Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  “Ever, my dear Martha,

  “Affectionately yours,

  “MARY BROTHERTON.”

  The consequence of this packet was another metamorphosis on the part of Michael, “She shall not think,” said he, addressing Mr. Bell, “that my respect for her is lessened because her fortune has fallen. I will wait upon her with faithful duty and most grateful affection: but she was born in a palace, and I in a cabin; and I will not, especially just now, obtrude myself upon her as a companion. As her servant I hope I may be useful to her, and it is in that capacity that I shall attend her.”

  There was so much good feeling shown in this project, that Mr. Bell could not oppose it, whatever he might think of its necessity; and Michael, therefore, gave the astonished Martha the meeting at the little inn she had named, in the character of a very neat and respectable-looking man-servant. Her faithful Betty Parker, who had consented to be the companion of her journey, was in the room with her when Michael made his appearance at the door, to receive her orders. The cautious manner in which he made her comprehend his purpose, and the nature of the office he had assumed, suggested to her the propriety of not discussing it in the presence of the well-contented Betty, who was exceedingly comforted by discovering that the young man whom her mistress had informed her would travel with them, was to do so as her fellow-servant, as she by no means felt herself capable of becoming “servant of all work” to a young lady travelling through foreign countries, of which she had never even heard the names. But having contrived to dismiss her female attendant on an errand, Martha began to remonstrate with her faithful squire upon the great mistake he had made in fancying that she had ever thought of travelling with him in any other capacity than that of a friend. All she said, however, was in vain. Michael, though in a manner the most humbly respectful, persisted in his purpose; and the almost destitute girl was therefore constrained to set off upon her travels in a style which she felt to be very unfitting to her situation. Her conscience, however could not reproach her for this, for most assuredly she could not help it.

  Many were the letters, and various the mementos of affection, intrusted by Mr and Mrs. Bell to the care of Michael for their dearly-beloved Mary Brotherton. Nor was there an individual of whose welfare he thought it would please her to hear, whom he did not visit to receive their loving blessings for the benefactress who, notwithstanding her wide wanderings, had never failed to remember the wants of all who had faithfully served her, or in any way become dependent on her bounty.

  These duties completed, and a farewell of most grateful affection uttered to the amiable clergyman and his excellent wife, Michael set off upon his long journey with feelings of hope, joy, confidence, fear, diffidence, and trembling affection, — all so strongly mixed together in his bosom that, had his life depended on it, he could not himself have told which it was that most frequently preponderated. Yet, altogether, his state of mind was very delightful: the novelty and excitement of journeying, so pregnant of enjoyment to most of us, was most especially captivating to him, whose education had been little more than the unchecked development of imagination, and of that keen observation of all surrounding objects which his shepherd life had taught him.

  The first painful interruption to the state of felicity, arose from his finding himself under the necessity of confessing to Martha that he had no more money wherewith to pay their way. Aware that in the performance of his self-appointed office Michael would have to pay every thing, and keep a regular account of it; and aware also that the money he had received from her would enable him to do this, without giving him the additional trouble of daily settlements with her, she had merely said, a minute or two before they set off, “You will be kind enough to be my banker, Michael, during the journey, and we will settle accounts at the end of it.”

  For just one week from the day of their leaving Fairly, he was able to do this; but then the little remnant of his treasure failed him, and great as was his repugnance to the measure, he was compelled by dire necessity to confess that nearly the whole of her generous gift had gone to—” to satisfy the rapacity of Mr. Parsons.”

  It would be hardly possible for one human being to be more grateful to another than poor Martha felt to her young attendant after this disclosure. She remembered the agony which he had made to cease; she remembered, too, her state of utter incapacity even to comprehend, and still less to avert the horrors that surrounded her; and, spite of all Michael’s respectful efforts to induce her to perform her allotted character properly, she never from the hour of this disclosure treated him otherwise than as a dear and valued friend.

  As their journey approached its termination, however (to which period Michael had looked with peculiar anxiety, as that most important to the dignity of Martha), there was one argument, and one only, by which he was able to coax her into letting him make his first appearance before Miss Brotherton in the character of her servant; and this was his very natural wish to ascertain whether Edward and Fanny would recognise him.

  It was therefore still in the dress, and with the demeanour of a servant» that the poor factory-boy, now become a tall and very handsome young man, armed himself with courage to enter the presence of his brother, and once more to draw near to the dear and gentle little being whom he had so fondly loved during the miserable period they had passed together at the Deep Valley. It had been previously agreed between himself and Martha, that when she sent for him, it should be for the purpose of giving him some long and particular instructions respecting the luggage he was to get from the customhouse, in order to give him time to look, and be looked at, before the moment of discovery should arrive.

  The young man trembled like an aspen-leaf as he laid his hand upon the lock of the door, the opening of which would bring him face to face with his brother. And perchance he might have indulged in a longer interval of preparation, had not the voice of Martha distinctly pronounced the words “Come in!” Further delay was out of the question; he pushed forward the door, and entered.

  The first figure that his eyes fell upon was that of a young lady — small, and of very delicate proportions — whose head, which was hanging over some employment as the door opened, was raised as he entered, displaying to him a very lovely face, and a pair of eyes whose dark brilliance almost made the beholder wink. Could that be Fanny Fletcher? No. Yet that it should be Miss Brotherton seemed more impossible still. Like all young people who have been separated from some one considerably older than themselves, ever since the period when this difference made one of them appear fully grown, while the other was still a child, Michael fancied that in Miss Brotherton he should see an elderly person, no more like a pretty girl, than he was himself. But Mary Brotherton had not fully completed her twenty-ninth year; and happening, moreover, to be very peculiarly young-looking both in face and figure, it was not very wonderful that he should doubt of her identity; for it was in truth Mary Brotherton, and no other, whose bright and laughing loveliness made him turn his admiring eyes away, in search of something dearer, though not more beautiful.

  At the end of the sofa-table, at which Miss Brotherton sat with Martha Dowling beside her, was a young female figure which presented only a profile to his gaze — But that was enough — the delicate oval face, the sweet regular small features, the glossy light brown hair parted Madonna-like upon the ivory brow, and the long eyelash that seemed to rest upon her cheek as she read, all proclaimed that he looked upon the same gentle lovely creature whose soft voice had whispered “patience!” when his spirit, but for her, had died within him. At the sight of this sweet vision, that in shadowy and uncertain outline had so often visited his reveries, Michael’s manhood almost forsook him, and large tears gathered in his eyes, which he was fain to hide by turning round again and performing some blundering operation with the lock of the door. Martha played her part admirably, appearing to be the most exceedingly particular young lady, about boxes, bags, and desks, that ever travelled.

  “Remember, I beg,” she said, “
that you see yourself to the opening of every package. Don’t let them touch a single article that you do not watch the whole time; and be sure that every thing is locked again — and on no account forget the covers, or mismatch them — and remember particularly—” et cœtera, et cœtera, and so she ran on at the imminent risk of being classed by her clever friend Mary as the veriest fidget that ever arrived to bore a peaceable household, and all in order to give her poor companion time to recover himself, and see distinctly what was before him.

  But Michael could not recover himself, nor could he even find courage to look about him. It was a large saloon that Miss Brotherton occupied, and the agitated young man rather felt that there was a gentleman occupied with books and papers at a distant table, than saw him. Yet to see him he was determined, if his life were to be the forfeit; and turning his head with an eye as troubled as that of Hamlet, when tremblingly following his father’s spirit, he stood at last with clasped hands, protruded head, and features almost convulsed with emotion, when he had an uninterrupted view of his brother’s calm and beautiful countenance.

  Edward was very busily employed, and unconsciously submitted himself to this examination without raising his eyes, or moving in any way; but Miss Brotherton’s ear caught something like a sob from the silent object of all Martha’s eloquence, and’ suddenly looking up perceived Michael in the attitude described, but stealthily, and perhaps unknowingly approaching Edward’s table, while the tears he could no longer check, rolled down his manly cheek.

  There are some individuals of the human family gifted with such quickness of perception, and rapidity of inference, that their faculties act with the certainty of instinct, and the brilliancy of inspiration. Miss Brotherton was one of those; and after looking for a minute or two at Michael, quite as earnestly as Michael looked at Edward, she sprung from the sofa, pushed the table that stood before it with such violence from her as nearly to overset it, and rushing forward laid her hand upon his arm, exclaiming, “For mercy’s sake tell me young man, who you are, and where you come from?”

  On hearing these words in a voice unusually loud and agitated, Edward rose hastily from his seat, and approached Miss Brotherton as if to protect her from some threatened danger; but turning towards him, she held up her hand as if to prevent his hostile approach, and said, “Stay Edward, stay! Look at him! Good Heaven! Look at him, dearest Edward, and tell me who he is like!”

  Thus addressed, Edward did look at his brother, and for a moment with a countenance that seemed to say Miss Brotherton had lost her wits — but suddenly Michael smiled at him as he caught his puzzled eye, and then he started, and almost gasped for breath — and his distracted eyes fixed themselves on the agitated face before him as if they would read in it the history of years.

  “Edward! — Teddy!” cried Michael, opening his arms, and making a step in advance.

  In the next instant the brothers were locked in each other’s arms, and Miss Brotherton drew back, and gazed upon them from a distance as if the very ground that sustained hearts under the influence of such feelings was holy — while Fanny Fletcher, rose and sat down, and rose again, checking the feeling that would have sent her to stretch forth a hand of welcome to her old friend, by telling herself that no hand, no voice but Edward’s could be cared for then. And perhaps she was right; for it is certain that for several minutes, neither Edward nor Michael were fully conscious where they were, nor who they might be that were near them. Once and again each beating heart was strained against the brother heart, and then, their right hands clasped, and the left placed, each on the other’s shoulder,

  “They fell to such perusal of the face,”

  that now, after eight cruel years of absence, was once more beaming with love and sympathy before their eyes, that it must have been a very heartless and soulless being who should have come between them.

  Though such a history as Michael’s might well have occupied more than one long summer’s day in the telling, to ears so greedy of every circumstance connected with it as were those of Edward, yet it is wonderful how very short a time sufficed to point out the keystone of the arch, upon which the whole wonderful fabric hung, and then it was that Fanny Fletcher’s voice was heard exclaiming in a burst of uncontrollable emotion, “Then it was I that caused it all! Oh! Miss Brotherton, it was I who kept him in that horrid place for years! Had I not told you he was dead, it would have been he who would have been the happy object of your bounty, instead of me! Oh! how can he ever forgive me?”

  This was uttered with such agitated rapidity, that though there was more than one present, who would have been ready enough to contradict the self-accusing statement, she gave them no time for it. But it sufficed to draw Michael from the side of his brother, and to place him at hers; and though this terrible thought drew a shower of tears from Fanny’s eyes, notwithstanding the exceeding happiness which was at the very same moment throbbing at her heart; it may be that there could not have been found a more effectual mode of at once bringing back the long-parted friends to the same tone of familiar intercourse in which they had parted, as this sincere self-recrimination on one part, and the warm pleading against its injustice, on the other. For some minutes this lasted without being interrupted by a word from any one; for both Mary and Edward found, sufficient occupation in looking at them both, and then exchanging expressive glances of thanksgiving and happiness with each other. But at length, upon Fanny’s saying with a fresh burst of tears, “Oh, Michael! Michael! your eloquence is all in vain. You will never, never teach me to forget that I have been enjoying the blessed destiny intended for you, and that by means of words uttered by myself.”

  Upon her saying this, the happy Mary Brotherton pushed a low tabouret before the reunited friends, and seating herself upon it, took Fanny’s hand in hers, and said, “If you would not cry about it, my Fanny, I should think it was a mighty pretty exhibition of true feeling and false argument that we were witnessing; but if you really intend to b e unhappy, we shall all range ourselves immediately on Michael’s side, and laugh you to scorn for your sophistry, and the deplorable confusion you are making between cause and effect. I should like to know, little lady, how much it would have profited our Michael had you refused to answer when I inquired at the Deep Valley factory, if you knew aught about him? had you, while firmly believing he was dead, declined to state your belief, lest you might be mistaken, what would it have availed him, darling? Could he have crept down before us from his sick bed to settle the question? No, dear casuist you know better. Your looks are much more wise than your words, Fanny; for even now, though you pretend to shake your head, your truth-telling eyes confess that you have not another syllable ‘ to say.”

  “But is it not singular,” said Martha, who had been contemplating the scene with unspeakable delight, “is it not singular that Michael should twice have been the victim of words, uttered by such very friendly lips?”

  “Singular, dear Martha?” replied Mary; “is not every event connected with a hero of romance, of necessity and by immutable prescription, singular? And whom did Fate and Fortune ever fix upon more unmistakably to fill that distinguished position in society, than Michael Armstrong? Why are we all here together? Wholly and solely because Michael Armstrong saved Lady Clarissa Shrimpton from the terrors inspired by a cow — is it not so, dear friends? Can any of you deny that all the exceeding happiness that blesses us at this moment, has arisen from that most marvellously silly adventure? And shall we any of us quarrel at the steps (though some of them it must be confessed were rough enough), which have led from that nonsensical beginning, to an end that has made us all so very happy? Yes! Michael Armstrong is a hero; he is our hero; he is the crowning blessing that is come to make us all thank Heaven for having brought us every one from greater and less degrees of misery, to very perfect pahpiness, and shall we not welcome him with smiles, instead of tears, Fanny?”

  Nothing could have been more admirably suited to the effect which the happy heiress meant to produce
, than these words. How, after this, could Michael shrink, as he had expected to do, from the humiliating comparison between Edward and Fanny, with himself? Or how could Fanny persist in weeping, when her own heart, as well as those of all around her, was so cheeringly called upon to rejoice? Nothing of the sort was any longer thought of by either.

  Without very well knowing how it came about, Michael, of all the multitude of contending feelings which had been lately so cruelly assailing him, being as they were, of that most harassing race begotten between fear and hope, was now conscious of only one, and that one was happiness unmixed. His frank and generous nature could no longer harbour any doubts as to the place he held in the affections of those whom he had lately thought of, as almost too high and too happy to remember him. He was with them, he was of them. If a thought of the future glanced athwart the delicious present, it came accompanied by a buoyant consciousness that there was that within him which would enable him to redeem lost time, and that whatever those he loved wished him to be, THAT he should have power to become.