Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  “No, my dear,” quietly replied Mrs. Mathews. “He was very fond of fishing when he was younger, and used to make all his own flies; and nobody who does that, can have time enough left to become a great reader.”

  Mrs. Mathews had listened to this question, and answered with the most perfect simplicity and friendly good faith, for she felt that the question was a very natural one, — as it was obviously more likely that a bookish old gentleman should have brought together, for his own private edification and amusement, the multitude of dusky-looking old tomes, with the copious sprinkling of fresh-looking new ones, which filled every corner, and covered every table in the room, than that a woman should have done it; but had the inquiries of Janet gone further, — had she, for instance, asked the same question respecting Mr. Mathews, with any appearance of being in earnest, — it is highly probable that not even the interesting fact of her being the daughter of John Anderson, could have saved her from a species of contempt which must for ever have prevented any genuine intimacy of intercourse between them.

  But, luckily for the happiness of both, there was no danger that any such blunder should be made; on this point there was a sort of mute sympathy between them which required no aid from words to make itself felt and comprehended. And so, having received Mrs. Mathews’ perfectly intelligible, and therefore perfectly satisfactory answer respecting Mr. King, the young lady, by a species of natural logic, came to the conclusion that all this enormous preparation for study must have been made by Mrs. Mathews herself, for her own especial use and gratification.

  There was something very prettily comic in the manner with which Janet, after twice making a slow, demure, and very observant circuit of the chamber, corners and all included, approached at last to the chair in which her new friend had seated herself to watch her proceedings, and said almost in a whisper, as she placed herself upon her knees upon the footstool at her feet, “How will you ever be able to persuade yourself to listen to me when I talk to you? And still more difficult will it be for you to come down from your pedestal to talk to me!”

  “You think so, and very, very sincerely, Janet? Ah! I read it in your eyes, my poor child! You are already thinking what will be the easiest way by which you can relieve me from your contemptible presence.”

  “It is very kind, and very benevolent of you, Mrs. Mathews,” replied Janet, “to attribute to me thoughts and feelings so every way proper to my condition; but I am too honest to take advantage of it, — No! I will not deceive you. You are, indeed, quite right in believing that I think it must be a great effort on your part to converse with such a thing as I am; but you are quite wrong in fancying that I have the slightest wish to relieve you from my contemptible presence, as long as I am able to flatter myself that there is any possibility of avoiding it.”

  “Very well, my dear, that will do, and I dare say we shall understand one another perfectly one of these days,” replied Mrs. Mathews, “In the meantime,” she continued, “the fact most important for you to know is this; namely, that you are to be most completely your own mistress as to the coming and going to and from this queer old room. Your father has been in it, Janet, and has sat reading in that chair yonder, by the east window there, for hours together, while I was trotting about somewhere or other with my dear old father. And you are, somehow or other, so very like him, Janet, that I could almost fancy as I listen to you that he was come back again. Therefore it is for the sake of old as well as new friendship, that I give you the right of entrée here. But I know perfectly well, if you don’t, young lady, that if we, either of us, mean to read, such reading, observe, as deserves the name, we must not attempt to perform it together. Wherefore it is furthermore enacted, that you are to carry whatever books you wish to read from this room to your own, only observing that I do not wish they should wander any further. By the way, Janet, there is one study that we may begin, and go through with together, I mean the study of young Mr. Stephen Cornington’s disposition. talents, and principles; for he is not at all more known to me, than he is to you. I will not ask you to give me your opinion of his character as yet: neither will I give you mine — for in honest truth, we neither of us know enough of him to do it fairly; but you may give me your opinion concerning his looks. Do you think him handsome, Janet?”

  “Yes, certainly I do,” replied the young girl without the slightest hesitation. “Don’t you, Mrs. Mathews? I don’t think I ever saw any man so handsome before. Did you?”

  “Perhaps not,” replied Mrs. Mathews, smiling at the honest sincerity of the avowal; “I really believe he is very handsome.”

  “Believe! Oh, I go a great deal further than that; I am quite sure of it. Quite sure, I mean, that I never saw any man so handsome. And more than that, I really cannot believe that there ever was anybody more handsome.”

  “Mercy on me, Janet! If I am not a very imprudent middle-aged woman indeed, I ought to be exceedingly frightened at hearing you say so. Here am I, for the first time in my life, undertaking the care of a young lady, and the very first decided opinion that I hear from her is, that she thinks a young man who is staying in the house with her is the very handsomest person she ever saw in her life! What can I expect after this, but that your next confidential communication, Miss Janet, will be that you are vehemently in love with him?”

  “Then you must be the more careful of me, Mrs. Mathews,” replied Janet, very solemnly. “Of course you know such a young girl as I am, brought up in the mountains, too, must be very much in want of some kind friend to look after me in such very dangerous circumstances.”

  “Unquestionably, my poor child,” replied Mrs. Mathews, in the same tone; “and I will endeavour to do my duty under these circumstances, — which certainly are somewhat critical.”

  And having said this, Mrs. Mathews changed the subject, and nothing more was said on that occasion respecting Mr. Stephen Cornington; but the conversation fell back upon books, both new and old, and Mrs. Mathews discovered with more satisfaction than surprise, that this young daughter of John Anderson, notwithstanding her having been brought up in the mountains, was by no means very particularly ignorant for her age; and moreover that she had already formed a pretty decided opinion upon the comparative advantages of being permitted to read as much as she liked in a room sacred to herself, and the having to sit in a drawing-room, with a rosewood box, lined with satin, containing all materials for lady-like stitching on one side, a Book of Beauty and a newspaper on the other, and one or two companions en face, with equally elegant employment for their fingers, and with very amiable readiness to discuss confidentially the affairs and the merits of their neighbours.

  But amidst all the talk that ensued between them, and during which these peculiarities in the character of Janet were made manifest to Mrs. Mathews, it never occurred to that lady that she might enlighten the mind of her young friend in return by giving her a few hints as to the peculiarities of those with whom she was likely to become acquainted in her new home.

  Her silence on this point, however, did not arise from indifference either as to the merits of her neighbours, or as to the effect they might be likely to produce on her young companion; but on the first point, the more decided her own opinions might be (and the opinions of Mrs. Mathews were very decided), the less desirous did she feel to discuss them; and as to the second, she was inclined to think that the education of a young mind was more effectually forwarded by leaving it to form its own judgments, subject to the wholesome correction of experience, than by enforcing upon it the judgments of another.

  This notion, perhaps, was not absolutely unreasonable on the part of Mrs. Mathews, as far as the mental development of Janet Anderson was concerned; but her reasonings on the subject cannot apply to my readers, and before I take the liberty of requesting them to accompany my heroine and her adopted daughter amongst the persons who formed the society of the Weldon neighbourhood, I think it desirable that I should give something like a catalogue raisonnée of the more prominent individuals
of the circle.

  Enough has been already said concerning Sir Charles Otterborne, his lady, and his son, who must of course be put at the head of the list, as being the only titled family within visiting distance of the Grange, to enable the reader to know something of them.

  The next mansion which suggests itself is that of the clergyman. His family consisted of himself, his wife, daughter, and son. And nothing could be more harmonious than the manner in which this little family lived together. The interests, the opinions, the tastes, the gentle friendships, and the gentle enmities of one, were the interests, the opinions, the tastes, the gentle friendships, and the gentle enmities of all.

  Mr. Price had not married early in life, having waited for a college living, and he was at least a dozen years older than his lady; but this disparity did not appear in the least degree to interfere with the very pleasant domestic harmony which existed between them. They were, indeed, both of them blessed with easy, quiet tempers, such as would render domestic altercation not only painful but really difficult; and at the time of their marriage all the world might have been challenged in vain to produce an individual who would have testified to the fact that either Mr. Price or his bride had ever been known to contradict or dispute any matter of opinion that had ever been brought before them.

  But this was before the appearance of the Oxford Tracts.

  The case was altered now. Both Mr and Mrs. Price, as well as their son and daughter, approved the Oxford Tracts very much; and though it was not in their nature to be noisy on any subject, they appeared, though not noisy, to be very much in earnest on this.

  Mr and Mrs. Price, Miss Price, and Mr. William Price, were all rather handsome, and they were all of them constantly very neatly dressed, and, when in company, the ladies were really elegant, that is to say, as far as the sum allowed them for dress, would permit; for neither of the family ever contracted a debt which there was any danger of their being unable to pay. Their income, indeed, was a very comfortable one; the living of Weldon, besides the house, garden, and fifteen acres of glebe, was worth seven or eight hundred a year; in addition to which, Mr. Price had a pretty little property, which brought him about three hundred more: and Mrs. Price, who was a Smitherton, and granddaughter to the late Lord Thompson, had also a fortune of six thousand pounds; so that altogether the Prices were very well off, and fully able to take and keep a place among the country gentlemen of the neighbourhood. And of course, as she, and her son, and her daughter, occasionally observed, Mrs. Price’s noble blood assisted very considerably in giving them consideration in the county.

  The next family that I shall mention bore the name of Steyton, of Steyton Lodge. They were decidedly the most wealthy people in that part of the country; and as their family consisted of one only daughter, their style’ of living might be, and indeed was, extremely handsome, without their being accused of extravagance. Moreover, Emily Steyton was a very beautiful girl; and a very beautiful girl of twenty, with a fortune of several thousands per annum, is quite enough to give éclat to any house; so that Steyton Lodge ranked very high among the mansions of the neighbourhood.

  There is only one individual more whom I shall name at present among the particular friends and intimates of the Mathews family, though there were two or three other houses at which they occasionally visited; this one individual was a Roman Catholic priest. This gentleman had for many years been librarian to a nobleman of the same persuasion, who had a very magnificent mansion in a neighbouring parish.

  But Lord Proctor’s family were in the habit of making the London season a very long one; and, moreover, they rarely or never failed to pass a month or two in every year abroad; so that it was not the custom of the country gentlemen’s families in their vicinity to take the liberty of considering them as neighbours in any sense of the word; and in fact they never mixed at all in their society.

  But not so the guardian of their noble library. The responsibility attached to this charge was, of itself, quite enough to give Mr. Cuthbridge great importance in the eyes of his employer; but he was, moreover, the family chaplain, and performed a daily mass in the chapel of Proctor Castle. He was treated with the very highest consideration and respect by every individual of the noble family to whose service he had devoted himself, and every care was taken that, during the long intervals in which the family were absent, his residence in the castle should be made as comfortable as possible.

  A good horse was kept exclusively for his use, and his love for flowers, which was a marked feature in his character, was as carefully attended to, in the decoration of the magnificent library in which he chiefly lived, as if he had been the master of the castle instead of its librarian.

  The whole neighbourhood were extremely civil and attentive to him, his agreeable conversation, and gentleman-like manner, insured this; and very rarely was any dinner-party given in the neighbourhood to which he was not invited. But this would not have sufficed to bring him into this list of Weldon worthies, had it not happened that he was a particular friend and favourite of Mrs. Mathews.

  Mr. Mathews liked him very much, because he was always so very neatly dressed, and had such very gentlemanlike-looking hands, almost as handsome, Mr. Mathews thought, as his own.

  Mr. King liked him very much, too, partly because he had known him so long, and partly because he had for years been in the habit of bringing such beautiful flowers to “Mary.”

  But Mrs. Mathews liked him a great deal more than they did, or perhaps than anybody else in the whole neighbourhood, and there was good reason for it, for Mr. Cuthbridge had not only been always very kind to her, but he had been very useful also. With her immense perseverance, it might he wrong to say that she could not have acquired all she knew without his assistance, but certain it is that she could not have acquired it so easily; neither would the task have been so often a pleasant one as with his friendly assistance she had found it.

  Whatever might have been the difference of opinion between them on religious subjects, none of the friends and acquaintance on either side had any opportunity of judging; for not only had no word approaching to a discussion on the subject been ever heard between them, during any of the long colloquies which they were sure to hold together at every party at which they met, but neither of them had ever been heard upon any occasion to allude to the religious opinions of the other, during the many years of intimacy that had existed between them.

  CHAPTER XXIII.

  IMMEDIATELY after luncheon, the party from Weldon Grange set off to make their projected visit at the Manor-house. Old Mr. King was left to the especial care of Sally Spicer, who promised her mistress that he should not be permitted to sit on the favourite bench one minute after the air began to “feel too fresh to be good for him.”

  Having received this solemn assurance, Mrs. Mathews with an easy conscience set off upon her drive with a feeling of unspeakable enjoyment from having Janet Anderson seated beside her in the carriage. The handsome grandfather and the handsome grandson, both extremely well mounted, caracoled beside them, and then it was that, perhaps for the first time, my heroine became fully aware of the advantage of uniting two incomes for purposes of domestic accommodation, for without this she could not have taken Janet Anderson out with her so pleasantly.

  On arriving at the Manor-house they found that the gentlemen had already been admitted to Lady Otterborne’s morning-room, and her ladyship was still engaged in listening to Mr. Mathews’ rather confused, and rather elaborate account of the unexpected arrival of his grandson.

  Lady Otterborne always received Mrs. Mathews with marked kindness, and she did so now; and the tall delicate-looking girl in deep mourning, who was introduced by the lady of Weldon Grange as “a very dear young friend,” was also received with a smile so gentle and so courteous, as to put her much more at her ease than she had hoped to be in any fine lady’s English house that she was likely to enter.

  There was a sort of meek gentleness of manner in Lady Otterborne, partly the
result of her natural temper, and partly of the habitual indifference which is apt to grow upon quiet, undemonstrative people, when they live with others who are most particularly the reverse.

  Sir Charles Otterborne might indeed very truly be said to be the reverse of his lady in all things. She was by nature affectionate, kind, and what the French most expressively term serviable; for she was prone to help all those who wanted help; and where this divine feeling is genuine and strong, there is little or no propensity to magnify the promptings of polite civility into a fictitious imitation of it.

  But with Sir Charles the case was different. There was no truth in him. He was naturally, systematically, and habitually false; and, moreover, his manner was as completely the reverse of hers, as were his feelings; for his demonstrations were pretty nearly as vehement as they were false.

  Many people, nay, perhaps most people of Lady Otterborne’s acquaintance considered her as cold, and very reserved, whereas the majority classed Sir Charles among the most warm-hearted and frank-natured of mortals.

  Mrs. Mathews certainly was not one of this majority. She did not think Sir Charles Otterborne frank-natured, neither was she greatly disposed to give him credit for any very kindly warmth of heart; but the drum-like hollowness of his demonstrative cordiality was more perceptible to her acuteness than was the real nature of his tranquil-seeming wife.

  Mrs. Mathews, indeed, had often felt a sort of suspicion that there was more of deep feeling in the heart of the pale and anxious looking Lady Otterborne than she chose to make visible to ordinary eyes.

  But she never felt very sure about it; she felt, too, that there was no such intimacy of friendship between them as could justify her endeavouring to discover more of her ladyship’s feelings than it was her wish to disclose, and she therefore very quietly permitted herself to remain in doubt as to whether Lady Otterborne was one of the most admirable and self-forgetting human beings that ever lived, or only a very tranquil-tempered woman, whose object was to pass through life without giving herself any more trouble about anything than was absolutely necessary.