Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  The revulsion of feeling produced by this most unexpected address was violent indeed. Her whole being seemed changed in a moment. Her heart beat, her eyes sparkled with recovered happiness, and she literally remembered nothing but that she was going to sing to him again. In answer to his question, she said with a smile that made him very nearly as forgetful of all around as herself, “Do you think I had better do it?... Or shall I ask Elizabeth?”

  “No, no; ask no one,” he replied.

  “And what shall I sing?” again whispered Agnes.

  “The last song you sang this morning,” was the reply.

  Orpheus was never inspired by a more powerful feeling than that which now animated the renovated spirit of Agnes, and she performed as she never had performed before.

  The result was a burst of applause, that ought, selon les regles, to have been overpowering to her feelings; yet there she stood, blushing a little certainly, but looking as light-hearted and as happy as the Peri when readmitted into Paradise. Just at this moment, and exactly as Colonel Hubert was offering his arm to lead her back again to a place among the company, Mrs. Barnaby, feathered, rouged, ringleted, and desperately determined to share the honours of the hour, made her way, proud in the consciousness of attracting an hundred eyes, up to the conspicuous place where Agnes stood. She had already taken Colonel Hubert’s arm, and for an instant he seemed disposed to attempt leading her off in the contrary direction; but if he really meditated so bold a measure, he was completely foiled, for Mrs. Barnaby, laying her hand on his in a very friendly way, exclaimed in her most fascinating style of vivacity, —

  “No, no, Colonel ... you are vastly obliging; but I must take care of my own niece, if you please!... She sings just like her poor mother, my dear Mary,” she added, changing her tone to a sentimental whine.... “I assure you it is almost too much for my feelings;” and as she said this she drew the unhappy Agnes away, having thrown her arm round her waist, while she kissed her affectedly on the forehead.

  Colonel Hubert hovered about her for a few minutes; but whatever might be the fascinations that attracted him, they were apparently not strong enough to resist another personal attack from Mrs. Barnaby.

  “What a crowd!” she exclaimed, suddenly turning towards him. “Do, Colonel, give me your arm, and we will go and eat some ice in the other room;” upon which he suddenly retreated among the throng, and in two minutes had left the house. It is true, that at the moment the widow so audaciously asked for his arm, Frederick Stephenson was just presenting his to Agnes, which it is possible might have added impulse to the velocity of this sudden exit; but whichever was the primary feeling, both together were more than he could bear; and accordingly, like many other conquered heroes, he sought safety in flight.

  Of what happened in that room during the rest of the evening, poor Agnes could have given no account; to sing again she assured her friends was quite beyond her power, and she looked so very pale and so very miserable as she said this, that they believed she had really over-exerted herself; and, delighted by the brilliant success of her one song, permitted her to remain unmolested by further solicitations.

  Frederick Stephenson also doubted not that the unusual effort she had made before so large a party was one cause of her evident dejection, though he could not but feel that the appearance and manner of her aunt were likely enough to increase this; but, at all events, it was no time to breathe into her ear the tale of love he had prepared for it; so, after asking Miss Peters if he should be likely to find her friend at Rodney Place on the following morning, and receiving from her a cordial ... “Oh! yes, certainly,” he also took his leave, more in love than ever; and though mortified by the disappointment this long-expected evening had brought him, as sanguine as ever in his hopes for the morrow.

  Mrs. Barnaby was one of the last guests that departed, as, next to the pleasure of being made love to, the gratification of finding herself in a large party, with the power of calling the giver of it her “dear sister,” ranked highest in her present estimation. Agnes was anxiously waiting for her signal to depart; but no sooner was she shut up in the fly with her than she heartily wished herself back again, for a torrent of scolding was poured forth upon her as unexpected as it was painful.

  “And it is thus, ungrateful viper as you are, that you reward my kindness!... Never have you deigned to tell me that you could sing ... no, you wicked, wicked creature, you leave me to find it out by accident; while your new friends, or rather new strangers, are made your confidants, — while I am to sit by and look like a fool, because I never heard of it before!...”

  “It was only because there was a pianoforte there, aunt.... I cannot sing without one.”

  “Ungrateful wretch!... reproaching me with not spending my last shilling in buying pianofortes! But I will tell you, miss, what your fine singing shall end in.... You shall go upon the stage ... mark my words ... you shall go upon the stage, Miss Willoughby, and sing for your bread. No husband of mine shall ever be taxed to maintain such a mean-spirited, ungrateful, conceited upstart as you are!”

  Agnes attempted no farther explanation; and the silent tears these revilings drew, were too well in accordance with her worn-out spirits and sinking heart to be very painful. She only longed for her closet, and the unbroken stillness of night, that she might shed them without fear of interruption. But this was destined to be a night of disappointments, for even this melancholy enjoyment was denied her.

  On arriving at their lodgings, the door was opened by the servant of the house; and when Mrs. Barnaby imperiously demanded, “Where is my maid?... where is Jerningham?” she was told that Jerningham had gone out, and was not yet returned.

  Now Jerningham was an especial favourite with her mistress, being a gossip and a sycophant of the first order; and the delinquency of not being come home at very nearly one o’clock in the morning, elicited no expression of anger, but a good deal of alarm.

  “Dear me!... what can have become of her?... Poor dear girl, I fear she must have met with some accident!... What o’clock was it when she went out?”... Such questionings lasted till the stairs were mounted, and the lady had entered her bed-room.

  But no sooner did she reach the commode and place her candle upon it, than she uttered a tremendous scream, followed by exclamations which speedily explained to Agnes and the servant the misfortune that had befallen her. “I am robbed — I am ruined!... Look here!... look here!... my box broken open, and every farthing of money gone.... All my forks too!... all my spoons, and my cream-jug, and my mustard-pot!... I am ruined — I am robbed!... But you shall be answerable, — the mistress of the house shall be answerable.... You must have let the thieves in ... you must, for the house-door was not broke open.”

  The girl of the house looked exceedingly terrified, and asked if she had not better call up her mistress.

  “To be sure you had, you fool!... Do you think I am going to sleep in a room where thieves have been suffered to enter while I was out?... How do I know but they may be lurking about still, waiting to murder me?”

  The worthy widow to whom the house belonged speedily joined the group in nightcap and bedgown, and listened half awake to Mrs. Barnaby’s clamorous account of her misfortune.

  As soon as she began to understand the statement, which was a good deal encumbered by lamentations and threats, the quiet little old woman, without appearing to take the least offence at the repeated assertion that she must have let the thieves in herself, turned to her servant and said, —

  “Is the lady’s maid come in, Sally?”

  “No, ma’am,” said Sally; “she has never come back since she went out with the gentleman’s servant as comed to fetch her.”

  “Then you may depend upon it, ma’am, that ’tis your maid as have robbed you,” said the landlady.

  “My maid!... What! Jerningham?... Impossible!... She is the best girl in the world — an innocent creature that I had away from school.... ’Tis downright impossible, and I never will believe
it.”

  “Well, ma’am,” said the widow, “let it be who it will, it won’t be possible to catch ’em to-night; and I would advise you to go to bed, for the poor young lady looks pale and frightened; ... and to-morrow morning, ma’am, I would recommend your asking Mr. Peters what is best to be done.”

  “And how am I to be sure that there are no thieves in the house now?” cried Mrs. Barnaby.... “Open the door of your closet, Agnes, and look under the beds; ... and you, Mrs. Crocker, you must go into the drawing-room, and down stairs and up stairs, and everywhere, before I lay my poor dear head upon my pillow.... I don’t choose to have my throat cut, I promise you. — Good Heavens!... What will Major Allen say?”

  “I don’t think, ma’am, that we should any of us like to have our throats cut,” replied Mrs. Crocker; “and luckily there is no great likelihood of it, I fancy.... Good night, ladies.”

  And without waiting for any further discussion, the sleepy mistress of the mansion crept back to bed ... her hand-maiden followed her example, and Agnes was left alone to receive upon her devoted head the torrent of lamentations by which the bereaved Mrs. Barnaby gave vent to her sorrows during great part of the night.

  On the following morning the widow took Mrs. Crocker’s very reasonable advice, and repaired to Rodney Place in time to find Mr. Peters before he set off on his daily walk to Bristol. Agnes, pale, fatigued, and heavy-hearted, accompanied her, and so striking was the change in her appearance from what it had been the day before, that those of the party round the breakfast-table, who best loved her, were much more pleased than pained, when they learned that the cause of her bad night and consequent ill looks, was her aunt’s having been robbed of nearly a hundred pounds and a few articles of plate.

  They were too judicious, however, to mention their satisfaction, and the sorrows of the widow received from all the party a very suitable measure of condolence. Mr. Peters indeed did much more than condole with her, for he cordially offered his assistance; and it was soon settled, by his advice, that Mrs. Barnaby should immediately accompany him to the mayor, and afterwards proceed according to the instructions of a lawyer to whom he immediately dispatched a note, requesting that he would meet them forthwith before the magistrate. The carriage was then ordered: Agnes, by the advice of all parties, was left at Rodney Place; and Mrs. Barnaby, somewhat comforted, but still in great tribulation, set off in her dear sister’s coach (her best consolation) to testify before the mayor of Bristol, not only that she had been robbed, but that there certainly was some reason to suppose her maid Jerningham the thief.

  Mr. Peters found his lawyer ready to receive them, who, after hearing the lady’s statement, obtained a warrant for the apprehension of Elizabeth Jacks and of William —— (surname unknown), groom or valet, or both, to Major Allen, lodging at Gloucester Row, Clifton. The widow had very considerable scruples concerning the implication of this latter individual; but having allowed that she thought he must be the “gentleman’s servant” spoken of by Mrs. Crocker’s maid as having accompanied Jerningham when she left the house, she was assured that it would be necessary to include him; and she finally consented, on its being made manifest to her that, if he proved innocent, there would be no difficulty whatever in obtaining his release. Mrs. Barnaby was then requested accurately to describe the persons of her maid and her supposed companion, which she did very distinctly, and with the less difficulty, because the persons of both were remarkable.

  “There wasn’t another man likely to be in her company, was there, ma’am?” said a constable who was in attendance in the office.

  “No,” replied Mrs. Barnaby confidently, “I don’t know any one at all likely to be with her. I am almost sure that she had not any other acquaintance.”

  “But the man might,” observed another official.

  “That’s true,” rejoined the first, “and therefore I strongly suspect that I saw the girl and the man too enter a house on the quay just fit for such sort of company; ... but there was another fellow along with them.”

  “Then we will charge you with the warrant, Miles,” said the magistrate. “If you can succeed in taking them into custody at once, it is highly probable that you may be able to recover the property.”

  This hint rendered the widow extremely urgent that no time should be lost; and in case the constable should succeed in finding them at the place he had named, she consented to remain in a room attached to the office, that no time might be lost in identifying the parties.

  “There will be no harm, I suppose, in taking the other fellow on suspicion, if I find them still together?” said the constable; adding, “I rather think I know something of that t’other chap already.” He received authority to do this, and then departed, leaving Mrs. Barnaby, her faithful squire, Mr. Peters, and the lawyer, seated on three stools in a dismal sort of apartment within the office, the lady, at least, being in a state of very nervous expectation. This position was not a pleasant one; but fortunately it did not last long, for in considerably less than an hour they were requested to return into the office, the three prisoners being arrived.

  Mr. Peters gave the lady his arm, and they entered by a door exactly facing the spot on which stood the three persons just brought in, with the constable and two attendant officers behind them. The group, as expected, consisted of two men and a girl, which latter was indeed the tall and slender Betty Jacks, and no other; the man at her left hand was William, the Major’s civil groom; and he at her right was ... no, it was impossible, ... yet she could not mistake ... it must be, and, in fact, it was that pattern of faithful friendship, Captain Maintry!

  Mrs. Barnaby’s agitation was now, beyond all suspicion of affectation, very considerable, and his worship obligingly ordered a glass of water and a chair, which having been procured and profited by, he asked her if she knew the prisoners.

  “Yes!...” she answered with a long-drawn sigh.

  “Can you point them out by name?”

  “The girl is my maid Jer ... Betty Jacks ... that man is William, Major Allen’s groom ... and that other....”

  “You had better stop there,” interrupted the self-styled captain, “or you may chance to say more than you know.”

  “You had better be silent, I promise you,” said the magistrate. “Pray, ma’am, do you know that person?... Did you ever see him before?”

  “Yes, I have seen him before,” replied Mrs. Barnaby, who was pale in spite of her rouge; for the recollection of all the affectionate intimacy she had witnessed between this man and her affianced Major turned her very sick, and it was quite as much as she could do to articulate.

  “I should be sorry, ma’am, to trouble you with any unnecessary questions,” said the magistrate; “but I must beg you to tell me, if you please, where it is you have seen him, and what he is called?”

  “I saw him in the Mall at Clifton, sir,” ... replied Mrs. Barnaby.

  “And many an honest man besides me may have been seen in the Mall at Clifton,” said the soi-disant Captain Maintry laughing.

  “And you have never seen him anywhere else, ma’am?”

  “No, sir, never.”

  “Pray, was he then in company with that groom?”

  “No,” ... replied the widow faltering.

  Maintry laughed again.

  “You cannot then swear that you suspect him of having robbed you?”

  “No, sir.”

  Here the constable whispered something in the ear of the magistrate, who nodded, and then resumed his examination.

  “Did you hear this man’s name mentioned, madam, when you saw him in the Mall?”

  “Yes, sir, I did.”

  “That has nothing to do with the present business,” interrupted Maintry, “and therefore you have no right to ask it.”

  “I suspect that you have called yourself in this city by more names than one,” replied the magistrate; “and I have a right to discover this if I can.... By what name did you hear him called when you saw him at Clifton, ma’am?�
��

  “I heard him called Captain Maintry.”

  “Captain indeed!... These fellows are all captains and majors, I think,” said the magistrate, making a memorandum of the name. Mrs. Barnaby’s heart sunk within her. She remembered the promise of marriage, and that so acutely as almost to make her forget the business that brought her there.

  The magistrate and the lawyer, however, were less oblivious, and proceeded in the usual manner to discover whether there were sufficient grounds of suspicion against any of the parties to justify committal. The very first question addressed to Betty Jacks settled the business, for she began crying and sobbing at a piteous rate, and said, “If mistress will forgive me I’ll tell her all about it, and a great deal more too; and ’twasn’t my fault, nor William’s neither, half so much as Joe Purdham’s, for he set us on;” and she indicated Joe Purdham with a finger which, as her lengthy arm reached within an inch of his nose, could not be mistaken as to the person to whom it intended to act as index. But had this been insufficient, the search instituted on the persons of the trio would have supplied all the proof wanted. Very nearly all the money was discovered within the lining of Purdham’s hat; the pockets of Betty were heavy with forks and spoons, and the cream-jug and mustard-pot, carelessly enveloped each in a pocket-handkerchief, were lodged upon the person of William.

  In a word, the parties were satisfactorily identified and committed to prison; the property of Mrs. Barnaby was in a fair way of being restored, and her very disagreeable business at Bristol done and over, leaving nothing but a ride back in her sister’s coach to be accomplished.

  Mr. Peters offered his arm to lead her out, and with a dash of honest triumph at having so ably managed matters, said, “Well, madam ... I hope you are pleased with the termination of this business?”