Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  “Perhaps you know that little boy?” she said, “perhaps when you used to be here so much from Lord Broughton’s Castle, you may have seen him?”

  “No!” replied Mr. Jenkins, with a slight sigh. “I don’t think I ever did know that boy.”

  “I dare say it is the picture of my cousin Cornelius,” said Sophia demurely.

  “What makes you think so, my dear?” demanded her companion.

  “Oh!.... I don’t know. Merely because it is here, I believe; for of course, I never saw it before, as I never found out the spring,” said Sophia.

  “Then I don’t suppose you care very much about it, my dear.... and if you do not, I wish you would give it to me.” Sophia looked askance at it, as it lay in Mr. Jenkins’ hand, and saw that it was set in a circle of small diamonds. She felt a twinge at her heart which caused a moment’s delay in her answer... The eye of her new acquaintance was upon her, and had the delay continued, he looked very capable of taking offence, and flying off. But luckily the diamonds were very small, and, in good time, she remembered that the pearls were very large, so with the best grace she could assume she replied.... “Oh certainly!... I am sure you are most exceedingly welcome. I only wish the diamonds were larger. They do seem very bright, but I am afraid they must appear quite small to you.”

  “It is the little picture I want, and not the setting,” said Mr. Jenkins, quietly, and at the same time examining the back of the picture to see how it was put together. “If you like it,” he added, “I can very easily take the ivory out, and leave the little diamonds with you?”

  “Just as you please,” replied Sophia, and she stood fixed beside him without moving a joint, anxiously awaiting the result.

  Mr. Jenkins began to set to work upon the setting, with his thumbs; but though he applied them handily enough, the good work defied him, and he turned to Sophia’s well-spread table to look for some instrument that might assist him. It was then that for the first time he perceived the elaborate nature of the preparations for the repast he had interrupted, and suddenly changing his purpose he said. “Do you keep the little picture, my dear, till another time.... only don’t give it away to anybody else, and I’ll come again with some tool or other that will help us to do this little job about the diamonds, better than one of your handsome silver-hilted knives. I am glad to see that you are so fond of pretty things, Miss Sophia, for I have got abundance of them.... And now, as you cannot conveniently give me the picture to-day, I will ask you to give me something else.... Will you give me something to eat? I am as hungry as a hound.”

  Sophia, who felt a thrill run through her frame, at the mention of this abundance of pretty things, replied in the most bland of tones, “Oh, sir! I shall be so glad if you can find anything you may happen to like; but I am afraid that you will find it all so cold!.... Pray sit down. I will come to you in a moment.”

  He obeyed, and seated himself at the table, which he rapidly examined in every particular with the eye of a connoisseur. Sophia meanwhile did her best to join him with as little delay as possible, but she first restored the miniature to its recess, closed the precious cabinet, locked it carefully, and put the key, which was on a bunch with many more, into her pocket. This done, she placed herself opposite to her guest at the well-spread little table; and considering that she had as yet eaten little or nothing herself she did the honours of it with wonderful cordiality. It is true that the cabinet, with its well-remembered though unseen acquisition, was at no great distance, and exquisite as was the repast before her, she would not, even had it been quite hot, have hasarded the favour of her new acquaintance for any gratification it could have afforded her.... So greatly, at that moment, did the affections of the heart supersede all merely animal requirements in the consideration of Sophia!

  Mr. Jenkins appeared to know extremely well what was good; and either from hunger, politeness, or some other cause, paid no attention to the coldness of the delicate viands of which he had, indeed, himself been the cause.

  “Nothing can be better made than these petits pâtés, my dear.

  Is it the Mrs. Barnes you were talking of who had the honour of making them?” said he.

  “I rather think so, sir,” replied Sophia; “she is a very good cook, and as I do not as yet know so much of the servant who is under her, I have desired that she should herself prepare everything that is sent up to me,”

  “Very thoughtful.... very wise,” said Mr. Jenkins; “and I take it for granted she is a great favourite, Miss Sophia?”

  “Why no, sir, I do not think she is a very pleasant servant.

  I like that people should show that they have one’s interest at heart, and I do not think that is as much the case with her as it ought to be. However, it is a great object to get a good cook. May I give you a little of this pulled turkey, sir? It is dressed with mushrooms, and is generally very good. I only wish it was not so cold.... and the asparagus too! I fear it is quite spoiled.”

  “Not so cold, not so very cold, neither, my dear. These pretty silver dishes must have been famously hot when they came up, for they are quite warm now. What have you got under that cover, Miss Sophia?”

  “Stewed eels, sir, and that she does remarkably well too.... but I would not advise you to venture upon it now. If you will do me the favour to call just at the same time, some other morning, you shall find everything more comfortable. These apricot creams, I know, are very nice, and so I dare say is the jelly. Which will you take, sir?”

  “Jelly, my dear, I will take some jelly. It looks exactly as it ought to do.... and you must know that I am rather particular about jelly. When one is rich, my dear Miss Martin Thorpe, I don’t see any reason why one should eat bad things. Do you?”

  “No, indeed, sir,” replied Sophia, with considerable energy, “I think it would be very foolish, and only show one’s ignorance.”

  “Very true.... very sensibly said, indeed. But do tell me, my dear, how comes it that you seem to be left all alone so? They told me at the Castle that one of your uncles.... by marriage, I mean.... one of your uncles, who is your guardian, was living with you, together with his family. Where in the world are they all?”

  “Why, sir, the truth is, that I should never be able to do anything.... and I like to manage all my own affairs; but I should never be able to do it at all if I did not keep one room to myself, particularly during the morning.... and so I have had this one fitted up on purpose for me, and they none of them ever come, into it.”

  “I am afraid, then, you don’t find them very agreeable?” said Mr. Jenkins, interrogatively.

  “Why you know, sir, it cannot possibly be agreeable to have troublesome little boys running about the house.”

  “And your cousin Florence?.... I think they told me at the ball that she was called Florence.... What sort of a girl is she?”

  “She is no fit companion for me, in any way,” replied Sophia, colouring as the feelings of the previous night returned upon her.

  “Oh! dear, dear.... that’s a pity! But they are not making any great noise in the house now, at any rate; or else I suppose we should hear them, shouldn’t we?”

  “Certainly, sir, and very disagreeable it is, sometimes. But luckily they are very seldom at home in a morning. My other guardian, Sir Charles Temple, has a place quite close to mine, and I understand he has given the Heathcotes leave to let the children play in an old summer-house in his grounds. If he did it to keep the house quiet it was very thoughtful of him.”

  “The summer-house at Temple!.... Do you mean the old banqueting-room?.... Good Heaven! How well I remember it!” exclaimed Mr. Jenkins.

  “Yes, it is called the banqueting-room,” replied Sophia; “I have never been to look at it, but I am told that it is reckoned very pretty.”

  “Well!.... Now, my dear, then, I will wish you good morning.... and I shall come to see you again, you may depend upon it. But before I go, you must just be so kind as to let me light my pipe, will you?”

  With very
eager zeal the fingers of the amiable heiress employed themselves in communicating light to the bougie, by whose aid the rose-scented vapour soon mounted in a delicate cloud from the enamelled appendage to Mr. Jenkins’ buttonhole: for, in the first place, she was only too happy to do anything to please him; in the second, she longed for him to go, that she might be left tête-à-tête with her pearls; and in the third, she remembered that lighting a bougie cost nothing, or next to nothing. So the operation was performed with equal adroitness and despatch, and the visitor departed.

  CHAPTER XXVI.

  It was a very lovely April morning upon which all these adventures occurred, and as the sun was still high in the heavens when Mr. Timothy Jenkins found his horse again, and rode off, we must follow his movements a little longer. It was a pity that the gentleman, who, though eccentric, appeared to be a generous good-natured sort of person.,. it was a pity that he had so inveterate a habit of smoking, for it prevented his enjoying, as he might otherwise have done, the leisurely pace at which he permitted himself and his horse to thread the narrow woodland path, which led to the old banqueting-room... though under the dominion of the gardener, this path looked as wild as if it traversed a forest in Western America, instead of leading most commodiously across the ravine which divided the two estates, by means of a rude-looking ivy-mantled bridge. But the ground beside the path was literally matted over with primroses and violets; and had Mr. Jenkins permitted his nose to have fair play, it might have told him that the richest aroma which an eastern sun ever drew from the blossoms of Araby the blest, could not exceed in spirit-soothing sweetness the scents of an English spring. But though this was lost for him, the gay carol of the birds was not; no, nor the insect hum, that the first warm breath of fitful April is as sure to bring into our cold sunshine as is the rank fervour of July to animate its reptile thousands on the Nile. Mr. Jenkins enjoyed it all, it was an enjoyment that made him again turn pale, and he had to dash away a tear or two before he could see, as clearly as it deserved to be seen, the pretty net-work, made up of sunshine and of shade, beneath his feet — or the bright tender green of the young larch buds, that sprinkled the woods through which he passed.

  Though he took good care that the pace of his horse should be slow, as the pace of a horse could be, the distance between Thorpe-Combe and the banqueting-room was soon stepped over, and having reached the grassy space that surrounded the building, he sprang to the ground again, tied his high-bred but docile little Arabian to a tree, and having given one long earnest gaze around, entered the room.

  The very domestic party assembled there were so divided as to give the whole space, large as it was, the air of being inhabited, and exceedingly comfortable. The old couple left by Sir Charles Temple in charge of the premises, had probably received private orders which had recently made this beautiful but long forsaken room assume the well-furnished air which it now presented. Near the fire-place, which now glowed With a small but bright wood fire, a large carpet, old, but Still in substantial repair, had been brought from the fine old library, and carefully laid down; it reached to the two upper windows of the beautiful range which opened Opposite the door of entrance, upon the precipitous descent to the ravine that bounded the property. The music and the sparkling of a small natural cascade, caused by à sharp turn and sudden dip of the brawling little stream at the bottom, had probably led to the choice of this secluded spot for the erection of the salon de plaisance, now again, after the interval of many years, converted to purposes of enjoyment. And there the cataract danced and sang still, as featly as when it first tempted the extravagant father of the present poor baronet to lay out many hundreds to obtain a luxurious view of it. And a luxurious View if still was, though the window-frames were weather-stained, and the delicate green of the stuccoed walls had turned to à dingy patch-work.

  On a comfortable sofa near the fire sat Mrs. Heathcote, assiduously employed in teaching the youngest of her little boys to read. At the farther extremity of the room, and far beyond the more furnished division marked out by the carpet, stood a large table, well-nigh covered from one end to the other, with the multifarious articles necessary to the pursuit of the science of angling. Major Heathcote and his son Frederic, who had both of them already been spending several very happy hours by the waterside, we occupied at this table in preparing for a second expedition — and Florence, seated at a little writing-desk placed at one of the beautiful Windows, was pretty thoroughly unconscious of all around her, while scribbling a history of the last night’s adventures to Sir Charles.

  But despite of this, Florence, in common with the rest of the party, was startled by the very unexpected appearance of Mr. Jenkins; they all fixed their eyes upon him, but it was only Major Heathcote who recognised, under the cap of scarlet and gold, the bald-headed gentleman introduced to him by Lord Broughton, at the ball. Mr. Jenkins approached him with a smiling countenance, and an extended band.

  “How exceedingly comfortable you all seem to be here! “said he, looking round upon the whole parly— “But I hope you won’t think me impertinent for breaking in upon you all. I have just been explaining, Major Heathcote, to the young lady to whom you are so kind as to act as guardian, why it is that I am so anxious to make acquaintance with you all. These are all old haunts to me, Mrs. Heathcote; I used to be a great deal at Broughton Castle formerly, and at that time the Thorpe-Combe family were very intimate there — so that I used to be a great deal at Thorpe-Combe too. It is many, many, years since I have seen either; and therefore you can understand.... I am sure that you can.... the sort of feeling which makes me desirous of becoming acquainted with you all.”

  Though this was said with Mr. Timothy Jenkins’ usual short, sharp, rapidity of manner, there was a tone of natural feeling in it, which at once propitiated the friendly hearts of his hearers. “No man can understand that better, sir, than one who has been a soldier,” replied the Major. “I don’t wish ever to forget what I felt on coming back to my father’s vicarage, after passing five years in the garrison at Gibraltar. — It was like coming home to a thousand dear old friends at once. Every tree, every bush, every table and every chair, felt dear to me.”

  “To be sure they did, sir, “replied Mr. Jenkins. “But if you came back to your father’s vicarage, Major Heathcote, you found your father still alive.... or his vicarage would no longer have been your resting-place.... This makes a good deal of difference. Are these your sons, Mrs. Heathcote? Of course they are, and I have asked a silly question. They have features that both father and mother themselves.... I must not venture to come and shake hands with you, my dear,” he continued, approaching Florence, but stopping short within a few feet of her little table. “You seem so very busily engaged, that you will be angry, I suppose, if I interrupt you?”

  “No indeed!” said Florence blushing, and hastily putting her letter into her desk, “I think I have written enough for to-day.” And she stepped forward, and offered him her hand with a frankness of manner which grew out of his own. The favour was very cordially received; and then the uninvited guest began walking about the room, looking first out of one window and then out of another, talking all the time, in a succession of very unconnected sentences, but with a great air of good humour, and friendly interest for them all.... At length he approached in his wanderings a sort of sideboard which stood against the wall at the bottom of the room, on which was a basket and napkin, together with the remains of a loaf of bread, some cheese-parings, and a couple of tumblers, one having contained beer and the other water.

  “Who has been eating here?” demanded the unceremonious Mr. Jenkins.

  “We have all been eating,” replied Major Heathcote.

  “Rather a homely repast, apparently,” returned the other, bluntly. “Was this forwarded to you from the larder of the heiress?”

  Mrs. Heathcote laughed, Florence coloured, and the Major looked a little as if he thought their visitor tant soit peu impertinent.... nevertheless he answered with but little less th
an his usual good humour.... “Yes, sir....It came from Thorpe-

  Combe.”

  This question and answer seemed to bring the conversation, if such it might be called, to a conclusion, for Mr. Jenkins hurried away with as little ceremony as he had entered; merely giving a nod to each of the party, without saying anything beyond a general good-b’ye, which appeared to be intended for them all.

  “What an exceedingly queer man that is,” said Florence, “and yet there is something that interests me about him, though I cannot tell why. Perhaps it is because he looks sallow and out of health.”

  “I do not think he is out of health, Florence,” replied her father. “He looks, I think, more sun-burnt than sickly..... but certainly he is the most remarkably free and easy chap that I ever saw — Come, Fred, catch up the basket, there’s a man. We had no luck this morning, but I think we had not quite shade enough. We must do better now, or we shall get no compliments from Mrs. Barnes.”

  * * * * *

  For nearly a week after this time Mr. Jenkins did not again make his appearance at Thorpe-Combe, and Sophia began very seriously to believe that the opinion uttered by Miss Brandenberry, in the extremity of her dismay after his first abrupt exit from her boudoir, was literally correct, and that the unaccountable bestower of the unequalled string of pearls was really and bona fide mad. How else indeed could his conduct be accounted for? That his motive for this munificent and uncalled-for generosity was not, as he had declared it to be, a wish of propitiating her free consent to his going over her house, was clearly proved, by his not taking advantage of the permission when given; and, in short, nothing but his being insane could account for it. Such really appeared to be the only rational interpretation of his conduct, and on this her mind fixed itself too firmly to be easily shaken. Such being the state of the case, it became a matter of immense importance to her, that she should decide with judgment upon the line of conduct she was to pursue. Were his wildly-liberal present to her made known, and the fact of his being insane to become evident also, she felt that it would be impossible to retain it. It was not improbable, she thought, that this rich treasure, so recklessly carried about in his pocket, might constitute the whole of his fortune. She fancied that he might in some capricious moment before returning to England have thus converted his property into a portable shape, that he might be himself the bearer of it; and if this were so, she felt that she could not be thankful enough for the chance that had so providentially thrown her in his way!.... If he were indeed mad, there could be no sin of any kind in keeping his rich gift, because he must, of course, be provided for in some asylum where he could in no way benefit by its being restored to him.