip, they returned again to the drawing-room, where they found the general engaged in reading the London papers, which had just reached him. As if to atone for any petulance she might have shown in their late encounter, Mrs. Compton paused behind his chair as she passed, and laying her little hand on his shoulder, said “Dear general! — what a pleasure it is to see you all again!”
He understood this as an amende, and accepted it. Rising from his chair, he took her hand, kissed it affectionately, and leading her to a sofa, sat down beside her, and entered into a conversation full of kindness and animation on both sides.
In the midst of this a silver salver entered, bearing a note addressed to “Mrs. General Hubert.” Agnes took it, and glancing her eye at the direction, laid it, unopened, upon the table.
“The servant waits for an answer,” said the footman, distinctly.
“Who is that from, Agnes?” said the general.
Mrs. Hubert took up the note again, as if to examine it for his satisfaction, but she coloured as she did so, and both her husband and her aunt at the same moment, felt convinced that it was an envoi from Mrs. O’Donagough.
“You need not wait, Philip,” said General Hubert, “I will ring when the answer is ready.”
Mrs. Hubert meanwhile read her aunt’s affectionate epistle in silence, and then put it into her husband’s hand, who rose to receive it.
“This good lady seems bent upon putting your patience to the proof, aunt Betsy,” said he, after glancing his eye over the contents. “It is from Mrs. O’Donagough, and contains an invitation for you and for us to an evening party, at her house next week.”
“May I know what she says?” demanded the old lady, sedately. General Hubert put the note into her hands. “Alas! general,” said she, “I have not my eyes here — will you have the kindness to read it to me?” Agnes could not repress a smile as she watched the countenance of her husband on receiving this request, but there was no escape from the task, and he read aloud the affectionate effusion with perfect gravity, and very sufficient distinctness. The eye of Agnes was fixed upon her aunt as he proceeded. At first her countenance expressed a very natural inclination to smile, in which Mrs. Hubert frankly joined, feeling delighted that all mystification on the subject seemed at an end; but ere the lecture was completed, the mischievous little black eyes were soberly fixed on the carpet, the mouth pursed up in affected gravity, and every feature indicating a relapse into the same whimsical mood which had seized upon her on learning the arrival of her niece in England.
“I presume we shall all be of one mind as to the answer to this epistle?” said General Hubert, throwing the note upon the table.
“Indeed I hope so,” replied Mrs. Compton, meekly. The general did not quite like the accent, and looking in her face, read there, plainly enough, her renewed purpose of teasing him. Had he at that moment wisely determined to lay down his arms, confess himself exceedingly annoyed at the result of his own indiscretion, and shown himself inclined to allow that they should have done better had they followed her advice, Mrs. Compton would have given him no further trouble; they would all have acted in concert, and the O’Donagough plague would have been stayed. Unfortunately, however, such wisdom did not at the moment suit his humour, and he met her renewed banter in a tone as foreign from sincerity as her own.
“Is the answer to be no, or yes?” said he.
“Surely we cannot refuse such an invitation as that?” said the old lady, in a voice which seemed to depr
ecate the general’s suspected harshness of purpose. “I am quite sure that if you dream of doing so, it can be only on my account, and I cannot think of permitting it. Poor lady! how affectionately she writes. You really do seem, my dear Agues, to have conquered, by your incessant kindness, all the little asperities of her character. And that noble-looking young lady her daughter, too! What a fond, attaching sort of person she must be! Do, General Hubert, have the kindness to read over again that passage in which Mrs. O’Donagough expresses the young lady’s feelings towards me.”
General Hubert cast a look upon his wife, half frowning, half laughing, and held out his hand again for the letter. But Agnes shook her head. Notwithstanding her strong affection for the old lady, she did not quite approve the species of discipline she was bestowing upon her husband, and instead of giving back Mrs. O’Donagough’s epistle, she opened it, and appeared to be pondering upon its contents.
“You cannot be in earnest, aunt Betsy,” said she, “in talking of accepting this invitation. I am sure you would find an evening so spent intolerably tedious.”
“Indeed, Agnes, you do not do me justice,” replied Mrs. Compton. “The time has been certainly when I felt less kindly disposed to Mrs. O’Donagough than yourself and the general: nay, so far did I carry my prejudice against her, that I fancied there might be something like imprudence in renewing an intercourse which circumstances had so completely interrupted. I confess all this. But you are not to suppose me obstinate in error to such a degree as to refuse yielding my own judgment to that of General Hubert. And as to my finding the evening tedious, I am quite certain that I shall be more pleased and amused by it than anybody.”
“Pray, Agnes, let your aunt do as she likes,” said General Hubert. “Write, my love, will you, and say that you accept the invitation.”
This was carrying the jest, if jest it might be called, considerably farther than Mrs. Hubert approved; and after the pause of a moment she determined upon venturing to address a remonstrance to both the parties, who thus, by the indulgence of a species of competition in wilfulness, half jest, half earnest, were, as she thought, running a great risk of getting into a scrape which would be equally disagreeable to both. But as she raised her head to speak, she encountered the eyes of her husband, who, evidently suspecting her purpose, appeared determined to prevent it by giving her a look that recalled at once his injunctions on the subject, and her own promise to comply with them.
“Here is your desk, Agnes,” he said; “do not keep the servant longer waiting.”
Agnes took paper and a pen, but again she paused ere she used them. “Are you really in earnest, my dear aunt, in saying that you intend to pass an evening with Mrs. O’Donagough?” said she.
“Pray, Agnes, do not doubt my word when I have given it to you,” replied Mrs. Compton, very gravely. So a civil note, accepting the invitation, was written and despatched.
The manner of its reception very clearly proved its importance. Mr. O’Donagough himself indeed said but little, but that little was impressive. “General Hubert and his family are then actually coming to pass the evening here on your invitation, my wife?” said he. “Go on as you have begun, my Barnaby, and I may have to buy a court-dress for you yet.”‘
It was not from seeing any improbability of the event predicted that Mrs. O’Donagough paid little attention to the prediction at that moment; on the contrary, her feelings might rather be expressed by the French phrase, Cà va, sans mot dire — but, gaily snapping her fingers, she only replied, “Let me alone, Donny, and you’ll see sights before we’ve done.”
Having uttered these sibylline words, Mrs. O’Donagough left the room, and sought, as all ladies under such circumstances do, to get together a female committee for the despatch of business. More rapidly than most persons of her age and size could have performed the feat, she descended to the parlour of the Miss Perkinses, and fortunately found them, together with Patty, in full enjoyment of the open window and the telescope. Had the room been unoccupied, not all Mrs. O’Donagough’s triumphant feelings would have saved her from a state of positive suffering, for the same delightful exhilaration of spirits which then made her eloquent, would have swelled her bosom almost to bursting, had she found no friends to share it.
She entered with the important note open in her hand. “So! here you are, my dear girls! I’m monstrous glad I have found you, for I have fifty things to say. In the first place, my dear Miss Perkinses, I hope you have no engagement for Wednesday evening next, for I want you to pass it with us.”
“Oh! my dear madam,” replied the elder sister, “I am sure your kindness and hospitality know no bounds. We shall be most happy to wait upon you.”
“If I had fifty engagements,” said Miss Matilda, “you may depend upon it I should not keep one of them, if you asked me the same evening. Should I, Patty?” she said, affectionately squeezing the arm of bliss O’Donagough, which rested upon hers.
“You are a dear, good girl, Matilda,” replied Mrs. O’Donagough, with chuckling good humour; “and this time I flatter myself I shall give you a party worth having. I know you admire both General Hubert and his lady, and they will be with us on Wednesday.”
Not all Mrs. O’Donagough’s efforts to assume a tone of nonchalance, as she said this, could prevent a degree of lisping affectation from pervading her delivery of the important names, but the two Miss Perkinses were two much excited to remark it.
“You don’t say so!” honestly exclaimed the elder, without attempting to disguise cither her surprise or pleasure. “This is kind, ma’am, indeed. I heard somebody say at the library that they were going to meet them at the Pavilion next week. Isn’t it kind to ask us, Matilda?”
“Mrs. O’Donagough is always kind,” replied the younger, with great decorum, “and I shall have much pleasure in meeting the general and his lady, because I really admire them. One meets such multitudes of people that visit at the Pavilion, that it is not that circumstance which strikes me. But the near relations of friends I value so greatly cannot but be interesting to me.”
“That’s just like you, Matilda,” replied the fond aunt of Mrs. Hubert; “and you will like too, I know, and for the same kind reason, to meet my rich old aunt, as well as my elegant niece. This old lady, Mrs. Elizabeth Compton, is not, I promise you, the least important personage of the party. She is the maiden sister of my late dear father, is as rich as a Jew, and looks, as I have good reason to believe, with rather a partial eye on my saucy Patty, here.”
“Oh, you dear, lucky girl,” cried the affectionate Matilda, throwing her arms round her young friend’s neck—” How delighted I am to hear it.”
“Lord! what does money signify, Matilda, to a girl that’s young and handsome? If you think that I mean to be married for my money, you’re out, I can tell you. I should have thought you had known better than that.”
“Married for your money, indeed. What nonsense. Who ever thought of that?” replied Miss Matilda, playfully shoving the buxom Patty within sight of her own image in the glass; “but money’s money for all that, my sweet girl.”
“And so it is, Matilda!” cried Mrs. O’Donagough, approvingly, “and you can’t do better than make Patty understand what that means. But now, my dear girls, we must come to business. Do you know I have been thinking that it would be better to have the refreshments down here, if you’ll lend us the room?”
To this proposal the two sisters replied together, with such uniformity of accent, thought, and feeling, that it seemed as if one voice only uttered the joyful “Oh dear yes! we shall be so delighted,” which followed it.
“Well then, my dears, that’s settled. And now I must inquire about a nice respectable-looking man to wait. You don’t happen, I suppose, to know of such a one, do you?”
“I am quite sure I know where you can hear of one,” replied Miss Perkins; “for I saw a notice up at a baker’s shop in one of the cross streets; I can’t exactly recollect where; but I don’t doubt that I could find it.”<
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“What a dear, clever creature you are!” cried Mrs. O’Donagough, laying her two heavy hands on the slender arms of Miss Perkins; “then I shall leave that job to you. Next, there’s the wax candles to be thought of. We must get Mrs. Bates to let us have all the lamps and candlesticks she has got. I see you have branches to that pretty convex mirror over the sideboard; they will make the room look very elegant: but then there’s the ice to he ordered, and cakes, and coffee, and cream. My poor head has work enough, hasn’t it? That’s the worst, you see, of giving parties in a lodging house, without one’s own servants and things about one. Ah me! my dears, if you had known me at Silverton Park during the time of my first marriage with poor, dear Mr. Barnaby, you would wonder to see me make such a fuss as this about receiving a visit from my own nearest relations. But a lodging-house is but a lodging-house after all: and I need not tell you that General Hubert is a high and mighty sort of personage, for that you can see at a glance.”
Nothing could more clearly show the elevated state of Mrs.’ O’Donagough’s spirits than this allusion to her long-forgotten park at Silverton. The name of that beloved domain had never passed her lips from the hour she had dwelt upon its beauties to Major Allen, during the days of their Clifton loves, to the present. The Miss Perkinses, however, “caught it ere it fell to the ground,” and it added much to the solidity of Mrs. O’Donagough’s greatness in their estimation.
Having settled with their female friends all they were to do for her, lugged about the tables and chairs a little, in order to rehearse the arrangements for Wednesday, and given Patty a hint as to the danger of straining her eyes by a too incessant use of the darling telescope, Mrs. O’Donagough bustled up stairs again, and approaching her husband with a coaxing, but not doubting demeanour, told him that she had settled everything with the dear Perkinses about having their room, and all other things they were to aid her in, and that she was come now for his share of the job.
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 245
