Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  Nothing could be more touching than the manner in which Mr. Osmond Norval pressed his hat between his two hands, and bowed low, low, low, to the noble lady who thus announced him. Sir Matthew, with a stride which, for the vigorous distance it carried him, might have been compared to that of the knave of hearts, approached the young man, and strenuously pressing one of his slender hands in both his own capacious fists, attested the value he attached to her ladyship’s introduction by saying, “Mr. Osmond Norval! — I will not deny, that I do occasionally myself offer tribute at the muse’s shrine; and that being in some sort a brother of the craft, I most unfeignedly rejoice in making the acquaintance of a gentleman so distinguished in it as yourself. But that is not the feeling, sir, which principally leads me to tell you, that from this time forth, I shall hold you as one of my most esteemed friends — you understand me. That lady, sir,” pointing to Lady Clarissa, “is a person whose lightest word ought to be law in this neighbourhood, — and to me, is so. If you publish any works, put Sir Matthew Dowling’s name down, sir, for fifty copies; should you find yourself at any time in want of a library, pray remember that there is one of no very small limits at Dowling Lodge; and your reception, sir, in my drawing-room, and at my dinner-table, will ever be such as befits me to bestow on one honoured by the patronage of Lady Clarissa Shrimpton.”

  Before this speech was quite finished, Lady Dowling becoming rather fidgetty, ventured to mutter something about its being far better to sit down to talk; but Miss Brotherton was greatly too much amused by what was passing to hear her; and for Miss Mogg to sit while her patroness stood, was quite out of the question; so that Lady Dowling, and the too eldest Miss Dowlings, continued to stand like three finely-dressed flaxen-headed statues, to the end of it.

  Sir Matthew than led the high-born lady to a chair, while Miss Brotherton perceiving that her conversation with the knight was now reduced to a whisper, and that consequently there would be no more fun in listening to it, condescended at last to answer a few of the amiable inquiries after her health, which were addressed to her by Mr. Augustus and his two sisters. Meanwhile, the young Norval, with pensive eye intent on nature’s beauties, stole his way to the open window, and there having twice or thrice passed his fingers through his long locks, which descended in disordered curls almost to his shoulders, and once and again buttoned and unbuttoned the broad shirt-collar which fell back, unrestrained by that most un intellectual ligature, a cravat, remained partly, it might be, to let the young ladies look at him, and partly to receive the fragrant breeze of summer upon his brow.

  It was now that Dr. Crockley felt he was called upon to do something that might bring him into notice, and waddling up to the young poet, he addressed him with an air of incipient friendship, which seemed to say, And I too am somebody.”

  “You will find this neighbourhood not very prolific, young gentleman, in such gifts of intellect as a poet requires in order to be duly appreciated. Nevertheless, I will not deny that there is amongst us a knot, a little knot, Mr. Norval, whom, upon further acquaintance, you may find not altogether uncongenial. For myself, I may venture to say, that I am as warmly devoted to every subject, directly or indirectly, connected with the divine, ethereal, immaterial, intellectual part of our composite formation, as it is possible for a man to be, and it will give me pleasure, sir, to make your acquaintance.” As this was spoken with energy, the sultry season made itself felt under the exertion, and Dr. Crockley found it necessary so far to remember the viler portion of his composite formation, as to wipe his face and bald head assiduously.

  The poet bowed, but not as he had bowed to Lady Clarissa.

  Meanwhile, Lady Dowling, her light-coloured daughters, and Miss Mogg, sat profoundly silent upon two chairs and one sofa of the splendid apartment; Miss Brotherton and Mr. Augustus continued to talk about nothing, and Sir Matthew and Lady Clarissa ceased not to mutter, what none but themselves could hear, upon an ottoman, which stood in front of a distant window. If eye-beams could have interrupted a tête-à-tête, theirs would not have long continued to proceed undisturbed; for the mistress of Dowling Lodge did certainly cast not a few anxious glances towards the master of it; but it was not for that reason that he at length got up and rather hastily left the room.

  While all this was passing in the drawing-room, Martha Dowling and Michael Armstrong remained alone together in the dining-room.

  The flying pigeon, impelled by the beneficent Sir Matthew, having hit the forehead of his highly-favoured protégé at the very moment that the larum, announcing Lady Clarissa’s arrival made itself heard, the greatly amused company left the room before it was possible to ascertain what would become of it.

  The child “caught it ere it came to the ground but having done so, held it by one leg with an air of very comical indecision, till Dr. Crockley, who respectfully walked the last out of the room, shut the door behind him.

  The eyes of the factory-boy and the ugly girl then met. “Come to the table, my dear,” said Martha; “and if you like that bird, eat it — here is a plate and knife and fork for you; but if you like any thing else better, leave it, and tell me what you will have.”

  Michael opened his magnificent black eyes, and looked earnestly at her. He approached the table, laid down the half-dissected pigeon, but said not a word.

  “You would like something else better, would you not?” said Martha, smiling at him.

  “I don’t know,” answered Michael, returning the smile.

  “You don’t know? — cannot you tell what you should like?”

  “No ma’am, if you please; I don’t know what any of it is.”

  “My dear child, it is all very good, I believe, only you know some people like one thing, and some another. Little boys generally like something very sweet. Here is some cake, what do you say to that?”

  “I know what I should like best,” said Michael.

  “Do you? — then you shall have it, if you will tell me what it is.”

  “Something good for mother,” said the child, blushing violently; “but you must send me, and order me to take it to her, or else it will be stealing it.”

  “Very well, I will send something to her; but you must eat something yourself first. What shall it be, Michael?” This arrangement seemed to put the boy into a state of perfect ecstasy; he clapped his hands, raised one foot, and then the other, with childish glee, and exclaimed in an accent from which all timidity had fled, “Oh! dear, oh! dear, how nice!”

  “What, the cake? — or the grapes? — or what?”

  “Taking it to mother! Taking it to mother!” cried Michael.

  “Then you love mother very much, Michael?” said Martha, drawing the child towards her, and kissing his smooth dark forehead. Michael nodded his head, and nestled closer to her.

  “Well, then, never mind about the cake at present; but I must find a little basket, must I not? — I will give you a basket if you will take care of it and bring it back to me, because perhaps we may want it again. — There, you may eat that if you are hungry, while I am gone away — I shall be back again in a minute.” So saying, she placed some bread and meat before him, and left the ‘ room.

  Michael had by no means lost his appetite by his morning walk to Hoxley-lane, and being in excellent spirits to boot, he sat down and began to devour what had been set before him with very zealous eagerness.

  He had not, however, done one-half of what he was capable of performing, when another door, opposite to the one by which Martha had made her exit, opened, and Sir Matthew Dowling walked in.

  Michael’s knife and active fingers remained suspended midway between his mouth and the plate; the colour forsook his cheek, and his eye sunk as if unable to meet that of his munificent patron.

  “What stuffing still, you greedy little rascal? What have you touched with your nasty factory fingers? Not the grapes, I hope?”

  Michael tried to say “no,” but did not succeed In producing the sound; so contented himself by letting the forefin
ger of his left hand drop into his plate to show how he had been engaged.

  “Don’t look so like a fool, you oaf,” said Sir Matthew, taking him by the shoulder, and shaking him with some vivacity. “You are to come along with me, do you hear that? and see a lot of fine folks, and to look up at them too, do you hear that; and by G — d if you blubber, or look grumpish, I’ll have you strapped ten times over, worse than you ever saw done at the factory. Come along! — and mind what I have promised, for I’ll keep it, and worse, that you may rely.”

  Michael behaved like a little hero. He remembered the promised basket, and the voice that had told him he should have it; he remembered Hoxley-lane too, and his mother, and Teddy, and their morsel of dry bread; so he walked manfully along beside Sir Matthew, and when they reached the drawing-room door, and his benefactor stretched forth a hand to take his, he yielded it to him, with scarcely any perceptible shudder.

  Sir Matthew walked some steps forward, with the boy in his hand, into the drawing-room, and then standing quite still, pointed to the child, and said, “Lady Clarissa! behold the factory-boy!”

  Nothing could be more skilful than this form of presentation, for it told lady Clarissa every thing, and Lady Dowling nothing. Lady Clarissa sprung from her seat and ran towards the child. “Is it possible!” she exclaimed, with every appearance of violent emotion. “Oh! Sir Matthew!” these last words were audible only to the knight and the little boy; but as the latter could make nothing of them, and the former almost any thing he pleased, it was evident that the lady was as well skilled in saying more than met the ear, as the gentleman.

  “Indeed, indeed,” said Lady Clarissa, drawing forth another of the coronetted handkerchiefs, “indeed, indeed, this is a noble act, Sir Matthew!”

  Here her ladyship pressed her handkerchief to her eyes, and remained in the eloquent silence of that position for a moment, then raising herself from the softness that, as she hinted to Sir Matthew, in a whisper, she felt stealing upon her, she called to Mr. Osmond Norval, and said in a tone audible to all present, “Osmond Norval! favoured of Heaven, and the muse! Let not this beautiful subject escape you! Look at this pretty boy — look at the delicate air of aristocratic refinement which pervades his person. Osmond, the earth has not made her daily circuit round the sun since I beheld this child the very type of sordid wretchedness; would you know the hand that wrought this wondrous change? Would you learn what heart suggested it? Behold them here!” and Lady Clarissa laid her noble fingers on the coat-sleeve of Sir Matthew Dowling.

  “Her ladyship does Sir Matthew Dowling no more than justice Mr. Norval,” said Doctor Crockley approaching the group. “This is an act that ought to be given to fame, and, if Sir Matthew himself does not object to it, I would suggest its being recorded by your pen, in such a form as may give it general circulation.

  The poet pressed his hand upon his heart, and bowed profoundly, and then, raising the other hand to his forehead, he stood for some time silently meditating on the theme thus offered to him. During this interval, the different groups which surrounded him formed a most charming picture. The young man himself stood apart, and unconsciously, perhaps, became the centre to which every eye-beam converged. Lady Clarissa and Sir Matthew, side by side, and, at no great distance from him, awaited his reply; her ladyship with an affectionate smile on her lip, that spoke at once her confidence in his power and will to do what she required of him. Sir Matthew’s expression of countenance could not be read so plainly; it was grave, but it might be doubtful whether its gravity proceeded from displeasure that the answer should be delayed, or solely from the deep interest the subject possessed for him. Lady Dowling, with her hands crossed before her, was seated on a sofa exactly in front of them, with her light eyes rather more widely open than usual, looking straight forward, and her small features seeming to indicate that she was not in the sweetest humour in the world. Dr. Crockley, his hands in his waistcoat-pockets, and his short legs rather widely extended, in what dancing-masters term the second position, swayed himself with nice balance to and fro, as if measuring the interval of suspense by seconds vibrated by his person. Miss Arabella Dowling, and Miss Harriet Dowling sat close together upon an ottoman, “like to a double cherry,” of the Bigarreau kind, with their four eyes so fixed upon the poet that it seemed as if they had but one heart and one soul between them; and on this subject at least, their hearts and souls, if not one, were the same; for they had both, and at the very same instant, fallen violently in love with Mr. Osmond Norval.

  In a deep arm-chair, in which she had almost buried herself, sat, or rather lay, little Miss Brotherton, almost convulsed with laughter, and with her pocket-handkerchief by no means elegantly applied to her mouth (being nearly half of it within it), in the hope of stifling, at least, the sound of her mirth, while Mr. Augustus leant in an attitude of very distinguished elegance on the back of her chair.

  A little behind her appeared Miss Mogg, who was in truth neither sitting nor standing, but perched very insecurely on the extreme edge of a couch, which uncomfortable attitude she had chosen from not feeling quite certain whether she ought to stand like Lady Clarissa, or sit like Miss Brotherton. The first she feared was too dignified and distinguished for her; the last too comfortable, and she deserved credit for hitting upon a position so far removed from either; and lastly, very near the door by which he had entered, and to which he had slunk back he knew not how, stood Michael.

  This picturesque state of things having lasted quite long enough, Osmond Norval raised his eyes from the ground to the face of Lady Clarissa, and making a sudden step forwards, dropped on one knee and seized her hand. He attempted to speak, but for some time his voice appeared perfectly choked by emotion. At last, however, he recovered the power of articulation and said, “Such a subject! — Oh, heaven! — at your bidding too! Best and dearest Lady Clarissa! Can you doubt that all my power and strength will be put in requisition for it? But — may I ask — Is it to be published by subscription?”

  Without immediately replying to this interesting, and to Mr. Osmond Norval most important inquiry, Lady Clarissa suddenly clapped her hands together with a sort of vehement enthusiasm that looked very like delirium. Even Sir Matthew, though his intimacy with her had more than once made him the witness to some extraordinary freaks, looked at her with astonishment; Lady Dowling’s eyes were more widely opened than ever; Miss Mogg instinctively thrust her hand into her bag in search of a smelling-bottle; and Miss Brotherton took her handkerchief out of her mouth, and looked grave.

  “I have got it! Oh, I have got it!” she exclaimed. “What a delicious idea! — Let us sit down! Mogg, push forward that couch, child. — Poor girl! She really is almost too fat to move. Gracious heaven, Sir Matthew! what would become of my etherealized spirit if it were so encumbered? But sit down, — sit down all of you. — Norval! Place yourself on that tabouret. — Mary Brotherton! Draw near and listen. — And all the rest of you give ear to what I am going to say, and answer the questions I shall ask with freedom and sincerity.”

  Thus conjured, every one in the room, except Lady Dowling, who stirred not an inch, drew round the place where Lady Clarissa had seated herself, and prepared with considerable curiosity to hear what she was going to say.

  “Is not amusement the very soul of life?” she began.

  “No doubt of it, my lady,” from the lips of Dr. Crockley, was the most articulate of the many acquiescent answers which followed.

  “Is not a country neighbourhood fearfully, lamentably diffident in this?” pursued the animated inquirer.

  “There cannot be two opinions on that point,” replied Sir Matthew, with authority.

  “And is it not the duty of neighbours, residing within reach of each other as we do, to exert every facility with which nature has endowed them, in order as much as possible to soften to each other the privations to which their distance from the metropolis obliges them to submit?”

  In reply to this demand, there was a perfect clamour of app
robation. “Well then,” continued Lady Clarissa, “if such be your feelings, I am certain of success iii the project that has come, like a spirit of light borne upon silver wings to visit my dull spirit. This noble act of Sir Matthew’s must not pass away like an ordinary deed that is hardly performed, ere it be forgotten. No! it shall live in story — it shall live in song — it shall live again in action! Norval, dear gifted friend, did you ever write a drama?”

  “Occasionally a scene or two, Lady Clarissa.”

  “That is enough, dear Osmond. I ask not a hackneyed worn-out pen. I will relate to him, Sir Matthew, this interesting anecdote exactly as it occurred — he shall dramatize it — perhaps introduce an episode, or underplot, to increase the business of the scene — we will all act it,” and here Lady Clarissa gracefully bowed to the whole party, “and all the neighbourhood shall be assembled to enjoy the fête. What say you to this, Sir Matthew?”

  Upon my word, my lady, I think it is one of the cleverest and most agreeable ideas that ever entered a lady’s head. If you and Mr. Norval will arrange the drama, Lady Clarissa, I will take care to have one of the rooms fitted up as a theatre, and depend upon it we shall be in no want of actors. Upon my word I never liked any idea so much in my life.”

  “Will it not be pleasant, Mary Brotherton?” said Lady Clarissa, in her most caressing tone, to the heiress.

  “Very pleasant, indeed,” replied the young lady. “I should ask no better fun.”

  “And what does my Lady Dowling say?” resumed Lady Clarissa, with that stiffness of manner with which her ladyship now and then refreshed the memory of her plebeian friends, as to the difference of rank between them.”

  “Oh! dear me, I am sure I don’t know,” replied Lady Dowling, looking frightened.

  “Well! we must not torment Lady Dowling by forcing her to act, Sir Matthew. There cannot be a doubt that we shall have volunteers in abundance. You will act, Mary Brotherton, will you not?”