Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  This convinced the Don at once that his lady was a theatrical treasure, and while she was in the act of exchanging the much-admired clerk’s dress for her usual habiliments, he made his way to the presence of the manager, and stating the necessity for an immediate decision, requested to know what terms Madame Tornorino and himself might hope for. What the answer was in his own case has been already stated, but in that of his lady it was rather less decisive.

  “Your wife, monseer, has no more notion of acting than a possum,” said the manager; “but I expect, too, that she is a considerable hue young woman, and therefore I shall have no objection to engage with her for a reasonable salary, if she has no objection to stick to the boys’ parts.”

  Tornorino’s only reply was a request to be made acquainted with the gentleman’s notion of a reasonable salary.

  The amount named might, with economy, have sufficed to keep Patty in silk stockings and pumps; and although this, when communicated to the beauty, had appeared to her the very perfection of independence, her more experienced spouse knew better, and became quite aware of the disagreeable fact that he and his fair bride had still no resource to look to for their daily bread, but the well-guarded pocket-book of the major.

  No wonder, therefore, that the gentle hint now given by that gentleman, signifying that if Patty chose to continue her public career, she must choose also to live by it, threw him into a state of agitation, which, for a moment, robbed him of all power of protesting against this terrible sentence.

  But, while her terrified husband was struggling for breath, Patty was well enough disposed to answer in his stead.

  “Pack up!” she exclaimed. “Capital notion that, Mr. Pap, for a first-rate actress, who is so much the fashion, as to be obliged to repeat the part with only two days’ interval. Pack up, indeed! I shall just pack up when the rest of the ladies at the theatre do, and not one minute before, you may depend upon it.”

  “It is settled then, Patty,” said the major, looking frowningly enough, between anger and sorrow. “No more need be said about it, so I wish you good night. We leave this place at five o’clock to-morrow morning, so I suppose there is no great chance of our meeting again.”

  “Then you are a fool for your pains, papa, and a bit of a brute too, I must say, not to stay and witness the success, and the fashion, and the fame of your only child. Much you must love me to be sure, mustn’t you?” —

  The major felt at that moment that he did love her, notwithstanding all her saucy impertinence; and, feeling a little of the paternal vanity of which his fair daughter thought he ought to feel a great deal, he turned to his son-in-law, and said —

  “Does she mean to tell me, Tornorino, that her playing was successful?”

  “Santa Maria, no!” cried the Don, suddenly recovering his voice. “Dear sar, it was a capriccio of your beautiful daughter; to her I can refuse no ting — no ting in the whole world. And so I, like a fool bête, let her try. But it not do, sar, it not do at all. Dey offers her so little bit money as not keep her pretty beauty alive. We go pack, we go pack, this very moment, belle Pati.”

  “What an abominable sneak you are, Don!” cried Patty, colouring through her theatrical rouge like scarlet. “I do despise you from the very bottom of my heart; and if I do pack up, it shall be just on purpose to leave you behind, so put that in your pipe and smoke it, you poor cowardly fellow, that’s afraid of being scolded by papa. You don’t deserve such a wife as I am, that you don’t, and if I keep my present my mind, you shall never have me again. Smoke that too, Mr. Don.”

  “Hush, hush, Patty,” said the major, “you are behaving a great deal worse than the Don, I promise you. It is lucky for you that he has come to his senses before we have left you to starve, which I give you my word and honour we should have done, if he had not been more reasonable than you are. Get away with you, foolish girl, do! You may kiss me if you will, and part friends, upon condition that you never take any such nonsense into your whirligig of a head again. If it was not for your mother’s uncommon cleverness, we should have got into a terrible scrape, I promise you, and have found ourselves just five hundred dollars the poorer for your frolic.”

  “Make me believe that, if you can,” cried the incorrigible Patty, turning away without giving the slightest indication of intending to grant the invited kiss. “I shall just go to bed, for I am as tired as a dog, and if my sneaking Don chooses to pack up he may, but I’d see him hanged ten times before I’d do it.”

  And with these tender words, very pointedly addressed to the chosen of her heart, the young beauty made her exit, brushing with an air of defiance by her mother, who, on her part, felt greatly too angry to speak without betraying more warmth than she thought it prudent to display, as she by no means wished to attract the attention of any of their quaker neighbours to their room at that particular moment.

  Flattering himself that there was no immediate danger that he and his gentle helpmate should be thrust out from the snug shelter of the parental wing, the Don wisely abstained from any further display of deprecating eloquence, and followed his wife, bowing gracefully to “pap and mam” as he passed.

  Both the major and his lady were, in every sense of the phrase, wide awake on the following morning at a very early hour, and while the gentleman sallied forth to secure the services of a porter to convey their luggage to the steamboat, the lady, notwithstanding her wrath, condescended to visit the apartment of her daughter to ascertain if she too, with her less guilty husband, were ready for departure. Instead of this, however, she found both the Don and his lady profoundly asleep, and even when she had removed this impediment to their activity, by shaking them both heartily, she had the mortification of hearing Patty declare, in her most contumacious tone, that whether it were early or late, she did not care a straw, and that she would have her sleep out if Old Nick himself came to shake her. It is probable that Mrs. Allen Barnaby might have tried the effect of more effective measures still, had she not, at the very moment that her daughter thus expressed herself, fancied that she heard the door, inclosing the apartments of John and Rachel Williams, open. The possibility of their having heard of Patty’s theatrical exhibition last night, and of their coming upon her for obtaining money under false pretences, as they now appeared under circumstances totally different from what they had represented, occurred to her with such force, that she instantly resolved to leave the house, wait for the return of her husband in the street, and make him escort her on board the steamboat before he removed their trunks, or paid any further attention to their contumacious daughter. The project could not, of course, be communicated either to the already snoring Patty, or her only half-awake husband; but, as she withdrew from the bed, she said, with sufficient emphasis to attract the attention of the drowsy Don —

  “We are going to leave the house directly — but if you will stay in it you must.”

  She then left the room, and was on the pavement of the street in pursuit of the major, before her alarmed son-in-law had fully accomplished the difficult task of waking his wife. The look-out service of my heroine did not last long, for she had scarcely closed the house-door behind her before she saw the major approaching.

  “The quakers are all on the alert this morning, and I have heard the door of the Williamses open and shut,” she said, as soon as he was within reach of a safe whisper, for the black lad who followed him with a truck made any louder communication dangerous:— “I have got the five hundred dollars in my pocket, Donny,” she added, in the same cautious tone, “and my opinion is, that I and the dollars too, will be a great deal safer out of the house than in it.”

  “Egad! I am afraid so, upon my soul, if the Williamses are really stirring, for their movements are as regular as those of the clock on the staircase,” returned the major, knitting his brows with a look of considerable anxiety. “A pretty business we shall have made of it, to be sure, if they have really found out this mad trick of Patty’s, and choose to blow up a riot and expose us to t
he whole town. Not to mention the loss of the money, which of course we must give back if they choose to declare that we introduced ourselves under false colours, or we shall have the devil and all to do, with the police at our heels.”

  “I’ll see every man, woman, and child of them, black, white, and yellow, slaves and free-borns, old and young, rich and poor, at the bottom of the sea before I’ll give back a single farthing of the money,” returned Mrs. Allen Barnaby, with a degree of animation which would certainly have startled the black porter had he been within hearing; but the major had prudently ordered him to go on to the house, and wait in the hall till he came.

  Ho, therefore, listened to this vehement reply without any feeling of displeasure or alarm, and even expressed his perfect approbation of the sentiments she expressed, adding, very gently, that he only feared her noble daring might eventually lead her into a scrape.

  “Don’t talk nonsense, Donny,” was the prompt reply. “If I am once safely stowed on board the Lady Washington steamer I will bet my five hundred dollars to your gold snuff box that I shall reach New York just as safely, my dear, as you reached Philadelphia. And if they were to lay hands upon me, what have they got to accuse me of, I should like to know? Have I not made over to them a legal claim to all the profits that shall accrue from my work? Have I manifested by word, act, or deed, the very slightest intention of swerving from my bargain?”

  “All true, my dear. But why then do you feel it necessary to run away in such a hurry?”

  “Merely to avoid the disagreeable necessity, if that gray tabby-cat, Rachel,’ should come and clutch me with her sly, velvet-like claws, and beg me civilly to return the money, because the Society of Friends don’t approve acting people, of saying in reply! WON’T.”

  “True again, my Barnaby, you are a trump; and no one, whether king, queen, knave, or ace, need be ashamed to bow before you. You wish, then, to go on board instantly?” said the major.

  “Yes,” she replied, “instantly. It will look more respectable, you know, for you just to hand me on deck, and then you may be back in a moment, and see to the moving of everything. As to those silly fools, Patty and her husband, I believe they are still in bed, for I could not make them get up; but you must not wait for them, mind. Just give Tornorino money enough to come by the next boat.”

  Mrs. Allen Barnaby was politely handed on board without further loss of time by her observant husband, who immediately hurried back according to her instructions, and manfully assisted in removing his own and his lady’s baggage from their room to the truck. As he mounted the stairs with his assistant black porter for the last load he encountered Ariadne, who was evidently moving down with a very eager step to find him. She bore in her hand a neat-looking little note, addressed to Mistress Allen Barnaby; and for an instant he was about to open it, the excellent terms on which he lived with his admirable wife fully justifying such a liberty. Yet had he done so he would most unquestionably have proved himself for ever unworthy of possessing such treasures as herself and her confidence; but happily a ray from her own spirit seemed suddenly to flash across him.

  “Mrs. Allen Barnaby is gone,” said he very composedly to the black help, “but I shall join her again very soon, and will take care to give her this note the moment I see her.”

  “But friend Rachel, and friend John too, wanted an answer immediately,” said Ariadne; “massa best read it own self.”

  “That is never done in our country,” replied the major, solemnly shaking his head, “and you may tell friend John and friend Rachel that I say so. But I will keep it for her very carefully.”

  And so saying, he demurely took out his pocket-book, and placed the note in one of its pockets. Ariadne, notwithstanding her freedom, could venture no further remonstrance, and returning with this answer to the apartment of the quakers, would probably have brought a second and a personal application from John Williams, had he not been still in bed. He instantly, however, began investing himself in such garments as were necessary for making his appearance, and nothing but the vigorous activity of the major prevented his having to undergo an interview which would certainly have been very far from agreeable. Most fortunately, however, upon his opening the door of Tornorino’s room, in order to toss into it the dollars which his wife had desired him to leave with the offending young couple, he met the Don coming forth with his own portmanteau on his shoulder, and that of his wife dragging after him with his disengaged hand, while Patty herself, though looking as black as a thunder-cloud, followed behind him, bringing a huge carpet-bag.

  “This fellow will help you,” said the major, pointing to the grinning black porter. “I cannot stay an instant, and you had better not. Follow this black fellow and his truck to the wharf.” These words, which were spoken as the major descended the stairs, sufficed to frighten Patty a little, and her husband a good deal. Not a moment was lost. The remaining trunks were partly carried and partly kicked down stairs, the noble hands of the Don disdained not to assist in placing them on the truck, and the convoy was just under way as John Williams stepped forth from his own room-door upon the stairs. Had he not stepped back for his stick he must have overtaken it; but this delay gave time to turn the corner, and when he stepped forth into the street not a single living object was to be seen, save a very hungry-looking little cur, which at that moment was passing the steps, and which on seeing him trotted up them, looking piteously in his face.

  “Poor beast! Thee art homeless!” said the kind-hearted man, stepping back into the hall, and calling to Ariadne, who was passing it, for “a plate of broken victuals for a poor dog.”

  He again looked up the street and down the street, for any passenger who might be able to tell him if he had met a party going to the steamboat with some luggage. But nobody was to be seen, the long and handsome street being vacant from end to end.

  “And what matters it?” soliloquised the quaker, as he again retreated into the house. “I do believe that the whole set are not much better than they should be, but I would rather feed a hungry dog any day, than catch and scourge a vicious one. But my Rachel was right. There is no doubt about that.”

  CHAPTER XXXIV.

  THE embarkation of the whole party, the lingering Tornorinos, and their baggage included, had very much the air of a regular escapade. All the men, women, and children around them, however, were too completely occupied by their own concerns to bestow any great attention upon those of others till the bustle was over, and the “Lady Washington” steamboat fairly under way.

  As the steam hissed and the paddles played, Mrs. Allen Barnaby smiled, rejoicing with no common joy at being thus quitte pour la peur of an interview with her dear friend John Williams. His letter, however, was still unopened and still to be read, and the major gently hinted that it might, perhaps, be as well to look at it, just for the sake of civility, though of course, going at the rate they did, its contents could signify but little, as all that was at all important in the negotiation between them had been completed by her receiving the dollars, and there could be no danger of their being overtaken in time to undo it. However, the major and his lady retired to an unoccupied spot upon the deck, where, the letter being opened, and lovingly held between them, they read together the following words: —

  “FRIEND BARNABY, — Thee hast not, it may be, intended to deceive us; but, whether intending it or not, thou hast done so. It may be that in thine eyes, and in those of thy people, the young men and women who minister to the pleasures of the worldly, by exhibiting themselves upon the stage, are in no way rendered unfit to associate with such persons as Rachel Williams; but it is not so with us. Neither should I, nor those who act with me, be well pleased to purchase the co-operation of a female, who permits her young daughter to appear clothed in man’s attire before the eyes of our fellow-citizens. Wherefore, friend Barnaby, I do require of thee to restore unto me the money which I have unwarily put into thy hands, and be advised by me, for thy own good, to abstain henceforth from intermeddling
or intermixing with the Society of Friends, for the which thy habits and opinions render thee in no way suitable. Thee mayest return the notes by the steady female who will deliver this into thy hands; or I will call upon thee to receive the same, as soon as thee shalt be stirring, and ready to see me.

  “I remain thy friend, “JOHN WILLIAMS.”

  The major looked down upon the merry upturned face of hip wife with so comical a leer that it made her laugh outright, in which gay humour he joined very cordially for a minute or two, and then, recovering his gravity, said, very demurely —

  “Well, my dear, what do you wish to do about it?”

  “Wish?” she replied in the same tone, “why, my dear, I wish he may get it.” To which piece of facetiousness she added, “and I wish, also, that the fishes may come in for their share of this very profitable transaction.”

  And then, suiting the action to the word, she withdrew the letter from her husband’s hand, and, tearing it into very little bits, dropped it by sundry instalments into the waves, which their rapid movement caused to froth and foam as it hurried past them.