Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  Perhaps at the moment, this was a relief both to Florence and her step-mother — for both remembered the pleasant room as the scene of Sir Charles Temple’s first acquaintance with them; and every object in it recalled to Florence the charm, the delight, the indefinable pleasure, his conversation, his reading, his kindness, had occasioned her, so that their first emotions on reentering the eventful house were decidedly agreeable.

  But with the Major, it was far otherwise. When he came in, after paying the post-boy, and seeing the luggage removed, leading a pretty boy in each hand, he certainly expected to find his ward ready to welcome them; and a look more expressive of displeasure than was often seen upon his countenance, succeeded to the good humoured smile with which he had entered.

  “Where is your mistress, Jem?” said he to the page, whom he instantly recognised as the lad who had waited upon Algernon during the Christmas visit, notwithstanding his buttons.

  “She is in her own drawing-room, sir,” replied the lad very civilly, and looking very much as if he felt ashamed to say so.

  “Her own drawing-room, myriad?” repeated Major Heathcote.... “Of course I know perfectly well that the drawing-room is her own... and I will go to her there, if you please. It is nonsense showing us into one room when your mistress is in another.” And so saying he approached the door of the apartment which he had known as “the drawing-room,” during his former visit.

  “My mistress is not there, sir,” said the boy, “she is in her drawing-room up stairs.”

  “Then show me to the drawing-room up stairs,” said the Major Had not Jem on one or two other occasions, and twice in the case of visits from Mr and Miss Brandenberry, shown people into this new drawing-room, he would not now have so readily ventured to obey the command of Major Heathcote; but having received no orders to the contrary, he did precisely the thing which his young mistress would most particularly have desired he should not do.... that is to say, he showed her guardian the way to the room into which it was her firm resolve that neither himself nor any of his family should ever enter.

  * * * * * *

  Nothing in fact could have been more irksomely disagreeable to the feelings of the heiress than being put under the authority of Major Heathcote at all. The circumstances under which he had found her, when his generous heart had offered her an asylum in his own family, were such as it wounded her spirit to the very quick to remember.... Most assuredly she would have preferred being the ward of any man living, during the short yet hated period of her minority, (that is, provided always, that her dear property would have been as secure as she certainly believed it would be now), than of Major Heathcote; and the idea of making herself a ward in chancery, which process she had happened to hear of in the case of a friend of her father’s, had more than once occurred to her. But a sort of instinctive shrewdness made her fear that the doing this might be attended with trouble, expense, and possibly with blame from the world, on account of that very kindness which it was so painful to her to remember. Now this terror of blame from the world took the same place in her estimation, which the whole code of moral laws bolds in that of most other people It was to her both law and gospel; and rather than abide its penalty she would certainly have submitted to a few months’ residence under the same roof with his Satanic majesty. After some secret struggles, therefore, she took her part, as the French phrase goes, and determined to adhere to it, let her hate it as much as she might. Having come to this decision, she next set her wits to work to discover the mode and manner of going on, by which she should suffer the least during the time the infliction was to last. And here again she found herself obliged to make a sort of battle-field of her mind, on which different feelings might struggle and fight till such time as one should be proved the strongest. In other words, she set about considering whether it would be more painful to sacrifice her newly acquired importance, by remaining a member of Major Heathcote’s family.... while her beloved money accumulated during the suffering process; or.... to sacrifice many and many a precious pound, in order to obtain at once the keen delight of being mistress of herself, of her house, of her servants, of her ox, of her ass, and of everything that was hers. The last temptation carried it.... Sordid avarice bowed before paltry pride, and she generously made the proposal, which Sir Charles. Temple persuaded Major Heathcote to accept. This settled, she felt that she was about to give an enormous price for a favourite indulgence, and the only way to make it answer was to extract as much enjoyment from it as possible. It was for this reason that the new sitting-room had been arranged, and that the Heathcote party had been shoved up into the garrets and out of sight. In a word, though she knew she must pay for that as well as for her preserved ginger, she determined to make up her mind to the expense rather than lose the gratification, and flattered herself that she possessed enough of firmness and enough of skill, to do everything she liked to do without putting it in the power of the world to abuse her, and without ever having to reproach herself with haying spent her money for nothing.

  * * * * * * * * *

  When Major Heathcote, therefore, entered her sitting-room, the reception he met was perfectly civil; though, had his receiver’s will been autocratic law, it is probable that he would very speedily have been tumbled, head and heels, out of the window.

  “How do you do, Major Heathcote?” she said, advancing to meet, and even to shake hands with him. “I should have come down to you in a moment, only I was just looking over the last week’s accounts. I will go with you now, if you please, to see Mrs. Heathcote, and my cousin Florence, and the children. I hope they have shown you all into the east parlour; it is a very pretty room, and I mean that it shall be considered as entirely belonging to your family while you stay with me. I have taken the bed out of this room, on purpose that I might have a quiet place for myself, to get through my business, without my interrupting anybody or anybody’s interrupting me.”

  Sophia moved rather briskly towards the door as she said this, and having reached it passed out, but held the handle of the lock in her hand till her guardian should have passed out too. He did not make her wait long; yet he could not, for the life of him, help lingering, for a minute or two, to look round the brilliant apartment, which was not only quite new to him, but in a style of modern arrangement, so perfectly unlike the rich and antiquated stiffness of the rest of the house, that he felt a degree of astonishment that he had no power to conceal. He had too much tact, however, to say a word about it; but following Sophia in silence to the east parlour, had the satisfaction of seeing her touch his wife’s hand with two Of her fingers, and his daughter’s cheek with the tip of her nose, while to the two little boys, who ventured to come forward and look up in her face, she condescended to say, “How do you do, Frederic?” and “how do you do, Stephen?”

  Florence had the greatest possible inclination to laugh. Without meditating upon it, either with reprobation or resentment, she perceived that cousin Sophy was much too grand to be very intimate with her; and there was something so solemn and consequential, yet, despite of this, so familiar to her eyes, in the features, gait, and voice of the little heiress, that she felt there was comedy in it, and felt too, that she was really thankful Algernon was not there to burlesque the comedy into a farce, too ludicrous to be sustained with the decorum and gravity necessary for the occasion. How far the dear consciousness which lay warmly nestled in her heart, that though cousin Sophy did not choose to treat her as an equal there was somebody else who did, how far this remembrance contributed to convert into sport, what was in itself exceedingly disagreeable, there are no means of knowing; but it is certain that good Mrs. Heathcote (notwithstanding the perennial flow of good humour, which was as inseparable from her as the laughing eyes in her head,) did not feel quite as much at her ease as did her stepdaughter. The receiving a visitor at her own house, even for half an hour, and without their having any particular claim upon her, was never performed by her without a cordial wish on her part that they should be made to
feel themselves welcome. But now, though she was so puzzled and mystified by the whole style and manner of the thing, that she felt afraid of blundering by any interpretation she might put upon it, she felt pretty sure that they were not welcome at all. She looked at her two little boys each standing abashed with his little cap between his hands, and felt ready to cry. Her own home, though not very elegant, had ever been a cheerful one, and this cold entrance into one, so every way different, chilled her to the heart. Fortunately for all parties her husband saw how it was with her; and half a dozen wise and excellent feelings, of which pride perhaps was one, urged him to get his dear little wife through this cold-bath-like sort of reception, without permitting the shivering fit consequent upon it, to be visible. He therefore spoke with more than usual hilarity of tone, as he said, “Well, Poppsy dear, this is a beautiful room, isn’t it?.... and you will like to have a run upon that pretty lawn, boys, won’t you?.... But I suppose you dine at six o’clock, Sophy, and if so, we must not stand amusing ourselves with your pretty garden, but go and dress directly.”

  “A word in season, how good is it,” says a great authority. This word of Major Heathcote’s was in most excellent season; for not only did it cheer his wife, but it acted upon the mind of his ward in the most favourable manner imaginable. Though incapable perhaps of comprehending very clearly anything about warm heartedness, or cordial kindness of temper, Miss Martin Thorpe was not wholly insensible to the fact, that she was receiving her relations rather scurvily. But on the whole, she thought it was decidedly better to do so, than to compromise any portion of her own individual interest or comfort, by doing otherwise. Had Mrs. Heathcote therefore begun to cry, and had the Major appeared sulky, displeased, or even particularly grave, she would have hardened herself in her resolution of not caring what they thought of her, rather than let them break in upon the plots and plans she had formed to keep them at arm’s length, and herself safe from every annoyance whatever. But upon perceiving that the Major took it all in good part, notwithstanding he had already discovered the secret of her elegant retreat, she immediately determined to let things go smoothly, if they could, and even to be exactly as civil and polite as she possibly could venture to be, consistently with the duty which she owed to herself of keeping them all from being troublesome.

  Under the influence of these ameliorated feelings, therefore, she bestowed one of her cold smiles upon her guardian, and applying her own dignified hand to the bell, said, “Yes, indeed,.... I think you must go and dress. I will have Barnes herself in, to show you to your rooms.” And Barnes herself did come in, after a very short interval, being quite determined to perform the office now assigned her, whether commanded to do so or not.

  “Barnes,” said the heiress, “you must take Major and Mrs. Heathcote to their rooms, and my cousin Florence to hers.... I have put you quite near to your mamma, Florence, that you may be at hand if she happens to want you. Your luggage, of course, is taken up already. I suppose the little boys have dined?”

  “No, we hav’n’t,” said Frederic rather dolefully.

  “No?.... Then one of the maids must give them something.” And at that instant it occurred to Miss Martin Thorpe that in her orders respecting the accommodation of her guardian’s family she had altogether overlooked the necessity of naming some place where the little boys might be permitted to perform the abomination of eating. Notwithstanding all her excellent talents for managing, she felt at a loss, and was considerably relieved, when, on whispering in the ear of Mrs. Barnes the anxious question, “Where had the children better eat?” that intelligent person replied in the same lone, “I think, ma’am, they had better have all their meals in my parlour, and then I can see that there is no harm done.”

  Miss Martin Thorpe then bowed politely, as she permitted the whole party, preceded by Mrs. Barnes, to pass her; nor did she follow them up the stairs till full time had been allowed for the decisive turn to be taken that led from the long sky-lit corridor on which all the principal bed-rooms opened, to the side passage from which the staircase leading to the second floor ascended.

  Good Mrs. Barnes felt heartily ashamed of the path in which she had to lead them. Yet she had no objection, either, that the character of her very heartly-disliked mistress should be made known to those whom it concerned. She was too well-taught a servant to volunteer any observations upon Miss Martin Thorpe to her own relations, but would have been by no means displeased by hearing such. The efforts she had made, and successfully too, for the comfort and accommodation of the Heathcote family, had not been done with any wish or intention of deluding them respecting the disposition of their niggard hostess, but purely from a desire that they should be made comfortable in spite of her.

  When the party reached the side archway which led from the principal corridor, Major Heathcote stopped, although their pilot housekeeper had already passed through it.

  “Are you going to take the little boys to their room, Mrs. Barnes?” said he. “Which way is our room?.... It is the same that we had before, I suppose?”

  “Why no, sir, it is not,” replied the housekeeper, gravely. “Miss Martin Thorpe has ordered rooms to be prepared for you up stairs.”

  True to his determination of making the best of everything, the Major did not even look at his wife, but strode onwards without uttering a word of observation.

  Thanks to Mrs. Barnes, the being obliged to mount a second flight of stairs was the worst part of the business, for most thoughtfully had everything been arranged to make them feel comfortable when they got there; and the vicinity of the large airy room, allotted to her boys, perfectly reconciled Mrs. Heathcote to the elevated situation of her own. The Major’s snug dressing-room, too, was most commodiously within reach both of his children and his wife, so that before they had walked above three times into each of the three rooms, they began to think that it was a great deal better they should be there than sleeping below, if darling Frederic and Stephen were to be above.

  “And now, Miss Heathcote, I will take you into your own room, if you please, and then I will send up the housemaid to wash the young gentlemen’s hands, if they like to have it done, before she takes them down to my parlour to dinner.... and if you will be pleased to ring your bell, ma’am, the upper housemaid will be ready to attend you.”

  All this seemed just as it ought to be; and Florence, after delaying one moment to unlock her mother’s most needed boxes, and give her a kiss, followed Mrs. Barnes down stairs again, and was exceedingly well pleased to find herself installed in the same pretty room which had been appropriated to her at her last visit.

  Florence, of course, had a great deal to do, as all ladies who travel without a maid must have, on reaching a house where they are to unpack and dress for dinner within half an hour. Nevertheless, she could not resist wasting a few minutes while she stood with her eyes fixed on the garden beneath her windows, in meditating on the great, great changes which had taken place since she bad last looked out of that same window. The little neat, quiet, insignificant figure of Sophia Martin, as she remembered it, then rose in most startling contrast beside the image left on her mind by the same being as she had just seen her, rustling in rich silk, and stately in the consciousness of wealth and station...Then Algernon, to whom every newly discovered gap in a hedge that gave to view a pretty landscape, had been a treasure beyond price.... to fancy him wandering over the Alps, and in the society of one whose attainments were able to supply the happy boy with all the precious lore he wanted. And then herself! Was it, indeed, possible that she was the affianced wife of such a being as Sir Charles Temple? A smile, bright and beautiful, came upon her sweet face as she replied to the question by saying aloud, “Yes, yes, it is all true!.... But it is all most passing strange.” And then Florence turned to her looking-glass, and a few minutes sufficed to send her down stairs, looking in her simple black frock exactly as her lover would have Wished to see her.

  On reaching the hall Florence walked, as heretofore, to the drawin
g-room door, but on attempting to open it she discovered that it was locked. She stood doubtful which way to turn, when the butler came out of the dining-room, and silently opened the door of the east parkier for her to enter. Her father and step-mother were already there before her, and exactly two minutes before the butler entered to say that dinner was on the table, Miss Martin Thorpe joined them. —

  “You don’t use the old drawing-room, then, Sophy?” said Major Heathcote as he gave his arm to take her to the dining room.

  “No, Major Heathcote,” she replied, “the furniture is extremely rich, you know, and the silk is almost as good as new; therefore I consider that it would be very extravagant to use it constantly.

  “And was it to save the old drawing-room that you made the fine new one up stairs?” said he. “I am afraid that sort of saving very seldom answers.”

  “No, sir,” she replied, with a good deal of stiffness, “I had more important reasons still for arranging the room you speak of up stairs. It is absolutely necessary for me in order to form the habits of business that I wish to obtain, that I should have a sitting-room into which no one but myself has any privilege to enter. Without this, I should never feel for a moment that I was certain of being alone.”

  “And was it necessary, Sophy, to make this place of business so very smart and elegant?” said he.

  The heiress coloured highly, and her first words were, “May I send you some fish, sir?”... But she presently replied to him by saying, “My late respected and ever-to-be-lamented uncle Thorpe selected two rooms up stairs for his own use, while he was owner of this property. I have seen no objection in selecting for myself the same two rooms; and the only difference is, that I have taken the liberty of reversing the use made of them. I sleep in the smaller, and sit in the larger room. My uncle Thorpe did the reverse.... I cannot think that there is anything in this requiring reproof.”