— a little red,
was, nevertheless, used with such forbearing moderation, that the lady looked, as she ought to do, considerably paler than usual; and it was only by increasing, day by day, the skilfully modulated bloom, that at the happy termination of “her month” Mrs. Major Allen appeared as glowing a representation of youth, beauty, and health as before. The copious quantity of ringlets, too, which, excepting that they happened to be of a somewhat softer texture, differed little from those which had fanned the dusty air of the Silverton ball-room, when she danced with Captain Tate, appeared in like manner by degrees, and, to use Voltaire’s charming words, returned to enchant the world
— Pas a pas,
Comme un jour doux, dans les yeux délicants.
When first she sat up in bed, one shining black corkscrew, peeping forth from each side beneath the embroidered nightcap, was all that she deemed congruous to her condition. On the morrow a second came, and then a third, till at length the whole pendent mass, black as night, yet lustrous in its rich and oily glossiness, once more spread its lurid glories on each side her radiant face.
As to the dress and general appearance of the baby, it varied according to the hours of the day. Its admirable mother, who piqued herself on being an excellent manager, was a great economist in all that appertained to the laundry department, and before it was many hours old she discovered that care must be taken as to its dear little expenses in that line; as well as in its papa’s and her own. So the darling poppet was not always prepared for company; but when it was, the fulness of the mother’s heart might easily be read in the elaborate decoration of its attire. In a word, New South Wales had never before seen such a mother and child; and nothing could exceed the admiration they inspired, or the high consideration in which the Allen family, one and all, were held.
Meanwhile, the Major kept his word, and did take care that all the little parties in which he was engaged, either at home or abroad, should answer. Nevertheless, his parental prudence kept pace with his success, and his lady’s tightly-settled, and regularly-remitted income, continued to supply all their expenses; so that the Major’s steady winnings went on accumulating in a manner that spoke strongly of the fundamental improvement which had taken place in his character and morals since the period when the reader and Mrs. Barnaby were first introduced to him at Clifton.
These winnings, indeed, particularly if stated night after night, or day by day, would, to European ears, appear mere bagatelles, hardly worth recording in a professional gamester’s account; but to an inhabitant of Sydney, the yearly aggregate, if roundly named, which, however, never happened to occur, would have been considered as enormous. In this case, as in every other, unremitting perseverance does wonders.
Nulla dies sine linea
is a receipt to fill volumes; and on the same principles, a purse of no small dimensions may he filled, by one who, playing with assured success, never suffers any hour in the day and night to be passed in idleness, when it is possible to put a pack of cards in action.
Such was the system of Major Allen; and, though on a small scale, Sydney was no bad field of action for him. Assuredly there was no Crockford’s, where, within the space of half a night, a man, without quitting his chair, may be sure of finding an opportunity, if he seek it, of beggaring himself or his neighbour. But there were little quiet corners where, by day or night, small hazards might be played for among the idlers, of which the more industrious part of the population know little or nothing; and a taste for that tempting seesaw, the gaming-table, generated, perhaps, in the brilliant salons of Paris, or the club-houses of London, may find wherewithal to keep itself alive, even in the deep retreats of New South Wales.
Major Allen was, therefore, by no means an idle man, neither could he fairly be called an intemperate one. The glass of rum-and-milk that greeted the morn, and the tumbler or two of whisky-toddy that hailed the genial hours of night, cannot be justly quoted in contradiction to this; for nobody ever saw Major Allen drunk. Moreover, his habits, in all things appertaining to expenditure, were exceedingly careful; though he by no means denied himself the constant comfort of a good dinner, or the occasional gratification of a little display; so that he and his lady were decidedly classed among the very first people in Sydney. In temper, and general domestic demeanour, as favourable a report may be made of him as most gentlemen under similar circumstances would be likely to deserve; so on the whole, it is to be hoped that the character of this individual, who, from his near connection with my heroine, must make an important figure in the drama of her future life, may be considered in all respects as improved rather than the contrary, since the reader parted from him.
But, notwithstanding all these excellent domestic qualities, Major Allen was not what could be called a confidential husband. Indeed, there were some circumstances connected with his first appearance in the colony, which his wife was never fully able to understand. It was evident that he had some powerful friends among the persons in authority, and the deference and very strict observance he paid them, proved him to be of a most grateful temper; but he never entered with his charming lady into any explanation of the origin of this close connection between them. Neither did he appear to deem it necessary that she should he troubled with any statement respecting the little sums he was accumulating; nay, his notions of a well-regulated family economy might have led him to prefer taking his lady’s income under his own immediate and separate control; but here, after a somewhat spirited trial on occasion of the two first quarterly payments, he gave in, Mrs. Allen not being a woman to give way easily, where she felt herself to be right. So thenceforward he contented himself with knowing that all household expenses, of every kind whatever, including of course his own dress and little personal appointments, were defrayed regularly, and in the most creditable manner, that is to say, without credit, by this fund.
Now and then, indeed, thinking the little occasional assistance which her quick faculties enabled her to afford whenever his favourite amusement went on in her presence, gave her some right to inquire, she ventured to question him respecting his winnings. But the following short specimen of such dialogues will show that he well knew how to answer them.
“For heaven’s sake, Major! what do you do with all your winnings?” she said to him one day, when she would greatly have liked to have got hold of a portion of them to assist in the purchase of a little finery. “I see you pocket lots of cash night after night, and when am I to be the better for it?”
“Don’t put yourself in a flurry, my love; I often lose money, of course; though God knows, and you know, too, my love, that I always take every possible precaution to avoid it; but, nevertheless, it will happen.”
“You have not got the face to tell me, that you do not make money by playing?” said Mrs. Major Allen, with some appearance of excitement.
“No, my love! I know my duty both to myself and you too well, to continue playing if such were the case. But it is au amusement that I like, and I take the most scrupulous care that it shall never become any annoyance to you, my dear angel! which you know it must do, did I not take care, when I win, to lay by the amount to be in readiness for the time when I may lose.”
Mrs. Major Allen snuffed the air with a slight appearance of agitation, but only said, “I hope you DO lay it by, Major Allen.”
This occurred some months before the birth of the little Martha; and it was when she was exactly three months old, that a snug small evening party at home, attended with a run of very obvious good fortune, led to a renewal of the subject.
“A pretty sum you must have pouched last night, Major,” said his lady, as she poured out his tea on the following morning, while their infant heiress lay sweetly slumbering in a cradle at her side.
“Yes, my love, pretty well.”
“Then I do trust our poor child will be the better for it,” said Mrs. Major Allen, putting down the teapot, and placing her right hand on the top of the cradle, while with the other she fon
dly dallied with the little coverlid, as if it wanted more tucking in than she had given it a dozen times over already. “I do hope, Major Allen, that for the first time in your life you will do something to assist in the maintenance of your family.”
“My family,” replied the Major, cherupping very affectionately towards the cradle, “have not been very long in want of maintenance.”
“Why, we have been married,” replied Mrs. Allen, “above a year, sir; and except just furnishing the place, and giving me that trumpery necklace, which is no more to be compared to my shells than light to darkness, you have never spent, to my knowledge, a single farthing of your own, from that hour to this. If it had not been for my own fortune, your family would have been pretty much in want of a maintenance.”
“My dearest creature! can you imagine that a man of my knowledge of the world, and general savoir vivre, would ever have been guilty of that most unpardonable of all human actions, the marrying a woman without fortune? No, my beautiful Mrs. Major Allen, I adore you far too vehemently, ever to have been guilty of such treacherous, unmanly baseness, as to have seduced you into marriage with — with — in short, my love, with myself, had I not known that, though not so rich as I once thought you, there was no danger of your actually starving in consequence of your affection for me.”
“And you probably thought there might be no danger of your own starving either, dear Major?” replied the lady, laughing a sort of experimental laugh, as not quite certain how the hit might be taken. However, her excellent husband was in extremely good humour, and only laughed a little in return, buttering his toast the while as pleasantly as possible.
This, of course, acted as an encouragement upon the lady, and she again hinted that she should like a little money.
“Upon my word I shall be delighted to oblige you, my dearest Mrs. Allen,” he replied, with every appearance of gravity; “but the birth of this darling babe furnishes the very strongest motive a man is capable of feeling, for prudence and economy. I cannot give you money, my dear love! It is the greatest possible grief for me to be obliged to say so, but I should never forgive myself, never! Nor ever, I truly believe, should I sleep in peace again, did I for a moment yield to any temptation that might affect the future fortune of our dear little daughter!”
Here again the Major cherupped at the cradle, and Mrs. Allen, heaving a deep sigh, only muttered in reply, “Then it is quite impossible I should buy any feathers for her bonnet!”
The tone of this very happy New South Welsh couple to each other was, in more respects than one, rather singular. There was occasionally a vast deal of fondness displayed on both sides, yet a sharp observer might sometimes have fancied that there was some latent feeling of suspicion and reserve at their hearts. If this, however, was really the case, they conducted themselves on the whole with great discretion, and might not unaptly have been quoted as a proof that all feelings, with proper schooling, may ever be made subservient to will. This, indeed, must always be the case where motive is strong; and motive was strong enough both in the Major and his lady to produce a line of conduct in each, running so parallel to each other that there was little or no danger of their ever producing a concussion by crossing. Thus, Major Allen never, even in his most playful moments, nor when the whisky-toddy had been the most seductive, hazarded the slightest allusion either to his friend Maintry, or to his excellent servant William, or to the cause or manner of his voyage out, or to the beautiful Isabella d’Almafonte, or even to the Duke of Wellington. While, on the other hand, Mrs. Major Allen appeared totally to have forgotten Silverton Park, and her beautiful set of grays; never gave the slightest indication of remembering such a place as Clifton, such an Abigail as Betty Jacks, such wretches as the tradesmen of Cheltenham, or such an extraordinary dull place as the Fleet Prison.
There can be no doubt in the world that this was the best plan they could follow; for without it there would have been so remarkable a discrepancy between their confidential reminiscences, and the dignified strain of their ordinary bearing, as must have made their lives appear, even to each other, like one long-drawn-out conspiracy. Whereas, under the existing system, everything went on so smoothly, that it might almost be doubted whether they had not really and truly undergone some Lethean process which had cleared off effectually and for ever all the heavier shadows that hung upon the background of their past existence. In a word, “bygones are Bygones” would have been the most expressive and appropriate motto that they could possibly have adopted.
Mrs. Major Allen was certainly in many respects a very clever woman. Having acutely enough found out what the Major’s tactics were and were likely to be, respecting the past, she not only adopted the same with very excellent feminine tact, but taking the fullest advantage of the general amnesty thus granted by memory to all former faults and follies, she gazed at her black-eyed little daughter with renewed hope, and renewed ambition, and felt as fresh in spirit, and as ready to set off again in pursuit of new plots, and new projects, as if she had never met with a disappointment in her life.
But if she wisely cast a veil over what it was disagreeable to remember, the same wisdom led her, as much as it was possible to do so, to keep for ever before her husband’s eyes, her own, and those of everybody who approached her, the recollection of all that was creditable in which she could claim a share. Those who know the character of the man can feel no doubt that here, too, the happy sympathy of disposition existing between the married pair would have manifested itself, if the thing had been possible; but herein it would seem that the lady had the advantage of the gentleman. For while she discoursed pretty considerably at large concerning her aunt Compton, of Compton Basset, her dearly beloved niece, Mrs. General Hubert, and above all, of her great friend, and great connection, Lady Elizabeth Norris, the Major, though now and then in general Sydney society echoing the affectionate family allusions of his wife, was never heard to obtrude the mention of his own relations upon anybody.
It was impossible for a woman so acute as Mrs. Major Allen, not to perceive that these frequent references to the old country, increased their consideration in the new one, and this indeed so evidently, that at length it struck her as being well worth while to make an effort towards renewing some intercourse with those, the far-off sound of whose names was so advantageous.
One afternoon that the Major, who not unfrequently passed his soirées from home, had declared his intention of remaining during the entire evening in his own mansion, where he hoped a friend would call and perhaps play a quiet game or two at piquet with him, he happened to say, after giving his lady instructions about making the toddy, and one or two other little particulars, “I like to think, dearest, that whatever! DO win will be sure, sooner or later, to help out the fortune of our darling baby.”
Nothing was so sure to put Mrs. Major Allen in good humour, as an observation of this kind from her husband; for the charming buoyancy of her spirits was such that she already — though her young daughter was little more than a twelvemonth old — had determined in her own mind, that the third Martha should do better in life than either of her beautiful predecessors had done. With a degree of contentment to which no words can do justice, she perceived in the features, hair, and complexion of her child, that she had not gazed upon her own image in vain; and blessing the prescient tenderness which had dictated her doing so, she prophesied, as she contemplated the black eyes and dark hair of the darling, that in HER the race of Compton should rise higher than all aunt Betsy’s economy had ever yet contrived to place it. Mindful, however, of the many proofs which had met her in the course of her career, that money was an important auxiliary in all affairs of love, she became, perhaps; almost immoderately anxious as to everything that concerned the little Martha’s pecuniary interests. It is possible that the Major was in some degree aware of this; for it is certain that whenever particularly desirous of insuring the concurrence or aid of his lady, in any of his little schemes, he now invariably hinted that it was probable
their result, if well managed, would be favourable to the future prospects of their daughter.
On the occasion above alluded to, his reference to this produced the happiest effect. Mrs. Allen smiled with the greatest sweetness, and even playfully pinched his cheek as she replied, “Never fear me, dear! Hoard away, Major, and when you have got enough to take us hack, why hack we will go, won’t we?”
The Major returned the pinch, nodded his head, but said nothing.
“I suppose you are afraid to promise, Major, for fear I should plague you about it? Hey? Don’t be afraid; I shall know how to mind my hits, and shall not be over stupid, I dare say, in giving a guess about the when and the how too, though I may not happen positively to know anything about it. However, if you will take my advice, you will turn your thoughts that way, let it he as long as it will before you can turn yourself — unless, indeed, there is any particular reason why you should stay here for life.”
“For life? Oh, no! my love, decidedly not for life,” replied the Major, rather eagerly. “But I don’t quite understand, dear, what you mean by turning my ‘thoughts that way,’” he continued, with a musing air; and then, after a moment’s pause, added, “To say the truth, my dear Mrs. Allen, my thoughts seldom turn for long together in any other direction. The doings here, my dear, let a man be as persevering as he will, are pitiful in the extreme; and it is impossible to think of what’s going on every night on the other side of the water, without being devilishly provoked, I promise you — particularly when a man feels that he improves every day he lives.”
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 225