Collected Works of Frances Trollope
Page 139
“And I’m sure you well deserve it. I never heard anything so clever in my life,” replied Mrs. Barnaby. “But how soon shall we begin our walk?”
“Now directly, if you please.... I will go and put on my hat ... that was what I said to you in French.... Eel foh meytra mong shappo.”
Mrs. Barnaby then repaired to her toilet; and having done her very utmost to make herself as conspicuously splendid and beautiful as possible, turned to Agnes, who was still writing in her dark corner, and said,... “You had better finish what you are about, Agnes, and I hope it is something that will improve you.... I am going out with Miss Morrison on business ... and if the evening is fine, I will take you a walk somewhere or other.”
Agnes again blessed their rencontre with this valuable new friend, and saw the satin and feathers of her aunt disappear with a feeling of great thankfulness that she was spared the necessity of attending them.
On leaving Mrs. Barnaby, Mr. Alexander Pringle paid a visit to his good friend and patient Lady Elizabeth Norris, (the aunt of Colonel Hubert,) who, as usual, was passing a few weeks of the season at Cheltenham, as much for the sake of refreshing her spirits by the variety of its company, as for the advantage of taking a daily glass of water at its spring. The worthy apothecary was as useful by the information and gossippings he furnished on the former subject, as by his instructions on the latter, and was invariably called in, the day after her ladyship’s arrival, however perfect the state of her health might be; and given moreover to understand that a repetition of a professional visit would be expected at least three times a week during her stay.
He now found the old lady sitting alone; for Sir Edward and Lady Stephenson, who were her guests, were engaged in one of their favourite morning expeditions, exploring the beautiful environs of the town, a pleasure which they enjoyed as uninterruptedly as the most sentimental newly-married pair could desire, as, by a strange but very general spirit of economy, few of the wealthy and luxurious visitants of Cheltenham indulge themselves in the expense of a turnpike.
“Soh! Pringle ... you are come at last, are you?” said Lady Elizabeth.... “I have been expecting you this hour ... the Stephensons’ are off and away again to the world’s end, in search of wild flowers and conjugal romance, leaving me to my own devices — a privilege worth little or nothing, unless you can add something new to my list here for next Wednesday.”
“Perhaps I may be able to assist your ladyship,” returned her Esculapius; “that is, provided Lady Stephenson knows nothing about it, for I fear she has not yet forgiven my introduction of Mr. Myrtle and the two Misses Tonkins.”
“Stuff and nonsense!... What does it signify, now she is married and out of the way, what animals I get into my menagerie?... But I don’t think, Pringle, that you are half such a clever truffle-dog as you used to be.... What a time it is since you have told me of anything new!”
“Upon my word, my lady, it is not my fault,” replied the apothecary, laughing; “I never see or hear anything abroad without treasuring it in my memory for your ladyship’s service; and I am now come expressly to mention a new arrival at the —— , which appears to promise well.”
“I rejoice.... Is it male or female?”
“Female, my lady, and there are two.”
“Of the same species, and the same race?”
“Decidedly not; but the contrast produces a very pleasant effect; and, moreover, though infinitely amusing, they are quite comme il faut. I understand the elder lady is sister to Mrs. Peters of Clifton.”
Mr. Pringle then proceeded to describe his visit to Mrs. Barnaby, and did justice to the florid style of her beauty, dress, and conversation. But when he came to speak of the young girl who was vouée au noir, and of her aunt’s pertinacious resolution that she should take the waters and be treated as an invalid, notwithstanding the very excellent state of her health, the old lady rubbed her hands together, and exultingly exclaimed, “Good!... admirable!... You are a very fine fellow, Pringle, and have hit this off well. Why, man, I saw your delightful widow this morning at the Pump, rouge, ringlets, and all;... I saw her taste the waters and turn sick; and now, because she must have a reason for shewing herself at the Pump, she is going to make the poor girl drink for her.... Capital creature!... I understand it all ... poor little girl!... And so the widow wants acquaintance, does she?... I offer myself, my drawing-room shall be open to her, Pringle.... And now, how can I manage to get introduced to her?”
“You will not find that very difficult, Lady Elizabeth, depend upon it.... I will undertake to promise for this Mrs. Barnaby, that she will be visible wherever men and women congregate. At the ball, for instance, to-morrow night; does your ladyship intend to be there?”
“Certainly.... And if she be there, I will manage the matter of introduction, with or without intervention, and so obtain this full-blown peony for my shew on Wednesday next.”
Whilst fate and Mr. Pringle were thus labouring in one quarter of the town to bring Mrs. Barnaby into notice, she was herself not idle in another in her exertions to produce the same effect. The sale-room, to which the experienced Miss Morrison led her, was already full when they entered it; but the little difficulty which preceded their obtaining seats was rather favourable to them than otherwise; for, as if on purpose to display the sagacity of that lady’s prognostications, two of the gentlemen who had made part of their company at breakfast, not only made room for them, but appeared well disposed to enter into conversation, and to offer every attention they could desire.
“Mr. Griffiths, if I mistake not,” said Miss Morrison, bowing to one of them; “I hope you have been quite well, sir, since we met last year.... Give me leave to introduce, Mr. Griffiths, Mrs. Barnaby.”
“I am happy to make your acquaintance,” said the gentleman, bowing low. “Your young friend whom I saw with you this morning is not here ... is she?”
“No, sir,” replied Mrs. Barnaby, in the most amiable tone imaginable; “the dear girl is pursuing her morning studies at home.”
“Introduce me, Griffiths,” whispered his companion.
“Mr. Patterson, Mrs. Barnaby; Mr. Patterson, Miss Morrison,” and a very social degree of intimacy appeared to be immediately established.
“Oh! what a lovely vase!” exclaimed Mrs. Barnaby. “What an elegant set of candle-sticks!” cried Miss Morrison, as the auctioneer brought forward the articles to be bid for, which being followed by a variety of interesting observations on nearly all the people, and nearly all the goods displayed before them, afforded Mrs. Barnaby such an opportunity of being energetic and animated, that more than one eye-glass was turned towards her, producing that reciprocity of cause and effect which it is so interesting to trace; for the more the gentlemen and ladies looked at her, the more Mrs. Barnaby talked and laughed, and the more Mrs. Barnaby talked and laughed, the more the gentlemen and ladies looked at her. Flattered, fluttered, and delighted beyond measure, the eyes of the widow wandered to every quarter of the room; and for some time every quarter of the room appeared equally interesting to her; but at length her attention was attracted by the almost fixed stare of an individual who stood in the midst of a knot of gentlemen at some distance, but nearly opposite to the place she occupied.
“Can you tell me, sir, who that tall, stout gentleman is in the green frock-coat, with lace and tassels?... That one who is looking this way with an eye-glass.”
“The gentleman with red hair?” returned Mr. Patterson, to whom the question was addressed.
“Yes, that one, rather sandy, but a very fine-looking man.”
“That is Lord Mucklebury, Mrs. Barnaby.... He is a great amateur of beauty; and upon my word he seems exceedingly taken with some fair object or other in this part of the room.”
The sight of land after a long voyage is delightful ... rest is delightful after labour, food after fasting; but it may be doubted if either of these joys could bear comparison with the emotion that now swelled the bosom of Mrs. Barnaby. This was the first time, t
o the best of her knowledge and belief, that she had ever been looked at by a lord at all ... and what a look it was!... No passing glance, no slight unmeaning regard, directed first to one and then to another beauty, but a long, steady, direct, and unshrinking stare, such as might have made many women leave the room, but which caused the heart of Mrs. Barnaby to palpitate with a degree of ecstasy which she had never felt before — no, not even when the most admired officer of a new battalion first fixed his looks upon her in former days, and advanced in the eyes of all the girls to ask her to dance; ... for no Lord anything had ever done so; and thus, the fulness of her new-born joy, while it had the vigorous maturity of ripened age, glowed also with the early brightness of youth. It might indeed have been said of Mrs. Barnaby at that moment, that, “like Mrs. Malaprop and the orange-tree, she bore blossom and fruit at once.”
One proof of the youthful freshness of her emotion was the very naïve manner in which it was betrayed. She could not sit still ... her eyes rose and fell ... her head turned and twisted ... her reticule opened and shut ... and the happy man who set all this going must have had much less experience than my Lord Mucklebury, if he had not immediately perceived the effect of himself and his eye-glass.
Could Mrs. Barnaby have known at that moment the influence produced by the presence of Miss Morrison, she would have wished her a thousand fathoms deep in the ocean; for certain it is, that nothing but her well-known little quizzical air of unquestionable Cheltenham respectability, prevented the noble lord from crossing the room, and amusing himself, without the ceremony of an introduction, in conversing with the sensitive lady, whose bright eyes and bright rouge had drawn his attention to her. As it was, however, he thought he had better not, and contented himself by turning to his ever-useful friend Captain Singleton, and saying in a tone, the familiarity of which failed not to make up for its imperiousness, “Singleton!... go and find out who that great woman is in the green satin and pink feathers ... there’s a good fellow.”
Mrs. Barnaby did not hear the words, but she saw the mission as plainly as my Lord Mucklebury saw her, and her heart thereupon began to beat so violently, that she had no breath left to demand the sympathy of her friend under circumstances so pregnant with interest. But though she hardly knew where she was, nor what she did, she still retained sufficient presence of mind to mark how the obedient envoy addressed himself (and, alas! in vain) first to one lounger, and then to another, who all replied by a shake of the head, which said with terrible distinctness, “I don’t know.”
“Gracious heaven, how provoking!” murmured Mrs. Barnaby, as she pressed her delicately-gloved hand upon her heart to still its beating.... “He will leave the room without finding out my name!”... Had she been only a few hours longer acquainted with Mr. Patterson, it is highly probable she would have desired him, if asked by the little gentleman in black, so actively making his way through the crowd, what her name was, just to have the kindness to mention that it was Barnaby. But though very civil, Mr. Patterson was rather ceremonious; and the unsuccessful messenger had returned to his lord, and delivered all the shakes of the head which he had received condensed into one, before she could resolve on so frank a mode of proceeding. For a few moments longer, however, the amused nobleman continued his fascinating gaze; and then, giving a signal with his eye to Singleton that it was his pleasure to move, that active personage cleared the way before him; and the fat viscount, with his hands in his waistcoat-pockets, stalked out of the room, but not without turning his head, and giving one bold, final, open-eyed, steady look at the agitated widow.
“That man is my fate!” she softly whispered to her soul, as the last frog on the hinder part of his coat has passed from her eye; ... and then, like the tender convolvolus when the sunbeam that reached it has passed away, she drooped and faded till she looked more like a sleeping picture of Mrs. Barnaby than Mrs. Barnaby herself.
“Do you not find the room very close, Miss Morrison?” said she, after enduring for a minute or two the sort of vacuum that seemed to weigh upon her senses.
“Poing do too,” replied Miss Morrison, speaking through her nose, which was one method by which she was wont to convey the true Parisian accent, when she desired that it should be particularly perfect.... “Poing do too, Mrs. Barnaby, ... however, I am quite ready to go if you like it, for I don’t think I shall buy anything this morning, and I don’t see many acquaintance here.”
Mrs. Barnaby immediately rose; the two civil gentlemen made way for them, and the widow, followed by her friend, walked out a more pensive, though not, perhaps, a less happy woman, than when she walked in.
CHAPTER XIV.
A CHELTENHAM BALL. — AN INTRODUCTION. — A CONQUEST.
A great deal of profound meditation was bestowed by Mrs. Barnaby on the occurrences of that morning before the time arrived for the toilet, preparatory to the ball of the succeeding night. All these will shew themselves in their results as they arise; and for the present it will be only necessary to mention, that, in providing for this toilet, everything approaching to the sordid cares dictated by economy was banished. The time was too short to admit of her ordering a new dress for this occasion; though the powerful feeling at work within her caused a white satin, decorated in every possible way with the richest blonde, to be bespoken for the next. Every other article that Cheltenham could furnish, (and it being the height of the season, Paris itself could hardly do more for her,) every other species of expensive decoration, short of diamonds and pearls, was purchased for this important ball, at which something within her — speaking with the authority of an oracle — declared that she should become acquainted with Lord Mucklebury. Busy as were the afternoon and morning which intervened, she found time for the very necessary business of ordering her broker (he had been her father’s broker too) to sell out five hundred pounds stock for her; and this done, and her letter safely deposited in the boarding-house letter-bag, she turned her thoughts towards Agnes.
She had certainly, to use her own language when reasoning the point with herself, the very greatest mind in the world not to take her to the ball at all. But this mind, great as it was, was not a settled mind, and was presently shaken by a sort of instinctive consciousness that there was in Agnes, independent of her beauty, a something that might help to give consequence to her entrée. “As to her dress,” thought she, “I am perfectly determined that it shall be the same she wore at Clifton, ... not so much on account of the expense ... at the present moment it would be madness to permit such a consideration to have any effect; ... but because it gives her an air more distinguished, more remarkable than any one else; ... and besides ... who knows but that the contrast of style, beautiful as she is, may be favourable to me?... I have not forgotten our fellow-traveller from Silverton ... she seemed to freeze him. And let her freeze my adorable viscount too, so that I”.... But here her thoughts came too rapidly to dress themselves in words, and for a few minutes her reverie was rather a tumult than a meditation.
“Yes, she shall go!” she exclaimed at last, rising from the sofa, and collecting a variety of precious parcels, the result of her shopping; “Yes, she shall go to the ball; and should any mischief be likely to follow, I will make her go out to service before the end of the week.”
Having thus at last come to a determination, and upon reasonings which she felt were not likely to be shaken, she mounted to her sleeping apartment, and after indulging herself by spreading forth various articles of newly-purchased finery upon the bed, she turned to the corner in which Agnes, her tiny table, her books, and writing apparatus, were all packed away together in the smallest possible space, and said, “Come here, Agnes ... you must have done lessons enough for to-day, and I have great news for you. Where do you think I mean to take you to-night?”
Agnes cast her eyes upon the bed, and immediately anticipating some public display of which she was doomed to be a witness, replied in a tone that was anything but joyful, —
“I don’t know, aunt.”
Agnes sighed; she thought of her last ball, of all its pains and all its pleasures; and feeling but too sure that it was as impossible she should escape the former, as improbable that she should find the latter, she replied mournfully enough, “I would rather not go, if you please, aunt ... I do not like balls.’”
“Upon my honour, Agnes, if I had not a temper that was proof against everything, I should be tempted to box your ears.... Is it possible to see anything more disgustingly hypocritical, than a girl of seventeen screwing herself up, and saying, ‘I do not like balls’.... I wonder what you do like, Miss Prim? But, I promise you, I do not intend to ask your leave for what I do; and as long as you eat my bread, you will do as I bid you ... or else, turn out, and provide for yourself at once. Let me hear no more such stuff, if you please; but take care to make yourself decent, and be ready to get into the carriage exactly at nine o’clock.... Do you hear?”