It is always agreeable to have one’s advice taken. Mr. Brandenberry found it particularly so. He knew perfectly well that it would be impossible for the self-willed young heiress to live entirely alone, as Sir Charles Temple would doubtless tell her; and, could he succeed in establishing his sister as her inmate, the success of his very tenderest and most passionate hopes might be looked upon as certain.
“I will not then detain you for an instant longer, my dear young lady,” he said.... “Blessed with so commanding and early-developed an intellect as yours you have no need that any one should intrude counsel on you, as to the manner in which whatever you deem it right to do should be executed. All that is necessary in the manner of your communication to Sir Charles Temple is, that it should be decisive and firm. Good night, my charming friend!... Never, surely never, was a man placed in a situation of such thrilling interest as mine at this moment, while watching the noble independence of spirit and high-minded promptitude of character, exhibited by one so young and so.... lovely!” The last word was added after he had kissed her hand, and while in the very act, as it were, of flying from her, so that its agreeable effect was judiciously left upon her feelings, with no counteracting influence from the discretion which would have been called for, had he remained in her presence.
Miss Martin Thorpe felt no displeasure at his parting words, none at all.... but nevertheless she was very glad he was gone. She had enough to think of, and enough to do; and her liking for Mr. Brandenberry’s soft speeches was by no means strong enough to compete with her inclination to set to work upon both. She deliberately went over again in her mind all the causes of dislike and of fear that the Heathcotes, or rather that poor Florence had given her; she thought of the treasures that might be, and probably were still hanging suspended as it were, between her and her unconscious rival; and at length the meditation ended by her sitting down and writing the following letter to Sir Charles Temple: —
“DEAR SIR, “It is not without extreme reluctance that I decide upon the painful step I am now taking; but I think it is my duty so to regulate my affairs as not to make the generous bequest of my ever-to-be-lamented uncle a misery instead of a blessing to me. The great unhappiness which arises from the residence of Major and Mrs. Heathcote and their children under my roof, is greater than I can bear; and my purpose in thus addressing you is that you may be at once made acquainted with my resolution of leaving my house myself if they refuse to quit it. I prefer confining myself to the general fact, that my existence is made unhappy by their presence, to entering into any particulars as to the conduct, on their parts, which has produced this. All I wish is to place myself in such a situation as shall enable me to live in peace, and to utter no word of accusation which may in any degree tend to prejudice or injure any individual in your opinion. In justice to Major and Mrs. Heathcote, however, I feel it my duty to declare that I have nο complaint of any kind to make against them. There is nothing in their tempers to render a residence with them intolerable. On the contrary, indeed, I have a great regard for them both, and remember with the most affectionate gratitude their former kindness to me. I deeply regret that other circumstances, which I truly believe they have no power to regulate or control, must render it impossible for me to prove, as I would wish to do, my kind feelings towards them. Their little boys, too, are good-humoured, orderly children, and give little or no trouble to any one.
“I must request you, dear sir, under these very painful circumstances, to let me receive by return of post such a communication from you, as may assist me in the recovery of such a degree of domestic tranquillity as I have a right to enjoy in my own house. I have a female friend, whom I have been so fortunate as to attach to me in this neighbourhood, (a descendant of one of the oldest families in the county,) who will be willing to take up her residence with me, should it be your opinion that the presence of such a person will be necessary. She is not married, but her age is fully sufficient to render her proper as a protector in the eyes of all who may think me too young to protect myself.
“I remain, dear sir,
“Sincerely yours,
“SOPHIA MARTIN THORPE.”
Haying completed this epistle, she rang the bell for her supper, and greatly comforted by the consciousness of having acted wisely, sat down to enjoy her solitary but savoury morsel, in as happy a state of spirits as it was possible for her to enjoy, while her dangerous cousin Florence inhabited the same house with her.
Before she closed her eyes in sleep, she determined, after considerable vacillation on the point, not to announce to the Heathcote family her spirited resolution of getting rid of them, till she received Sir Charles Temple’s answer to her letter.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Such a scene as that which has been described as having taken place at Miss Martin Thorpe’s dinner-table could not pass without producing some effect even upon the gentle spirits of the Heathcotes. As for Florence, indeed, there was a feeling in her heart which seemed at every moment of her existence to shed a gentle sunshine round her, almost sufficient to prevent her being conscious of any shadow which crossed her path. She was startled, and somewhat shocked at Sophia’s violent outbreak of inhospitable rudeness; but she absolutely forgot it again, as soon as she found herself alone in her room, and at liberty to let her thoughts fly, unchecked and unchallenged, the way they loved to go. True as the carrier pigeon, who having been once taught the path he is to travel, never forsakes it, the fancy of Florence at these happy moments bore her, without losing a moment by delay, to her fair namesake city, and there regaled her with so vivid a view of the man who loved her, and whom she fondly loved, that scarcely could the magic mirror of Earl Surrey have served her better. Nor was the figure of Algernon forgotten in the picture... It was so delightful to know that her brother was with him!... It was so delightful to believe that they were both thinking of her! — that a very few moments so employed were fully sufficient to send her cousin Sophia and all her strange ways as effectually out of her head as if she had never existed.
By Major and Mrs. Heathcote, however, the subject was not quite so easily dismissed; but they really believed that the poor girl’s head was so turned by the sudden and violent change in her circumstances, as hardly to leave her in a condition to know what she was about.
“She will grow wiser, Poppsy, by and by,” said the Major, “and then I dare say she will be sorry, when she remembers all her rough ways with us; but if you can bear it, my dear, I am sure I ought to do so, and I really think it will be best on all accounts, if we possibly can, to go on till she is twenty-one. Then, of course, we may leave her without any observations being made. But now, if we started off again, it would make a terrible rumpus, both here and at Clevelands; and Sir Charles Temple might be vexed about it. In short, altogether, I think we had better take no notice, but just keep out of her way as much as we can. Not but what, if she plagues you, my dear, I shall be quite ready to take French leave, if you wish it, at a moment’s warning.”
“Me! my dear! — God bless your dear heart, Major! I don’t mind her ways the least bit in the world. Upon my word, she made me a great deal more unhappy when she was poor, instead of rich, and when not all I could do could ever make her look gay. That did vex me, because, I thought, poor thing, that she was fretting on account of being an orphan, and dependent, and all that. But now that I know she has got everything her heart can wish, I am not going to quarrel with her, nor with Providence either, for her not having a good temper into the bargain. Besides, Major, we have got too much to be pleased at, just now, to trouble ourselves greatly about poor Sophy Martin’s being cross with us. I know that good soul, Barnes, takes care that the boys shall want for nothing — I know that you are as contented as the day is long, with your flies and your fishing-rod — and that dear darling Florence will be just as happy as she deserves, with that nice, kind-hearted Sir Charles, and his beautiful place — and if with all this, and Algernon and the rest of them sending us such beautiful let
ters, I could be wicked enough to sit down with my finger in my eye, and cry, because poor Sophy looked sulky, I don’t think I should deserve to be ever happy more.”
This conversation was so completely satisfactory to both parties, that they scarcely ever reverted to the subject again; and the very few people whom the formal visitings of their sour little hostess brought within reach of them, never found reason to suspect from the manners of any of the Heathcote family, that they were living rather as permitted pensioners than as honoured relations in the mansion of the heiress.
Miss Martin Thorpe’s intention, however, of being a most distinguished grandee in the estimation of her neighbours, was not very successful. Poor Mr. Thorpe’s resolute seclusion of himself from them all, after the loss of his SON, had naturally estranged most of the county families from any great feeling of interest in or intimacy with his race; and those whom curiosity, or a sociable temper, had brought to visit his successor, had all, save and except Mrs., Mr and Miss Brandenberry, arrived at the conclusion that she was the very dullest little body that any elderly gentleman, with an estate to leave, ever picked out as the favourite on whom to bestow it.
* * * * * * * *
Without too directly avowing that she had implicitly followed his advice, Sophia gave Mr. Brandenberry to understand that she had written to Sir Charles Temple, and did not intend to take any active measures for releasing herself from what she termed her “present most embarrassing situation,” till she had received his answer.
Notwithstanding the caution with which this information was communicated, Mr. Brandenberry was not slow in perceiving that she had in fact acted entirely by his counsel; and most happy was the augury he drew from it. At first, however, his immediate hopes were restricted to the having his sister invited as the chosen and protecting friend of the heiress. But as he and his confidential Margaret walked, hour after hour together, upon the flag-stone terrace behind the house, sheltered by a privet hedge on the north, and opening to the old apple-orchard on the south, by two flights of crazy, moss-covered steps, they warmed themselves into the belief that there was no occasion whatever for waiting so long for “the important moment which was to decide everything.”
“If I had been with her ever so long,” reasoned the sanguine Margaret, “she could not give you more encouragement to speak, than she has done now. What can go beyond her doing exactly everything you tell her to do? — If I was you, Richard, I would not live another twenty-four hours without knowing whether I was to be master of Thorpe-Combe, or not.”
Richard pondered her words in his heart.... and walked, and walked, and walked, before he answered her. At length he said, “I wish, Margaret, I could make it appear that the only possible way for her to get quit of these good-tempered people that she hates so bitterly, was by marrying.”
“And so it is, Richard,” exclaimed his sister, in the joyful tone of one who has just enjoyed the participation of a great discovery. “Nothing can be more plain and clear than that this is positively and literally the fact. She might, certainly, by working her way through long consultations with her other guardian, and by consenting to have me, or some other lady, who could be prevailed upon to give up the whole comfort of her existence, at last make such arrangements as would enable her to drum the Heathcotes out of her house.... but if she wants to be released immediately, there is, most unquestionably, but one way to achieve it, and that is by marrying. The thing is as clear as light. How I wonder that it did not strike us before! And how very sorry I am that you did not tell her so, instead of only just using the influence it is so clear you have, in making her write to Sir Charles Temple! Oh! why did not this come into your head before?”
“There is no time lost, Margaret. It is better not to push matters too fast; by getting on step by step with her, I shall make it exceedingly easy at last.”
“Nonsense, Richard!.... I do believe in my heart that you are weak enough to let your dislike of her interfere with your manner of proceeding. You ought to know as well as I do.... and you do know as well as t do, that in a business of this kind the faster people run the better. It is very well, in some cases, for a girl to be let see her way before her. Where, for instance, a man knows that if the woman he is trying to get can be made to like him, it will be a capital good thing for him in point of interest, the more time be gives her before he asks the question, the safer he may feel about the answer. For I cannot but think, that first or last, almost every girl would most likely make up her mind to do what is Wisest in such a case. But just put the case the other way, Richard, and see what common sense will say to it. Do you think that the more time you give to such a girl as this to look about her and make inquiries, the more likely she will be to say Yes, instead of No?.... I don’t think that you can look gravely in my face and say so.”
“That is true, very true, Margaret,” replied Mr. Brandenberry, suddenly stopping short in his walk. “The thing shall be decided at once. I will propose to her to-morrow.”
“Well said, Richard!.... That is the sort of way a man of Spirit should always act. I heartily wish, brother, that the girl was not such a nasty, niggardly, hateful, little wretch; but nobody can have exactly everything they want.... and God knows the first object with you ought to be money.”
Mr. Brandenberry pressed the hand of his admirable sister, as she made this speech, so pregnant with affection and moral feeling, and replied, “As to the girl herself, my dear Margaret, do not let any thoughts about her vex you, or trouble your pleasure, in case I succeed. I certainly do dislike her a great deal more than any woman I ever saw in my life.... But what does that signify, Margaret? If she should plague me more than merely by her ugly disagreeableness, which, of course, I must bear, I shall take excellent good care to cure her. Miss Martin Thorpe standing on her own estate, and Mr. Richard Brandenberry making a low bow, and asking for leave to come and stand by her, is one thing. But Mr. Richard Brandenberry possessed, in right of his wife, of the said estate, and the lady trotting behind him over the acres no longer her own, is another. Woman never get thoroughly aware of this difference till after the torch of Hymen has thrown a light upon it, Margaret.... and I only dwell upon it to you now, to prevent your being more uneasy about me than there is any occasion for. I shall manage to be very tolerably at my ease, I dare say.”
Mutually delighted with each other, the brother and sister returned to the house. Mr. Brandenberry mounted his horse, and during a two hours’ saunter through the most retired lanes in the neighbourhood, conned over the words and the deeds with which the great business of the morrow was to be executed; Miss Brandenberry employing herself, pleasantly enough, the while, in meditating upon the manner in which she and her brother should receive the county families at Thorpe-Combe, when they came to pay the wedding visits.
At the very same time that Mr. Brandenberry and his sister were holding this consultation on the terrace at Broad Grange, Miss Martin Thorpe, without any other counsellor than her own heart, determined upon making another visit to old Arthur Giles, to see if by some means or other she could not contrive to get him to quit his dwelling. Considering what very quiet neighbours the old man and his wife were, it might seem strange to many that their occupation of this pretty residence should torment her so grievously.... but it did torment her — As long as they remained there, Thorpe-Compe was not so much her own, as it would be if they were away, and she was quite conscious that she should know no rest till they were gone.
“Here comes our sweet lady!” said the saucy Mrs. Giles to an acquaintance who happened to be sitting very sociably between her and her husband as Sophia approached.... “Here comes Miss Martin Thorpe to pay us another visit.”
“The devil she does!” exclaimed their visitor. She must not see me here, Arthur, even if you bolt the door upon her to prevent it; she must not, upon my soul!”
“Hush!”.... returned the old groom, making a signal for silence— “Step in here, step in here, quick, behind this door here, and hold
it a trifle open if you have a mind to hear how pleasant she talks.”
The stranger obeyed the signal. Mrs. Giles opened the house-door to the young lady’s knock, and then ushered her into the pretty sitting-room which it so pinched Sophia’s heart to see the old couple occupy.
Old Arthur rose up, and placed a chair for her with its back tolerably close to the door through which their visitor had passed, and Miss Martin Thorpe seated herself. “I am come to you again,” she said, “in order to talk a little common sense to you about this house. Nothing can be so absurd as your persisting to stay in it, when I am willing to get you another, fifty times better and fitter for your residence, elsewhere.”
“Asking your pardon, ma’am,” said Mrs. Giles, “I don’t think there is any house fifty times better than this in the whole county... but howsomever, we are in course bound to thank you for your obligingness, though we greatly prefer biding where we be, to moving.”
“It is a pity, good woman, that you have not a little fitter notion of your own rank and station, than to prefer such an absurd residence as this, to such a one as I would find for you.... but the fault belongs more to the ridiculous folly of the worthless young man who placed you here than to yourselves,” and I am willing to befriend you in a proper reasonable way, if you will let me, without thinking at all the worse of you for his folly.”
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 317
