Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  Mr. Westley appeared to have no difficulty in deciding to whom he ought to address himself; and the necessary communications were accordingly despatched with as little delay as possible.

  CHAPTER XI.

  “So soon!” exclaimed Sir Charles Temple with uncontrollable emotion, on opening an English letter delivered to him in his mother’s presence at Florence. “Poor Thorpe! How little did I think when last we parted, that I should never see him again!”

  “He was very old, Charles, was he not? I never remember him otherwise than old,” observed Lady Temple.

  “Poor Thorpe!” reiterated the young man, mournfully. “How very anxious he was that I should remain a few weeks longer at Temple.... I wish I had!”

  “Would you have been happier, Charles, had you seen him die?” said his mother. “For my part, my dear son, I am exceedingly glad that you escaped so melancholy a scene. You could have done him no good, and would only have made yourself ill and miserable.... No, no, dear Temple; most certainly, there is no reasonable cause for regret. On the contrary, it appears to me that you remained with him to the very last moment at which you could be useful. I know not what he would have done without you during the gathering of the nephews and nieces; but to say the truth, I am most especially glad to have you here just now. We are going to have amateur concerts without number, and just guess how they could go on without you?”

  “My dear mother, I must leave you,” he replied, folding up the letter which he had now read to the end. “This letter is not, as I imagined, sent merely to announce to me the melancholy news, but to summon me to the opening of the will, which is to be deferred, it seems, till I arrive.”

  “It is surely taking a most impertinent liberty with you, Sir Charles,” said the still lovely Lady Temple, very haughtily. “I speak not of the friend you have lost; I had myself a very great respect for him, and am quite aware how truly you were attached to the excellent old gentleman. But I can in no way conceive that any of his brothers or sisters, or nephews or nieces, or whoever it is he has left behind him, can have any possible right to make you gallop across Europe for the purpose of assisting the arrangement of their affairs. I hope and trust that you will decline this most troublesome and inconsiderate invitation!”

  “Indeed, mother, it is impossible,” replied the young man. “The invitation comes not from any member of poor Thorpe’s family, but from old Westley the lawyer, who, you may be quite sure, knows what he is about, and would not have written thus without good and sufficient reason for doing so.”

  “From Westley, is it?” said Lady Temple, while visions of possible legacies produced a considerable alteration in the tone of her voice. “Then I presume that it is really a matter of business, and that go you must. If so, it certainly cannot be helped, but it is exceedingly provoking.” A very few hours after this discussion, Sir Charles Temple was on his way to England.

  Such was the result of the first letter written by the Herefordshire lawyer in consequence of his late client’s demise. Nor were those to which he subsequently applied himself, on the same subject, treated with at all less observance. Though it was no easy matter to put the gigantic squire Wilkyns in motion, he made up his mind to obey this summons with a degree of promptitude that not only astonished his daughters, but raised very sanguine hopes that something important would follow.

  “You may depend upon it, Papa knows what he is about,” said the decidedly clever Elfreda.

  “Trust the old gentleman for that!” subjoined the sprightly Eldruda.

  “It will be odd, to be sure, if one of us have got it,” remarked the prettyish Miss Winifred. The heavy Welshman heard none of these remarks, but nevertheless was not absolutely without some dreamy conjectures of his own; yet however agreeable in their nature these might have been, he by no means regretted the distant date at which the family meeting was fixed, the time allowed for Sir Charles Temple’s return from Italy being not at all more than he should find necessary for fully making up his mind for the expedition.

  Mr. Spencer started with very considerable emotion on perusing the letter addressed to him.

  “Important news, probably,” he mentally observed. “They would hardly take the liberty of sending to me, if I had nothing to do with it;” and he too determined to be at Thorpe-Combe very punctually at the time named.

  Major Heathcote received the intelligence with a good deal of genuine feeling. “My dear children, here’s sad news for us today!” he said. “Your kind and excellent uncle Thorpe is dead.”

  “You don’t mean it, Heathcote?” said his wife, clasping her hands; “and he as well as any one of us little more than one short month ago! Isn’t it awful?.... Is there any mention made about the will in the letter?”

  “Only that I am desired to meet the family at the Combe the 15th of next month, to be present at the opening of it.... Poor dear old gentleman! I am shocked indeed!” replied the kind-hearted major. —

  Both Florence and her brother Algernon dropped a youthful tear to the memory of the uncle who had given them the happiest days they had ever yet enjoyed; they were sorry he was gone, and they said so. But Sophia Martin, though also present when the important letter was read, uttered not a word; upon which Mrs. Heathcote remarked, that considering she had been such a favourite with the poor old gentleman, she took the news of his death very quietly.

  “Indeed, aunt, I am very sorry for him,” replied Miss Martin meekly, but with an air of great resignation. “Only I think it would seem like affectation in me, if I was to make a fuss about it; for, of course, neither his living or dying could make any difference to me.”

  “God knows, my dear, whom it may make a difference to. I am sure there is none of us can tell. I only trouble myself by thinking how on earth we are to get mourning. It will be indecent not to put on black for him, poor old gentleman! let who will have his estate.... but I’m sure there is no money to spare.”

  * * * * * *

  At length the day arrived which had been fixed by Mr. Westley for the opening of the will; himself, the three brothers-in-law of the testator, and Sir Charles Temple, being all assembled in the old gentleman’s favourite sitting-room in order to be made acquainted with its contents. It was not without difficulty that Sir Charles Temple controlled his emotions sufficiently to prevent his being too much distinguished from the rest of the party; and when the old favourite tabby gently rubbed herself against his legs, not all his efforts to maintain his composure could prevent his eyes from overflowing.

  The four gentlemen, all in the deepest mourning, seated themselves round the fire, and the lawyer, putting on his spectacles, opened the important parchment, and began to read.

  The preamble was not clothed in legal language, being a very short but touching statement of the bereaved condition in which the testator found himself by the loss of his only child, and of the lingering pertinacity of the hope which, even in the midst of his mourning, led him to contemplate the possibility that the son so long lamented might still exist.

  Then followed, in good-set legal phrase, a bequest of all and everything of which he died possessed, whether real or personal, (with the exception only of the trifling legacies hereafter to be mentioned,) to Cornelius Thorpe, in case it should be proved that he was still alive, and able to avouch his identity before competent authorities. But in default of his appearance, the whole of the said property was bequeathed to his executors, Sir Charles Temple and Major William Henry Heathcote, IN TRUST, for the sole use and benefit of Sophia Martin and her heirs for ever, on the condition of her assuming the arms and the name of Thorpe.

  Whatever may be the feelings of parties assembled Upon such an occasion as this, it is not usual to hear much commentary or observation of any kind, and those most interested are not, in general, the most loquacious. Very few words were spoken on the present occasion; for the legacies, almost wholly confined to one or two old servants, and to be paid as annuities, with the sum of one thousand pounds to each of his exe
cutors, were not of sufficient amount or interest to elicit any remark; and neither Sir Charles, Mr. Wilkyns, Mr. Spencer, nor even the good-natured Major Heathcote himself, felt at all disposed to be talkative respecting the disposition of the main part of the property. Indeed, Mrs. Barnes, on whom a life-annuity of one hundred pounds was settled, was the only person on the premises who thoroughly approved the Will; and her measureless content at an independence, which exactly doubled her most sanguine hopes, left her with no power to regret anything which it had pleased her dear good master to will.

  No sooner was the reading over, than Mr. Spencer declared himself obliged to set off as early as possible upon his return to town, steadily declining the polite invitation of the executors to partake of the dinner provided by Mrs. Barnes; the packed-up, comfortless, appearance of the house being almost as revolting to his feelings as the recollection that all its carefully stored treasures, as well as the broad lands around, were the property of that singularly disagreeable person, Miss Sophia Martin. But Mr. Wilkyns and Mr. Westley both remained on the premises till the following morning; the first for the purpose of recovering himself after his unprofitable journey, and the last for that of giving the executors some necessary information respecting the details of the property of which they were to take possession.

  The heiress for whom they were to act wanted exactly one year of her majority; and the executors were appointed jointly her guardians, in case she should be under age at the time of the testator’s death. It became necessary, therefore, that they should consult together as to the manner in Which their joint authority should be exercised for the benefit and protection of their ward during this interval; and, in order to do this, they agreed to remain together at the Combe during the following day.

  “Shall we announce to our ward, by letter, the splendid bequest that has fallen to her?” demanded the ill-pleased Sir Charles Temple; “or will it be more agreeable to you to inform her of it yourself, on your return?”

  “There will be no need to write, Sir Charles, if I go back tomorrow. It will be just as well that I should carry the news myself,” replied the equally little-delighted co-executor. “But,” added he with a little embarrassment, “if it were not for my scruples about inviting you to take up your quarters at such a very humble place as Bamboo Cottage, I should certainly ask you to go with me; for I can’t help fancying, Sir Charles, that the young lady may show an inclination to have a will of her own, about where she will live and all that, and I am sure I shall not know what to say to her.”

  “I should have thought, Major Heathcote,” replied Sir Charles, while his heart bounded at the idea of again seeing her whose very idea he had forsworn, “I should have thought that the great kindness you have shown Miss Martin, would have ensured her entire obedience to any wish of yours.”

  “Well... we shall see. I don’t like to be over-positive, you know; and young girls sometimes, they say, are not the easiest things to manage. However, if the going with me is disagreeable to you, of course I will not say a word more about it.”

  “Not the least in the world, I do assure you, Major Heathcote.” replied the baronet eagerly. “On the contrary, it will give me great pleasure to renew my acquaintance with your son, and Mrs. Heathcote, and... all your family. I shall be ready to set off with you to-morrow, if you like it. Mr. Westley will take care that everything is done properly; the will proved, the tenants informed, and so forth. I shall be quite ready to start with you tomorrow morning.”

  “Thank you, Sir Charles; I am very much obliged by your kindness. To-morrow, then, it shall be. I own I shall be glad to get home, that there may be as little time left them for conjecture and expectation, as possible. Not that my boy and girl, poor young things, ever took the least notion into their heads of anything of the kind: but I won’t say as much for my foolish wife; and I’d rather put her out of suspense at once.”

  The departure of the two guardians was therefore settled for an early hour on the following morning. Mrs. Barnes having condescendingly agreed to postpone her own departure for Somersetshire, her native country, and the spot whither she intended to lead her favourite niece Nancy, that they might enjoy together the respect due to them from various branches of their family, the two gentlemen felt no anxiety as to the security of the valuable property contained in the house. The good housekeeper declared herself, indeed, perfectly willing to continue her superintendence of all that she had hitherto guarded with so much faithful care, till Miss Martin and her guardians could suit themselves with some person fit to be her successor, an engagement which the good lady felt to be equivalent to remaining mistress of Thorpe-Combe as long as she found her sovereignty there undisputed.

  Books, pictures, and plate, with all the other costly etceteras of the splendid, though antiquated, plenishing of the Combe, were accordingly consigned to her care; instructions being left with Mr. Westley that complete catalogues should be immediately made out, and forwarded to Bamboo Cottage, Clevelands, Gloucestershire.

  For Bamboo Cottage, Clevelands, Gloucestershire, the two executors then set out, agreeing that for the sake of uninterrupted conversation, and consultation on many points which it was necessary should be settled between them, they should travel post; an old travelling carriage, formerly belonging to Sir Charles’ father, being dragged out of its retreat for the purpose.

  During the journey, which lasted about six hours, Miss Martin Thorpe’s immediate residence and establishment were fully discussed. They both agreed that it would be for the advantage of the property that she should reside at the mansion house; an arrangement which, Sir Charles observed, might easily be made in the most agreeable and natural manner possible, by the family circle in which the young heiress had resided since the death of her mother, still remaining round her.

  “Thorpe-Combe is large enough for you all,” added the baronet, “and a residence in the family of her married guardian seems indispensable.”

  “We shall see, Sir Charles, how it will be all managed,” said the major.... “There is Clevelands’ spire!” he added. “In five minutes more I shall be at home. Poor dear Poppsy! she will guess the truth at the very first glance.”

  CHAPTER XII.

  Though for some reason, or other, perhaps because he thought his loving little wife would bear disappointment better if he were near her; — though for this reason or some other, Major Heathcote had determined to bring the news of the succession himself, he had written a line to say that poor Mr. Thorpe’s particular friend Sir Charles Temple would return home with him, and that they hoped to get to Clevelands by tea-time. This letter reached Bamboo Cottage about two hours before its author; and the family, or at least as many of them a? were not sent to bed, were assembled with some degree of form and ceremony in the large, but rudely fitted-up parlour that served as a drawing-room.

  The first decisive movement visible on their entering, was the rush made by Mrs. Heathcote to her husband’s arms; and in that close hug the secret was doubtless told; for, though she tried to behave as well as possible, and though her very heart was in the hand she held out to welcome Sir Charles, she glided so quietly back to her chair after the salutation was over, and remained there so very silently, that nobody well acquainted with her could doubt for a moment that she had heard what she did not like.

  The next most conspicuous action was that of Algernon, who, at the sight of Sir Charles, actually forgot his anxiety to learn the news, and flying to snatch his hand clasped it with all the energy of youthful friendship, and seemed as if he could not bear to quit it again.

  At a short distance, timidly aloof, stood Florence, her soft eyes speaking a pleasure in the sight they saw, which she would have died rather than express in words; and though Sir Charles was eagerly, warmly, and with all sincerity, returning the greeting of his favourite Algernon, his eyes, too, were for a moment permitted to say what they liked; and they said much, more a great deal than pretty Florence could fully understand; yet when she laid her head
upon its pillow for the night, she recalled that look, with all its earnestness and all its softness, and went to sleep at last with the conviction that “Sir Charles Temple was certainly very glad to see her.” At the further end of the room, apart from the well-set tea-table, the sofa, and “the grown-up ones,” was a group of three young girls of the respective ages of eleven, twelve, and fourteen; and, on a low chair behind the sofa, and quite in the shade, sat Sophia.

  Had an observing eye looked at her narrowly, it might have perceived that she was rather paler than common, but in all else, quite unchanged. Her plain black frock sat as neatly, and her curling hair reared itself as stiffly as usual; and the quiet humility of her manner, as she stood up on the entrance of the two gentlemen, and silently sat down again, was in no way changed. Did she look in the eyes of either, or of both, to see if aught could be read there?.... If she did, it was so cautiously that none perceived it.

  And now the important moment was come; the bustle of their entrance was over; everybody was seated, and the perfect silence of the whole party showed that they were expecting to hear the result of Major Heathcote’s journey. The poor man would rather have passed the night in the snow, than speak it; but he felt it must be done, and turning towards Sophia with as much composure and kindness of manner as he could assume, he said, —

  “Sophia, my dear, I hope the news bring will be productive of nothing but good to you; but it is a great change for so young a person. I have to tell you that you are your uncle Thorpe’s heiress. Except some trifling legacies, he has left the whole of his handsome property to you.”

  Unbroken silence followed this announcement, and nothing can well be imagined more embarrassing than the minute or two Which followed. The poor Heathcotes were in fact too honest-hearted, from the gallant father down to his little daughter Mary, inclusive, to be able to say that they were very glad, or that they heartily wished her joy, or that they had no doubt she would make a good use of it, or any other of the various complimentary speeches which the occasion seemed to call for. She had been rescued by them from a state of very desolate poverty, had been pitied, cared for, and nurtured; but they did not, they could not love her, as, they would have wished to do; and at this moment, had their lives depended upon it, neither Mrs. Heathcote, Florence, or the three younger girls could find in their hearts the power to crowd round her with caresses and felicitations. As to Algernon, he had previously been so certain of the result of their visit at Thorpe-Combe, that not the slightest feeling of disappointment mixed itself with the triumph of proving to those who had been in his confidence, how right he had been; but this feeling did not lead him to put himself forward to wish her joy.