“Matrimony has improved Agnes in one thing, that is certain!” she exclaimed. “It is plain that she knows how to choose colours now, whatever she did formerly. I remember when we were at Cheltenham together, that she perfectly pestered me with her recommendations of dull-coloured silks and ribbons. But look at this, O’Donny!” (an affectionate abbreviation this, adopted since the use of “Major” had been abandoned). “Look at this lovely bonnet, O’Donny, and then fancy how Martha will look in it!”
This enchanting bonnet, by the way, was chosen to gratify a whim of aunt Betsy’s. She chanced to be present when the purchase was made, and begged so earnestly that this one might be sent instead of any of its more delicately-tinted fellows, that her niece consented.
“Thank you, my dear, you have given me pleasure,” said the old lady. “It is agreeable to me to paint to my mind’s eye the face of a daughter of Mrs. O’Donagough’s, when enlivened by that glowing red. I have almost a mind to pay for it myself, Agnes, that I might have the pleasure of pointing out to you how truly the gift might assume the character of Mercy, by ‘blessing her that gives, and her that takes.’ Can you not fancy how your aunt Barnaby will look when its glories open upon her?”
And the image which the old lady had just conjured up, was as near as possible to the truth. The ci-devant aunt Barnaby did appear to be in a state little short of ecstasy, as she turned and re-turned it upon her clenched fist.
“Let us have her in this very moment, my dear! Do just go out and call her, will you?”
“No, my dear, I certainly will not,” replied Mr. O’Donagough, deliberately, and, at the same time thrusting his arm to the bottom of the box in search of newspapers, or anything else he might chance to find. —
“What a brute you do grow into!” retorted his wife. “And if I go myself, how prettily I shall find all the things rummaged about, shan’t I?”
Mr. O’Donagough deigned not to make any reply, but having found two or three newspapers, was either really, or seemingly, entirely absorbed in their contents.
Happily for the preservation of Mrs. O’Donagough’s temper, and the continuation of her enjoyment, the young lady in question at this moment entered the room. Her eye instantly caught sight of the rose-coloured ribbons, and every one who had observed her countenance at that time, must have been forcibly struck by its resemblance to that of her mother, although in features perhaps she more resembled her father. The little girl had large wide-opened black eyes, which easily kindled into considerable vehemence of expression. The shape of her face was like that of her father’s, which was large and long; her mouth and teeth, however, were those of her mother, of ample dimensions, bright in colour, both as to the white and the red, but having a sort of coarseness in the smile, which might perhaps enhance its beauty in the judgment of some, while it wholly destroyed it in that of others. The nose again was that of her father’s, high, hooked, and threatening to become of a size more advantageous to a male than to a female face. Her hair was dark, and curled naturally and closely, while her complexion was brilliant almost to excess, being literally, and with no allowance made for figures of speech, composed of white and red.
In person she was stout, strong-limbed, and very tall for her age, and on the whole, presented an appearance which her mother had the comfort of feeling was very little short of perfection.
“Oh my! what a beautiful bonnet!” exclaimed Miss Martha, darting forward to seize upon it. “It is no good, mamma, your holding it up that way out of reach, for it must be mine ‘and nobody else’s, because I am certain sure you could not poke your great head into it.”
“It is for you, my precious queen,” replied her mother; “but it is I must have the joy of tying it under your beautiful chin. Don’t crush the ribbons, darling, for your life!”
With great docility, and manifesting considerable powers of reflection, the child stood still while this operation of tying was performed, and then made an effort to bound from beneath the hands of her mother, in order to view herself in a little glass which hung between the two windows of the apartment.
“Stay one instant, my angel!” exclaimed Mrs. O’Donagough, holding her; “I never did, no never in my whole life, Mr. O’Donagough, see anything one quarter so beautiful as Patty looks in that bonnet! For God’s sake, leave the news for one moment to look at her, and tell me how you shall like to show off such a face as that in London!”
Mr. O’Donagough graciously condescended to lift his eyes, and fix them on the little Patty, and for the first time in her life really thought her very well-looking. There is something, even at ten years old, in the consciousness of having a large quantity of bright rose-colour reflecting itself upon one’s complexion, which, together with a maternal assurance that one is the most beautiful creature in the world, tends to harmonise the features, and give a very sweet expression to the countenance. Little Patty stood peaceably for a moment, with her hands before her, and her long eyelashes modestly cast down, so that when unable to resist the longing desire to look at herself for another moment, she bounded away to the further end of the room, her father said, with great feeling, “Yes! by heaven! I do think she will make a devilish fine girl after all; and it will be a good thing if she does, I can promise you.”
“A good thing? I believe so, indeed! Fancy such eyes and complexion as that, with a general’s wife for a cousin, to take her out, and I don’t know how many ladies of title to talk of, to all her partners and everybody besides! My dear Donny, if we can but contrive to manage our affairs so as to make a tolerable show when we get to England, take my word for it, that girl will make a match that will perfectly astonish you. I am quite sure of it, perfectly certain. I have seen a great deal of life, and what is of more consequence, I have reflected a great deal on what I have seen. When I talk of Mrs. General Hubert’s bringing Martha out, I mean nothing more, I assure you, than the merely taking her to court, and to a few other topping places, where just at first, perhaps, I shan’t manage to get invited. But as to everything else, everything that concerns her general introduction among young men of fashion and large estates, I would not accept the services of anybody in the whole kingdom of England!”
During this first burst of conscious excellence from his wife, Mr. O’Donagough continued his assiduous study of the newspapers, and Miss Martha an almost equally assiduous study of her own little person in the glass. The difference between the degrees of intensity with which these occupations were carried on was this — the gentlemen really heard not a single word that was said; whereas the young lady did not lose one.
“I am taller than Kitty Jones, ma,”’ said Miss Martha, standing on tiptoe.
“Yes, yes, my dear! you will be tall enough, and beautiful enough too, you darling angel! Only you must always mind every word I say to you, for else neither beauty or tallness either will do you any good in getting a husband. Now take off the bonnet, Patty. Take it off this instant, when I bid you.”
Nevertheless Patty persevered in retaining her station before the glass, first making a pendent bow hang a little on one side, and then trying its ever-charming effect when preponderating on the other. Considering the age of the little girl, it was really curious to watch her; and any observing student of natural history who had done so, would have perceived precisely the same phenomena, which it is so interesting to follow, in the young of all the countless tribes which form the animal creation, from man to a polypus. In each, the leading instinct of the species peeps out as easily, and with the same providential and unerring certainty, as the distinctive peculiarities of its organic formation; furnishing to a rightly-constituted mind, the most satisfactory proof that each is provided with exactly that sort of acuteness most necessary for its safety and well-being.
But it was not in such subtle reasonings that the intellectual energies of Mrs. O’Donagough exhausted themselves. She marked the more obvious trait of disobedience in little Patty’s delay; and, stepping with unexpected suddenness towards her, with
one decisive hand removed the bonnet, and with the other bestowed on the offender a very effective box on the ear.
In many respects this promising little girl appeared advanced beyond her age; and one proof of this was her having exchanged the childish scream with which little girls usually indicate their averseness to being cuffed, for an indignant frown, which spoke as great au inclination to cuff again, as it was possible for a young lady to demonstrate to her mamma.
This was a great relief to her father and mother; for before this incipient sturdiness of character appeared, it was by sturdiness of voice that her vigour, both of body and soul, declared itself, often rendering the needful castigations of Mrs. O’Donagough a sort of public nuisance in the street where she lived.
But this was entirely over. Little Martha O’Donagough had cried her last cry for being beat, and now flashed her great eyes at her mother in a style that clearly foretold what their powers would be hereafter.
But, though Patty did not scream, the concussion roused the attention of her papa.
“What’s that for, ma’am?” he said hastily, and thereby for the first time evincing such an inclination to take the part of his daughter, against his wife, as showed that the little lady’s good looks in her new bonnet had produced a very powerful effect upon his mind.
“Put on the bonnet again, Mrs. O’Donagough,” said he; “she looked exceedingly well in it, and I want to see it again.”
It was impossible that the anger, either of mother or daughter, could resist this novel and very pleasing ebullition of paternal admiration; they both recovered their good-humour instantly; the bonnet was again tried on, again did little Patty “look beautiful with all her might,” and a general feeling throughout the family of that beneficent arrangement of nature which binds a whole race together, let distance separate them ever so widely, caused the father to say, addressing his wife, “Well, old girl! I won’t deny that nieces and nephews are good for something.” While she rejoined, “You may depend upon it, Donny, that blood is always thicker than water;” and the youthful Martha completed the accord by exclaiming, “l am sure as I should like the people as sent this bonnet, better than anybody else in the whole world!”
From that day forward Mr. Allen O’Donagough continued to demonstrate a very marked degree of attachment to his young daughter. He even in some degree exerted himself to cultivate her mind, and improve her manners. Not, indeed, that he, at any time, submitted himself to the drudgery of giving regular lessons; such an attempt would have been altogether inconsistent with his habits, whether of pleasure or of business. But, apparently, he knew the value of that best mode of education, which consists in the constant and gradual inoculation of a parent’s principles and opinions into the mind of a child; and, as far as it was possible to judge of one so young, the result of this system in the case of Miss O’Donagough, confirmed its often-attested efficacy most completely; for in mind, as well as in body, she bore a blended resemblance to both her parents.
The last year of their long residence in New South Wales passed rapidly, for its term seemed within reasonable reach of hope and expectation. The bringing to a settlement and close all Mr. O’Donagough’s very profitable speculations, left him little leisure for idle repinings that the desired hour did not approach more quickly; and the pushing forward the ornamental part of their daughter’s education, as completely occupied his wife. Both parents were anxious to take advantage of her premature height, and womanly appearance, in order to introduce her in the very first opening blossom of beauty.
“She is but thirteen and a bit, Donny,” said Mrs. O’Donagough to her husband, one evening that they were sitting tête-à tête before retiring for the night; “I know that as well as any one can tell me; but I’m not going to let her pass for a child, for all that. There are some mothers of my age, and looking as I do, who would see her a nun before they’d make themselves older than needs must, by seeming to have a grown-up daughter. But I’m above any such nonsense. There is nothing to he got by it now, whatever there might be if I was to happen to he left a widow again, and, therefore, I’m quite determined that Patty shall he dressed at once like a young woman.
“I shall not make any objection to that, I promise you,” replied her husband. “She is a most uncommonly fine girl — just the right sort, full of spirit and cleverness. Not that I’ll promise you, Mrs. O’D., to marry her to the first man that asks. If she turns out as I expect, it will answer a great deal better to let her take time.”
Mrs. O’Donagough was about to make a somewhat lively reply, but checked herself, wisely remembering, that if a good match offered, she and Patty between them could manage matters easy enough, let all the fathers in the world do what they would to prevent them.
And now the last busy month arrived, and fatiguing enough was the work they had to go through, in selling to the best profit all that was to be left behind, and packing in the least space all they intended to carry with them. In the midst of all this bustle, however, Miss Patty found the way to escape from doing anything she did not like, and having somewhat wilfully spoilt every article upon which her mother had attempted to employ her young fingers, she was permitted to escape from amidst the hampers and boxes which filled the house, in order to enjoy some farewell gossiping with the young Sheepshanks, and make their hearts ache by the lively contrast she set before them, between their prospects and her own.
It was during her absence that the last English newspapers they were likely to see before they left Sydney, arrived. Notwithstanding the bustle he was in, Mr. O’Donagough set himself down upon the corner of a trunk, while, with his usual eagerness in the perusal, he began to run through the interesting columns. His lady, meanwhile, Occupied at the other end of the room in carefully packing the stores which were to console them on their voyage, hardly lifted her eyes from the huge hamper she was filling, but, with exemplary perseverance, went on adding pickle-pot to pickle-pot, and sweetmeat-jar to sweetmeat-jar, without ever pausing to ask if there were any news.
She was presently rewarded, however, by her husband crying out, “My Barnaby! — our plottings prosper! The father of O’Donagough is dead. That old fellow was positively the only person living of whom I was much afraid. I can now undertake to prevent man, woman, or child, from recognising me against my inclination; and may snap my fingers, for instance, at the idea of any of your kith or kin remembering that they had ever seen me before. But I did not feel so sure, nor anything like it, about that old man’s natural affection, as folks call it. It is a weight off my mind, I promise you.”
“It’s all the better, there’s no doubt of that,” replied his wife, pushing lustily, to insinuate a salted tongue between two choice specimens of Sydney cheese; “but with your cleverness, I can’t say I should have been much afraid either of the old lord or of any one else.”
“Thank you, my dear, for your good opinion; and, perhaps, you are not much out either. But I will tell you what this news will make me do, which I should not have ventured upon without. I shall always call myself, for the future, Allen O’Donagough. If anything unaccountable did happen, it might serve to prove that I did not pass under a false name; not to mention that there may be more than one of the Sydney folks who may have need to write to me about sundry little matters of merchandise, which I cannot quite give up as yet, and they will infallibly address me under that name.”
“But don’t you think, my dear, that Agnes and her proud husband, and my sister Peters and her family, if we should ever fall in with them, would be very likely, if they saw you, and heard your name at the same time, to let one remind them of the other somehow?” said Mrs. O’Donagough, who, in that quarter, at least, was fully as anxious as her husband that he should not be recognised.
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 229