The inference, therefore, clearly was, that lovely as she thought her Janet, Herbert Otterborne thought his magnificent Emily more lovely still; till at length she brought herself to indulge in a little quizzing smile at her own partiality, which made it so very difficult for her to believe that any beauty in the world could equal in attraction the beauty of John Anderson’s daughter.
Neither did all her watchfulness enable her to discern any very serious cause for alarm on account of the gentle Janet herself. She might still occasionally be seen with an open book in her hand, without displaying to the spectator any very certain evidence that she was reading it; but as she appeared in all other respects to be in a very happy and healthful state, both of mind and body, her adopted and most doting mother laughed away all her own fears of the miseries of a hopeless attachment with which she had certainly begun to torment herself with more of romance than was at all befitting the wisdom of Mrs. Mathews of “The den.”
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THINGS had gone on in this manner, apparently in a state of great tranquillity, for several days. Minny had contrived to pacify her father, Stephen Cornington had contrived to pacify her, and Emily had contrived to pacify Stephen Cornington, not by anything she had said to him, but by contriving to keep out of his way, having accompanied her portly papa and mamma upon a visit of some duration to a family at a distance, who did not enjoy the honour of Mr. Cornington’s acquaintance. Things went on for several days in this manner, but they could not go on so for ever. However well inclined Miss Emily Steyton might be to forget her moonlight walk in the woods of Knightly, Mr. Stephen Cornington had not forgotten, nor did he intend to forget, any single circumstance connected with the said walk, or any single word uttered by the beautiful Emily in the course of it.
The young lady had confessed to him, before their tête-à-tête ramble had lasted more than ten minutes, that she was tired to death of Herbert Otterborne; and about ten minutes before it ended, she pledged her word to him that she would play the said Herbert a trick worth two of his, when he handed about his lady-mother, instead of handing her, for that she would marry him, the said Stephen Cornington, instead.
And never since love and marriage were invented, could any gentleman have been found more desperately purposed to fulfil the promise he had given in return, than was Mr. Stephen Coming-ton.
He bore the absence of his affianced love with very tolerable patience for about a week, and he bore it the better, perhaps, because his other affianced love, the pretty Minny, had accompanied her mistress on her visit.
But at length Sunday arrived, and Miss Emily appeared at church, and Miss Minny appeared at church also; and then it was that Mr. Mathews’ magnificent grandson determined to bring matters to a very speedy conclusion. He had already fully made up his mind as to the manner in which this conclusion was to be brought about; and he had gone further still, for he had already so well arranged his affairs as to be perfectly well prepared for an elopement, even if his beautiful Emily’s privy purse proved as empty as his own had been, before he had explained the nature of his position to his delighted grandfather.
It would really be scarcely saying more than the truth, if I averred that the old gentleman was quite as much delighted with the scheme as the young one. Every feeling left alive within him appeared gratified to the greatest possible extent.
The glory of seeing his matchless grandson seize upon the golden prize that the haughty Otterbornes had sought to gain, and carry it off, despite the well-known stigma on his birth, was a species of triumph to which he was most keenly sensible; and it was with a feeling little short of rapture that he gave him a cheque upon the Hertford Bank for one hundred pounds, which, as they were already, as he facetiously observed, on the north road, would, he hoped, be sufficient to pay their travelling expenses to Gretna Green and back again.
So far everything seemed to smile most propitiously on the hopes and fortunes of the young West Indian, but malignant Fate sat by, smiling, in the form of pretty Minny Stokes.
The Church at Weldon has a handsome and an ample porch; so ample as to permit persons of low degree to linger within its shade, while persons of high degree pass through it in dignified procession, as they leave the sacred edifice. Among the latter was the magnificent Stephen Cornington; among the former, the humble Minny Stokes.
Minny had been the first to quit the pew appropriated to the use of the Weldon Lodge domestics, but the last to linger in the porch; for it was not till nearly all the congregation had passed through it, that the bright curls of her faithless lover were seen waving above the tall hats of the rest.
Stephen Cornington had, in fact, lingered behind his parly for the purpose of whispering in the ear of Emily, his assurance that he should be at the “Lodge” within an hour. But the beautiful Emily was not just then in a humour to be so whispered to; and, therefore, when she was about half way down the church, she gave one of her own peculiarly lively twirls back again towards the vestry door, through which the Price family always made their exit — having, as she declared, something very particular indeed to say to her friend Louisa.
AY hat her whisperings to her friend might have been, it boots not here to tell, probably nothing very important; but the whisper of her maid to the stately stepping Stephen, intimated that he must contrive to meet her in a well-known lane within half-an-hour, or he would be after getting himself into terrible trouble.
Either by hit or wit, Minny had struck upon the right chord, for she frightened him; and, to say the truth, Stephen Cornington, notwithstanding his six feet two inches, was not a brave man, but, on the contrary, rather the reverse. Pier whisper was a very skilful one, for he heard it though nobody else did, and he was very obediently walking in the lane specified when Minny got there.
“You are out in your reckoning, you false-hearted villain!” were the words with which she greeted him; in reply to which he attempted to kiss her, — asked her what she had got in her head, and told her not to talk nonsense.
Her reproaches, and his denials, went on for some time with very little effect on either side, till at length he changed his tone, and told her very solemnly that if she would listen to him like a reasonable woman, he ‘would make her understand his real situation, and that then they might consult together as to what was best to be done, This seemed at once to act as a sedative, for he now, for the first time, offered to do precisely the thing which, from the very earliest commencement of their acquaintance, she had the most earnestly desired that he should do. Jemima Stokes was very much in love with the handsome Barbadian, but nevertheless she was an observant and sharp-witted girl, and was by no means slow in discovering that, let Mr. Stephen Cornington be as great a favourite with his grandpapa as it was possible for a grandson to be, there was still something very odd in one’s never having heard of him before.
Of course no mention had been made of his illegitimacy by any member of the Weldon Grange family, but it was probable that Minny Stokes was not the only individual in the parish who might have thought it odd that he had never been mentioned at all till he came to announce himself.
On the whole, however, no one seemed to care very much about it; Mr. Mathews had introduced him as his grandson, and this had proved quite sufficient to procure him admission to every house in the neighbourhood.
But with Minny the case was different, and this promise of being informed of all the particulars of his “real situation,” had the effect of making her refrain from uttering any more of the bitter reproaches with which she came armed to assail him.
How much there might have been of his bygone private history, with which he did not think it necessary to trouble her, we have no means of knowing, but he told her quite enough to make her clearly understand that if he would even be so obliging as immediately to marry her publicly, instead of privately, the marriage would not be a particularly advantageous one, for he very frankly informed her that he did not possess a single shilling in the world.
/> This very naturally made the most satisfactory argument in his defence, when she accused him of inconstancy.
“My plan, my darling Minny,” said he, “is to many your young lady, to receive the fortune, which is to be paid down in ready money on the wedding-day, and then to set off with you, dearest, in a postchaise and four for London, where we will stay till we are both of us tired of seeing sights, and then I will carry you home as my own dear wife, to my own beautiful country beyond the seas.”
The part assigned to her young lady in this plan appeared to have so small a portion of love in it, that the jealousy of Minny seemed to die a natural death as she listened to it; but this tender confidence on her part by no means atoned, in the opinion of Mr. Stephen, for the very disagreeable assurance which accompanied it, that Miss Emily seemed to be getting fonder again of Mr. Herbert than she had ever been in her life.
“She met him twice at dinner at different houses, while we was away; and she has gone on talking of her marriage with him ever since,” said Minny, coaxingly, playing with her lover’s curls as she spoke.
But dreadfully was the wretched girl startled when he broke from her, with the vehement gesticulation of a man suddenly deprived of his wits, and with eyes rolling, and fists clenched, declared, with a furious oath, that if he did not get Emily Steyton’s fortune, he would blow his brains out.
It was an awful thing for a poor country girl, who had never in her life witnessed any melodramatic performances, either on or off the stage, to listen to such a vow as this from the beloved of her heart; and Minny was awestruck accordingly. But when he unclenched his fists, and ceased to roll his eyes, she recovered herself; for the delightful fact that no word indicative of love to her rival had escaped him in his agony was very far from being lost upon her. Moreover she had the good sense to let him get a little cooler still, before she answered him, and when she did, it was not in the language of reproach, but encouragement.
“Don’t take on so!” she exclaimed, lovingly hanging upon his arm; “there’s nothing done or said yet, to prevent your having her fortune. She has called me fool and idiot, till I am got pretty well tired of hearing it, I can tell her; but may be there are others not that much sharper than me. You get hold of her again, Mr. Stephen, and just swear away till you have got no breath left, that you can’t live above a day or two longer without her; and take the idiot Minny’s word for it, that she will be ready to run off with you to-morrow. But there will be no need of any running off till such time as you run off with me, my own darling, for her father will no more refuse his consent to her marrying you, than to her marrying Squire Otterborne who has got for his fortune a good deal less than nothing at all.”
“And you really think, dearest,” replied her lover, who was softened into almost gentle tenderness by her hopeful words, “you really think, my darling Minny, that her father would let her jilt the young squire in that way, without making any difference in her fortune?”
“Let her! LET her, indeed, Mr. Stephen!” replied the girl with a sneer; “why he’d no more stand before her and say nay, if it was her will and pleasure to say yea, than he’d put his right hand into the fire, and his left one after it. You never saw my young lady in one of her tantrums, darling; but I have.”
“Well, my beauty, I’ll take your word for it, and act accordingly,” he replied. “But the first thing to be done,” he added, rather anxiously, “is for me to get at her, Minny. It seems to me that she is doing all she can to keep out of my way. That was the reason, I’ll be hanged if it wasn’t, for her fidgeting away after the Prices, instead of coming out of church in the common way.”
“And that’s true, and no mistake,” returned the confidential Abigail. “She has just veered again back to the young squire, as sure as your name’s Stephen; but if you really cannot run away with me without getting her money first, why I must bear it; and if I don’t put no stumbling-block in your way, you need not be faint-hearted about bringing her round again. She is just a perfect weathercock. If she had got any of my faithful trueness of heart, Stephen, I would have scorned to come in her way. But she hasn’t a bit of it; and for all her being back again so sweet upon Mr. Herbert, I’ll bet a pound to a penny that she’ll be all back again to you, if you do but fool her enough. And yet I hate the thought of your making love to her worse than poison! But what must be must be, I suppose.”
“And this must be, I promise you, my darling,” replied the young man, with a tender caress; “though I am no more in love with her, Minny, than I am with her fat mother; and you may guess how much that is.”
This lively sally put the faithful-hearted Jemima into such perfect good-humour, that she entered, in the frankest manner possible, into a consultation with her lover as to the ways and means of his obtaining a tête-à-tête interview with her mistress — an interview which they both felt to be extremely important, and which he was very fully determined should be decisive.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
IN the copse-like little wood which surrounded three sides of Mr. Steyton’s handsome mansion, a pretty little room had been erected in the form of a Grecian temple, inscribed above the door of which might be seen, in letters of gold, the words,
“SACRED TO FRIENDSHIP.”
The erection of the temple had been the work of Mr. Steyton’s predecessor; the touching inscription had been suggested by the beautiful Emil}-, when she was at home for her last midsummer vacation, before she finally left school.
To this temple, “sacred to friendship,” Miss Emily never failed to introduce all the young gentlemen of her acquaintance, and she was rewarded for the amiable temper which she displayed in thus seeking to share with her friends the pleasure which its agreeable aspect gave her, by hearing at least seven-eighths of the young gentlemen exclaim, as they read the inscription, “Oh!” or “Ah! Miss Steyton!” as the ease might be, “the motto ought to be ‘Sacred to love!’”
Mr. Stephen Cornington had of course already made the visit, and made the speech; and it was to this temple that Minny promised to induce her young lady to repair immediately after breakfast on the morrow.
“I know what I’ll say to make her go there,” said the faithful waiting-woman, with a wink; “I’ll just tell her that I think she’ll find Mr. Herbert there, and you’ll see if she don’t go fast enough. She’ll think it will be such a tip-top good opportunity for finishing the reconciliation between them.”
This was said in a manner which might have checked the ardour and the hopes of many young gentlemen, but upon Mr. Stephen their effect was different. It only made him feel that in love, as in war, all stratagems are lawful.
This conversation indeed was, on the whole, extremely satisfactory to both parties, for Mr. Stephen became more strongly convinced than ever, that the divine Emily was exactly the sort of treasure to be won by a coup-de-main; and Miss Jemima felt equally well assured, that the obtaining her young lady’s fortune by permitting the captivating Stephen to marry her before he ran away with her happier self, was a necessity to which, perforée, she must submit herself, if she ever hoped to be run away with at all.
If the calculations of the young man concerning his influence with the heiress were as well founded and as correct as those of her confidential maid, no plot could promise fairer to come to a successful conclusion; for no sooner had Minny observed on the following morning that the weather was uncommonly beautiful for a walk, and that she had just seen Squire Otterborne strolling, with a book in his hand, into the “Temple of Friendship,” than Miss Emily desired that her bonnet, scarf, parasol, and gloves should be instantly given to her.
These commands being obeyed, and the fair creature equipped in the most captivating manner for a stroll, she, too, seized upon a book, and sallied forth to enjoy the sun, the shade, the woodbine-scented air, or any other agreeable thing which might happen to present itself to her notice.
On entering the temple she immediately perceived that a gentleman had taken possession of one of th
e sofas, and, as a matter of course, she started. For how was it possible she could have seen any gentleman seated in dear papa’s “Temple of Friendship” without it? But when the gentleman on hearing the gentle little exclamation of “Oh!” sprang from the couch, and stood before her in the palpable form of Mr. Stephen Cornington, there was no affectation whatever in the renewed start, or the renewed “Oh!” which accompanied it.
The clever young Barbadian very skilfully took up his tender tale precisely at the point where he had left it at their last parting, which was, as we know, beneath the crumbling walls of Knightly Abbey.
All the passionate professions of undying love which had preceded this adieu, and which had been uttered beneath the trembling beams of the listening moon, can only be guessed at, because they were considerably too long and too redundant for repetition; but the last farewell pronounced on that occasion by Mr. Stephen was in these words, accompanied by a squeeze of the hand, intended to express a great deal more than any words could possibly do.
“Good nighty dear, darling angel! good night! Remember what you have promised me! Remember that you are mine for ever, and for ever, and for ever!”
To which Miss Emily had answered, Oh, dear me, yes! I will! I will! I will, indeed! Don’t hold me any more; the people will see you!”
To which reasonable remonstrance he had murmured in reply, “Adieu, my angel wife!”
And now, as I observed before, he began again where he had left off, and throwing himself on his knees before her, exclaimed again, “My angel wife!”
But oh, the heavy change! Instead of trembling a little, sighing a little, and blushing a good deal, the young lady gave a vigorous spring backwards, so as to extricate her dress, as well as her hand, from his grasp, and exclaimed, “Mercy on me! Mr. Stephen Cornington, what in the world is the matter with you?”
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 410
