Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  Mr. O’Donagough was so glad that it was over, and, as he felt, well over, that on throwing open the door of communication between the two drawing-rooms, for his daughter and wife to pass, he slipped by them, as if the more quickly to insure his own retreat. On reaching the landing-place, however, and finding himself again amidst the impressive troop of green and gold officials, he remembered that he was not making his exit according to the established rules of etiquette, and turned round to make way for his wife and daughter to pass before him. It was with a feeling little short of dismay, that he found that they were not, as he imagined, close at his heels, and on casting an Orpheus-like backward glance into the rooms, he perceived that his wife was not half set free, for she was still in the inner apartment.

  In fact, while backing out of the room with her husband and daughter following, Mrs. O’Donagough had totally lost sight of and forgotten her slender brother-in-law; but no sooner did she perceive him again upon the removal of Mr. O’Donagough’s person, than it struck her she had not properly taken leave of him, and rushing back again, she very liberally threw her arms around him — for her fond hands met behind his back — and impressing a not silent kiss upon his cheek, exclaimed, “Good heaven! was I indeed going without uttering a sister’s farewell to you, dearest Willoughby? Let us soon meet again. I have no words to express the happiness I feel in your society.” And then, as Frederic, Nora, and the young Compton had all taken refuge in the balcony, she turned about, quitted the room with a rapid step, seized upon Patty’s arm, who was left staring in the doorway, rejoined her husband, and with happy and triumphant feelings descended the stairs, which, as she owned as soon as she had left the house, she had mounted an hour before with her heart in her mouth.

  “She is gone, positively gone, Nora! — so come in, out of this scorching air!” said Mr. Stephenson, after carefully reconnoitring the apartment.

  “Thank our stars!” replied his wife, falling, as if exhausted, upon the sofa.

  “It is a very hot day,” said Mr. Willoughby, rising from a chair, into which he had sunk, when Mrs. O’Donagough withdrew her arms from his person. “Very hot and oppressive indeed — I think, Nora, I will go into my own dressing-room, and lie down upon the sofa a little. But don’t let any of the dear children come to me, for I feel very much overcome and fatigued.” So saying, the gentle, kind-hearted Mr. Willoughby languidly withdrew, and soon fell fast asleep without having even whispered to his own heart that his affectionate sister-inlaw had nearly talked and hugged him to death.

  “Are they not curious people, aunt Nora?” said Compton, as soon as his grandfather had quitted the room.

  “Curious! Oh! heavens!” replied Mrs. Stephenson, with a profound sigh. And then she stopped, as if unable to articulate another word.

  “The girl is handsome though, isn’t she?” demanded the youth; adding, with a shrug, “but to be sure she is most horribly vulgar.”

  “Handsome? you have the face to call that monster handsome, Compton? How hideously ugly you must think us all, your mother and sisters included.”

  “No I don’t, aunt. But there are more styles than one, you know.”

  “Do stop him, Frederic! For mercy’s sake do not let him talk of styles, with that fearful creature in his thoughts! Do explain to him what style means, will you? His mother has a style, and I have a style — of — of appearance, I mean. But to use such a phrase to her, really looks as if he did not know the use of language. It is perfectly disgraceful. Dearest Frederic! for pity’s sake, tell me, must I ever endure the sight of those people more?”

  “Upon my word, I am afraid so, Nora,” was the unsatisfactory reply. “Remember that they are nearly related to your sister Agnes, and in fact very nearly connected with your father. How will it he possible to avoid your seeing them?”

  “Then you must make up your mind to my dying, Frederic, for as to my enduring existence under circumstances resembling those of the last three hours, it is perfectly out of the question.”

  “Well then, dear, we must contrive to vary the circumstances as much as possible. The sight of that great woman amuses me more than I can express. It is a sort of lesson in natural history to watch her as she is now, and remember her as she was some dozen and half years ago, or near it. I would not give her up for more than I’ll say — and Compton’s love too, with her large face, bright cheeks, and brighter eyes. They are treasures, perfect treasures in their way.”

  “See what it is to be a philosopher,” sighed forth Mrs. Stephenson, resting her head on the arm of her couch, and applying a bottle of salts to her nose. “You are too sublime for me, Frederic — you are indeed.”

  “If you will be a good girl,” replied her husband, laughing, “and promise not to die about it, I will let you off easy, promising only to indulge my scientific speculations now and then. How she contrived to get him I cannot guess; but Madam Barnaby’s husband is really a very well-behaved, sensible man.”

  “Oh — h!” was uttered by Mrs. Stephenson, with another profoundly deep “suspiration of forced breath.”

  “Come, Nora,” said Frederic, “make the best of it. I am certain your father will be vexed, dear good man, if you declare open war upon this unfortunate race.”

  “My father? Nay, Frederic, it is too good to quote him against me when you have this moment seen him take to his bed, sick of the Barnaby! However, let us talk no more about them, or decidedly I must go to bed too. King the bell, dear, will you, and order some open carriage or other — I die for fresh air! By the way, Frederic, do you think that large lady will ever kiss me? I give you warning, you will never see me alive again if she does.”

  “Every possible precaution, Nora, shall be taken to prevent it; and we will keep Compton always in readiness to act as your deputy, should the thriving offspring of the large lady attempt anything of the kind. You will not refuse, Compton, to perform this vicarial service for your aunt?”

  The boy coloured, tossed his handsome head, and yielded to the solicitations of his young cousin to return to the balcony, and set him climbing again.

  “Where will you drive, Nora?” inquired Mr. Stephenson, when the carriage was announced.

  “To see Agnes, and consult with her how best to guard against the inroads of this horde of savages.”

  “Do so, my dear, by all means. She will counsel you very discreetly, depend upon it.”

  * * * * *

  When the sisters met, there was, as usual, a very free exchange of confidential communication between them. Mrs. Stephenson declared that her curiosity being satisfied, she felt nothing but terror at the idea of any familiar intercourse with “Mrs. Donago and that, somehow or other, she must find means to prevent. — To all this Agnes listened without surprise; but when in her turn she dwelt upon her own embarrassments from the same source, and related all the circumstances of the general’s half-playful warfare with Mrs. Compton on the subject, the feelings of Nora underwent a sudden change. Notwithstanding a firm foundation of genuine liking and goodwill, there was often a considerable difference of opinion on many subjects between the high-minded and dignified, yet simple-mannered General Hubert, and the capricious and affected, though affectionate little beauty, his sister-in-law.

  She had quite sense and right feeling enough to be conscious of his high worth, and often in her graver moods, acknowledged his superiority to everybody in the world, but her husband. Yet she dearly loved to contradict him, and to make him feel, in spite of all his wisdom, that the very folly of a pretty woman has power in it. She was, moreover, wont to declare, that his wife spoiled him, and that all he wanted to make him perfectly agreeable, was a little well-organised contradiction.

  The tormenting process which the venerable Mrs. Compton seemed to be now making him undergo, for the express purpose of proving that he had been wrong, secretly delighted Mrs. Stephenson. She listened to every word concerning it with deep attention, comprehended perfectly the game which both parties were playing, and immediately de
termined, thoughtless of consequences, to eke out aunt Betsy’s efforts to prove that the general had blundered by every means in her power. Of this new whim she gave no hint to Agnes, but parted from her with a gentle promise to endure the Donago infliction as patiently as she could.

  Had it not been for this unfortunate vagary on the part of Mrs. Stephenson, it is probable that all serious annoyance from the O’Donagoughs would have gradually died away, from the positive difficulty of keeping up anything like friendly intercourse between persons so every way incongruous. But for this, the ci-devant major’s ambitious projects would have gradually sank into a humbler sphere, his wife would soon have preferred talking of her “darling Agnes,” to enduring the restraint of her presence; aunt Betsy would have grown weary of the sport, and so would Master Compton too; while it can hardly be doubted that General Hubert himself would have gladly suffered the discordant connection to be placed on a proper footing, according to Mrs. O’Donagough as much consideration as might be granted without inconvenience to his own family, but no more.

  That all this was most devoutly to be wished, nobody felt so strongly as poor Agnes; but unfortunately in this case, neither her judgment nor her conduct could avail to check the mischief produced by the frolicsome thoughtlessness of Nora — the easy pliability of her husband, and the sort of compunctuous weakness with which poor Mr. Willoughby permitted himself to be persecuted by his first wife’s sister, as a sort of atonement for his deeply-repented neglect of her child. All this worked together so effectually, that before the end of a fortnight, the mischief had got so far ahead of them, as to produce a perfectly good understanding on the subject between General Hubert and Mrs. Compton. Both cordially confessed they had been wrong, and most cordially united in deprecating the consequences of it; but, unfortunately, they were no longer capable of stopping the movement they had put in action.

  Mr. O’Donagough, without making the slightest attempt to lead Stephenson to play, contrived to discover that in the winter he had no sort of objection to it; and, meanwhile, by innumerable devices to make himself useful and even agreeable to him. With as much genuine coarseness, he had infinitely more tact than his vulgar wife, and was, in truth, so able an actor, that with an object of sufficient importance before him, he was capable of sustaining many characters extremely foreign to his own. Stephenson soon believed him to have been the most enthusiastic sportsman, the most enterprising naturalist, and the most benevolent speculator who had ever visited New South Wales, and listened to his unbounded lies with undoubting confidence, till at length he became fully convinced, that despite the peculiarities of “the Barnaby,” he had found a very valuable acquaintance in her husband; and that at the time when everybody was talking of the country with interest, it was really very pleasant to have picked up a man who probably knew more about it than any one else in England. It was exactly the sort of thing Frederic Stephenson liked, enabling him to get in the van of information, without the bore of reading interminable books, and endless quarterly articles upon it; and, in short, Mr. Allen O’Donagough was soon on such excellent terms with “the rich Stephenson,” that he dined with him twice in one week, and might most days be seen walking and talking with him on the pier for an hour together. This intimacy went on the more prosperously, because Mrs. Stephenson contrived in her usual easy style, to perform her part of the mischief she was so thoughtlessly promoting, with very little inconvenience to herself. She called once or twice on Mrs. O’Donagough; but as her carriage had two or three children in it, she could not leave them, and therefore only sent in her card, and when these visits were returned, it was poor Mr. Willoughby who had to converse with her. The inviting Mr. O’Donagough to dinner, of course did not include the ladies of the family; yet the talking of it served extremely well to show the general that his friendly reception of his wife’s aunt had already entailed the connection upon them, and in addition to this, Nora more than once amused herself by inviting Patty to pass the evening when Compton was engaged to dine with them, a device which produced a display of coquetry on the part of the young lady, so comic, as repeatedly to make her forget her fine-ladyism in hearty laughter at the remembrance of it.

  It was by dilating a little too maliciously upon this, in the presence both of General Hubert and Mrs. Comptom, that the foundation of a perfect reconciliation between them was laid. No sooner did they find themselves alone together, or, at least, with Agnes only for a witness, than they both, as by common consent, pleaded guilty to great folly in permitting Compton to amuse himself in so objectionable a manner; and the ice once broken, nothing could be more frank than the sincerity with which each declared themselves to blame. But, unfortunately, it was much easier to confess the fault than to remedy it; and so insidiously did Mrs. O’Donagough contrive to turn every accident to profit in promoting the intercourse between the cousins, that at length the old lady suddenly declared her intention of returning immediately to Compton Basset, and taking her young heir with her for the purpose of giving him some shooting upon his own manor. This was conferring a degree of pre-eminent dignity upon the boy, which both father and mother, under other circumstances, would have been very likely to disapprove; but now no objection was made to it, and the scheme was immediately decided upon. The bright eyes of Miss Patty could by no means stand a competition with partridge shooting with his own dogs, and the youthful Lothario, mounted on the coach-box of aunt Betsy’s carriage, dashed past the abode of his belle, and waved his hat so gaily to her and her mother, who stood together at the open drawing-room window, that though little was said between them on the subject, both felt that “spiteful aunt Betsy” had achieved a tour de force, which disappointed many projects.

  The mother consoled herself by remembering, that “the horrid old woman could not live for ever,” and the daughter found solace in a long recapitulation of Jack’s love-making on board the Atalanta, during a long walk on the cliff with her faithful friend Matilda.

  The departure of Compton, and, to say the truth, the departure of aunt Betsy also, were, under the present circumstances, a considerable relief to General Hubert; nevertheless, the O’Donagough plague was far from being put an end to by it. Agnes was still perpetually pained by witnessing the annoyance endured by her father under the persecutions of his affectionate sister-in-law.

  It was Mr. Willoughby’s habit to ramble out every morning when at the sea-side immediately after breakfast, sometimes leading one grandchild with him, and sometimes another. Mrs.

  O’Donagough soon became acquainted with this fact, and from that hour the unfortunate gentleman was never permitted to inhale the breeze he loved without having her closely fastened to his side. Though neither his spirits nor his frame were particularly robust, he might, perhaps, have endured this daily annoyance with greater fortitude, had it been confined to the operations of her tongue as she walked beside him; but always conscious that of all those upon whom she hung for the gratification of her ambition, he was the one who would endure the demonstrations of her love most patiently, she never relaxed in her determination to make the most of him.

  This led to such heavy hangings on his arm, such lusty tappings on the back when she had hunted him into the public library, and so many other wearying tokens of affectionate familiarity, that, though he complained to no one, his life positively became a burden to him; and it was only because he thought somebody or other would guess the reason and think he was unkind to “poor Sophy’s sister,” that he did not at once take to his bed in order to get rid of her.

  The only person who did guess the reason of his languid looks and altered spirits, was his daughter Agnes; and the idea having once suggested itself, there was no great difficulty in testing its truth and convincing herself that it was well-founded. As soon as she became quite sure of the fact, she pointed it out to her husband, who secretly reproached himself much more severely than he confessed for having been so greatly the cause of it. These feedings d’un part et d’autre soon led to the anticipatio
n of a scheme, long ago projected, but not intended to take place till the following year.

  General Hubert’s eldest son had gone through Eton school, with such brilliant rapidity as to be ready for college at least two years before his father wished to send him there. During this dangerous interval he had himself determined upon being his tutor, and, by taking him on the continent with his mother and sisters, hoped to assist essentially the formation of his moral character while giving him the advantage of modern languages and extensive travelling.

  In this scheme Mr. Willoughby had been always included; he had already repeatedly visited Italy, and had so uniformly found himself in better health on the continent, that nothing but his averseness to leave his daughters and their children induced him to reside in England.

  Had General and Mrs. Hubert wanted any confirmation on the subject of Mr. Willoughby’s weariness of Brighton, they would have found it in the manner of his receiving their proposal for immediately leaving it for France.

  When every member of a party is cordially desirous of promoting a scheme, and ample means exist to facilitate its being carried into execution, it is wonderful how much may be done in a little time. Mrs. Hubert, Miss Wilmot, and the two girls with their attendants, almost immediately crossed to Dieppe under the escort of Mr. Willoughby, while General Hubert, who it was settled should join them at Paris, returned to London for the purpose of settling everything previous to his leaving England, and arranging the movements of his son Montague upon his finally quitting school.

  Old Mrs. Compton had been long prepared for this separation, and was comforted under it by Compton Hubert’s promising to make Compton Basset, now become a very handsome residence, his principal home during the vacations; while to its taking place somewhat earlier than was intended, she was perfectly reconciled by the motive for it.