Collected Works of Frances Trollope
Page 252
“Come, come, that’s all right again; if my beauty does not get into the sulks, we shall get through the next two or three months in no time, and then you shall blaze away, both of you, as you never blazed before,” said Mr. O’Donagough; adding in a rather mysterious tone, “You have no notion yet, either of you, what I have got in my head to do for your pleasure and profit. But if I hear any grumbling it will spoil all, mind that. If you trouble me now, or ever, with questions — observe, I speak to both of you alike — if you trouble me now or ever with any questions whatever, about my goings on, or what I mean to do, or what I mean not to do, by Jove, I’ll take myself off! You are able to get at your own money now, my Barnaby,” he continued, in an accent of perfect good-humour, “as well as before you married me, and I give you credit for your cleverness; but one advantage of this is, you know, that you can do without me. Now, don’t fancy, either of you, that I am angry, or want to get rid of you — for I don’t — quite the contrary. If things go as I wish, my wife and daughter will count for something. So come and kiss me, Patty, and remember that the better you behave, the smarter you shall he when the fine folks come to town again.”
It would have been difficult for Mr. O’Donagough, or any gentleman under similar circumstances, to have pronounced an harangue more calculated to obtain the objects he desired. Had he scolded, they would probably have scolded again; had he blustered, they might have rebelled; but promises, threats, and mystery together, formed a chain most admirably calculated to lead ladies captive; and even before any opportunity had been given for them to consult together, both mother and daughter had respectively made up their minds to behave well.
“I think I will sit down at once to my satin stitch, Patty,” said Mrs. O’Donagough; “it’s always wrong to waste time. That cloak will be perfectly magnificent, if ever I five to finish it, and it is likely enough that it may be useful to you, or to me, one of these days. And if I was you, darling, I’d set about turning that pretty green silk dress that the sea faded so abominably; it will look as good as new, Patty, if you do the job nicely.”
“Yes, I will,” replied Patty almost meekly, and dutifully turning her steps towards the door to seek the employment suggested; but before she opened it, she ventured to turn her head and say, “Do you think, mamma, we shall he able to get any novels to read?”
“Upon my word, my dear, I don’t know,” was Mrs. O’Donagough’s discreet reply, glancing at the same time a look of civil inquiry towards her husband.
“Novels? — To be sure you may; lots,” replied Mr. O’Donagough, gaily. “I’m going out, and if you’ll sit down to your needles, I’ll find out the nearest circulating-library for you, and subscribe for three months.”
“And will you bring back something, papa,” said Patty, yawning, as she turned her eyes towards the one window, which, though it commanded an uninterrupted view of the window opposite, had little else to recommend it.
“I will if I can — but you must not expect me directly; I have too much to do to turn errand-boy just now, my beauty. You and your mother can stitch together for an hour or two, I know, without coming to the end of your talk. Why, you have got to hash up all that happened at Brighton; and when that’s done and over, you may begin upon what you shall do, and what you shall say, and what you shall put on some three months hence, when you will be living in style and state again,” replied Mr. O’Donagough.
Patty shrugged her shoulders, but left the room without a word; strong evidence that his judicious eloquence had not been thrown away upon her. When she returned to it with thimble, needles, cotton-box, and scissors in one hand, and a huge mass of miscellaneous trumpery in the other, she found her mamma alone, and already deeply occupied by the magnificent cloak.
“Pray do you intend to bear this, mamma?” said Patty, as soon as she had drawn forward the only movable table in the room, and placed it near the window. “Do you really intend to go on bearing this quietly?”
“Bear it? How am I to help bearing it?” replied Mrs. O’Donagough, sharply. “As if you did not know, girl, that I have no more power to help myself than this needle has. Where I choose to push it there it must go; and where he chooses to put us, there we must stay; and if you know any cure for it, I hope you will tell me, that’s all. Ain’t these leaves perfect, Patty?”
“I am sure I shall hang myself if it is to last for three months,” rejoined her daughter, without indicating the least emotion at sight of the perfect satin-stitch. “Mind! I give you fair warning, mother; I shall either hang myself or run away.”
“And pray, Miss Patty, why do you not tell your papa so, instead of trying to bother me worse than I am bothered already?” demanded Mrs. O’Donagough.
“Why, just because you are the gentleman’s wife, ma’am, and ought to be able to manage him, to be sure,” replied Patty. “But do you think if I was to fall sick, it might do any good?” she added very gravely.
“No, my dear, not the least in the world;” replied her mother. “He’s tiresome enough, and tyrant enough too, sometimes; but to give him his due, I don’t believe that what he is doing now is for the sake of teasing us. Ï am sure he means to blaze away, as he says, by-and-by, in fine style; and I don’t know but he’s right, Patty, after all; for I’d rather, ten times over, live hugger-mugger fashion, as we are now, if it’s only to last for a time, and then show off afterwards, than go on, on, for ever the same, just decent and respectable, and never making people wonder or admire from first to last.”
“Ay, ay, mamma, that’s all very true, and I understand it just as well as you do; but you’ll please to remember that I’m in my teens, and that what’s mighty easy to you, is just like death and distraction to me. Mercy upon me! only fancy me staying on, for three months at one go, in a dark linen frock, and without a man, young or old, tall or short, handsome or ugly, to look at me. I know I can’t bear it — I know I shall be after some prank or other to help myself.”
“I wish you would mind what you are about, Patty, and not talk so wild,” replied Mrs. O’Donagough, who, with the increasing wisdom of advancing age, was able to pursue her work tranquilly, even though she too was in a dark linen dress, and conscious that under her present circumstances, she could look neither like the beauty she had been, nor the woman of fashion she was. “I wish, Patty,” said she, “that you would be more steady at your work. Remember, my dear, that you are growing taller and stouter every day; and if you don’t mind, you’ll notch these turnings in so, in the unpicking, that you’ll never be able to make the frock up again big enough to get into. Do mind what you are about.”
“I’ll tell you what, ma’am,” replied the lively girl, “if you take to scolding, I’m off. I’ll be hanged if I won’t walk up and down the street before the door, if you make this little pig sty too hot to hold me.” And so saying, she pushed her work from her, and throwing up the dusty sash, thrust out her head to reconnoitre the promenade to which she threatened to betake herself.
“My goodness!” she exclaimed, drawing it back again, after taking a melancholy survey up the street and down the street; “what a nasty hideous hole we are got into! The air smells of nothing but dust, and there isn’t’ a soul to be seen except an old man driving a cabbage cart, and two dogs drawing a barrow with dirty rags and old bottles in it.” Yet even these objects appeared to have more attraction for the weary Patty, than the operation of dress-turning; for again she thurst forward her head, and remained for some minutes without changing her attitude. At length she drew back a step, while such a blush suffused her fair and ample cheeks as might have convinced her mamma, had she chanced to look up, that something besides the cabbage-cart and the wheelbarrow had met her eye. At the same moment a short, sharp knock at the door was keenly audible through the open window.
“That’s your father come back, I suppose,” said Mrs. O’Donagough.
“No, it isn’t,” replied Patty.
“Did you see who it was then?” demanded her mother.
“He must be the first-floor lodger, for he came in and went straight up stairs without saying a word,” said Patty, retreating from the door with her face in a blaze; “and pretty well he squinted at our door as he passed; but I’m sure he saw nothing of me but my nose.” —
“I suppose he saw you through the window, miss,” said her mamma; “but you mustn’t stare out into the street that way in London, I can tell you.”
“That’s because the street is so monstrous gay, I suppose,” replied her daughter. “Hadn’t you better put me on blinkers, mamma?” —
“Come, come, Patty, shut down the window, and settle quietly to your work, or upon my life and honour I’ll tell your father what a plague you are,” said Mrs. O’Donagough.
And much good you’ll get by that, won’t you, mamma?” replied Patty. “However, I’ll settle down presently if you won’t make a fuss; but I must go up stairs first, for I have forgot something and so saying, she ran out of the room without waiting for a reply.
The heiress of Mr. O’Donagough was no great songstress; but, for some reason or other, she took it into her head to be musical, as she walked deliberately up the stairs, singing “Cherry ripe,” very distinctly, if not very skilfully; and the consequence was, that just as she reached the first-floor landing, the door of the front room opened, and a tall olive-coloured man, with enormous black eyes, and a prodigious quantity of hair to match, became visible at it.
Patty started, ceased her song, somewhat hastened her step, and passed on, but not so rapidly as to be unconscious of her fellow-lodger’s politeness; for he bowed profoundly, and looked at her with his widely-opened great eyes, as if he admired her very much. On reaching her own apartment, which was the back-room of the second-floor, she seated herself with some degree of agitation on her trunk. “Lord, how I wish Matilda Perkins was here!” murmured Patty, as soon as she had, in some degree, recovered her breath and her composure. “I’ll bet a guinea she’d make a good guess in a minute as to what sort of chap that is — what eyes! He’s as dark as an Indian, but he’s monstrous handsome for all that, and I’m sure he’s a gentleman from his bowing so beautifully.” This soliloquy was thought, not spoken; and it was silently that Patty sat Revolving in her altered soul the possibility of amusing herself, even there, if she could but get at her dear friend to help her. After a few moments thus spent, she arose, determined to attack her mother and her father too, firmly and with proper spirit, on the absolute necessity of her having somebody to speak to, and the atrocity of which they would he guilty, if they would not give her leave to set off that very day for Belle-Vue-terrace, Brompton, in search of her friend Matilda.
In pursuance of this resolution, she re-entered the parlour with a slow and steady step, which had something grave and determined in it. She seated herself silently at the table, resumed her work, and for some minutes remained opening seams, and picking out threads so demurely, that her mother, though at that moment particularly engaged in newly adjusting her pattern, looked up to see what she was about; but perceiving her serious air, only said, “There’s a good girl, just keep on in that way till dinner-time, and the worse part of your job will be over.”
“Mamma!” said Patty, solemnly, “I am not thinking of my job.”
“And why not, for goodness’ sake? I’m sure you can think of nothing better, Patty. How beautiful the colour is where the sun hasn’t come! You’ll have a lovely frock again, if you will only take a little pains.”
“It is no good to talk to me of frocks and colours,” said Patty, in a voice of sedate melancholy, “while you are making me as miserable as you do now. I am quite sure I shall do some mischief to myself if you and papa persevere to keep me on in this way, without a single soul to speak to. I tell you fairly, mamma, I can’t bear it, and I won’t.” —
“What do you expect to get by flying at me, Patty?” said Mrs. O’Donagough, with considerable symptoms of irritation.
“It is no good putting yourself in a passion, mamma,” replied Patty, with very impressive quietness. “I am sure I am in no passion myself. What I feel has nothing to do with temper, or anything of the kind. I have been thinking very seriously about it. Everybody must know themselves better than anybody else can know them, and I feel quite sure that I shall not live, or at any rate that I shall go out of my senses, if papa goes on with me in this way. I dare say there are many people who could bear it better than I can, and I am sure I wish that I was like them, for papa’s sake, and for yours, for I don’t want to vex either of you — but I am as nature made me, you know, and I can’t help it.”
“Good gracious, Patty! How grave and solemn you do talk!” cried Mrs. O’Donagough, looking up at her with all the surprise, and some of the alarm which the young lady had intended to produce. “What on earth would you have me do, my dear? I would wish to be as watchful over you as ever mother was — I never did think of myself at any time of my life — everybody that ever knew me would do me the justice to say that, and it is hardly likely that I should be less generous and devoted to my own daughter than to other people; but I no more know how to get you out of this place, before your father chooses to take you, than I know how to turn copper into gold.” —
“It is not altogether the place that I hate so much, mamma,” replied Patty; “I dare say I should have sense enough to get the better of that; but it is the being so dreadful-dull and solitary, without a single friend in the world to speak to. I should be perfectly contented if you would only let me go and see Matilda Perkins.”
“I am sure, my dear Patty, I should have no objection if it depended only upon me — though I can’t say but what I should feel a little small at being seen in such a place as this by people who have met General Hubert at my house. However, I could easily make up my mind to bear that for your sake, my dear — and I can’t but say it would be a comfort and some sort of relief, too, for me to have that good creature, Louisa, to speak to now and then, especially if your father would let me tell her that we were going to be dashing again by and by. But how can I tell what he may say to it, Patty? All I can do is to promise I’ll be no spoke in your wheel, and if he chooses to ask my opinion, I’ll take care it shall go the right way.”
“I’m not going to ask you, mamma,” responded Patty, with a deep sigh. “I have made up my mind to speak to papa myself, and I know perfectly well what I shall say to him. But I suppose it will be hours before he comes back. I wish you would put up your work just for a few minutes, mamma, and take a turn with me up and down the street. I’m sure I don’t care about going any further; I only want a little air. Don’t you think it is very close here?”
“Yes, I do, indeed — and when I think of poor dear Brighton, I positively feel half choked. I really think a little walk will do us both good;” and Mrs. O’Donagough began to roll up her work.
“Very well, then,” cried Patty, briskly, “I’ll run up and put my things on.” And this time, as she mounted the stairs, she sang the merrier roundelay of
I won’t be a nun — I can’t be a nun.
I am so fond of pleasure that I must not be a nun.
Again a manly step was heard to traverse the little drawing-room, again the door opened, and once more the olive-coloured stranger appeared at it, respectfully bowing, as before, when he beheld the young lady passing before it. On perceiving this, Patty felt convinced that in common civility she was hound to return the salutation; and she did so by smiling, blushing, shaking her curls, and bowing her head. A quarter of this abounding gratitude would Have sufficed to assure the Spanish language-master, for such he was, that not alone the bright valleys of his own sunny land were peopled by dark-browed and very benignant young ladies, but that even the chilling blasts of the north could not prevent the effect of a wondering
Hidalgo’s eyes, if he did but know how to use them.
Having gained her apartment, Patty placed herself before the glass, and laughed at her own blushing image there, as she recollected the looks of profound respect and admiration which it had just called forth. She waited not to consult her mamma, as to which of her three bonnets she had best put on, lest her father’s doctrine respecting the eligibility of occasionally adopting the obscure incognito style, should he pleaded in mitigation of feathers and flowers; and long enough before Mrs. O’Donagough’s majestic person had reached the altitude at which she herself stood, Patty was already decked in what she considered as her most becoming finery.
“Good gracious! my dear, how smart you are! I had no notion you meant to put on your best bonnet. I am sure if your father sees us, we shall catch it. You know what his notions are about that matter, Patty,” said the dutiful wife and watchful mother.
“I don’t care a straw what his notions are, mamma,” replied her daughter. “When I have got a good thing I shall wear it whenever I think fit. You don’t suppose that papa intends to make such a Bessy Dingle of himself as to tell us every morning what clothes we are to put on before night, do you?”
“My goodness, Patty, how you do chop and change about!” exclaimed Mrs. O’Donagough. “Have I not heard you tell him over and over that you admired his plan of being shabby, and saving when we were out of sight?”
“Well; and so I do,” answered Patty, colouring a little. “But in London one can never he sure that one is quite out of sight, you know.”
Not aware how special an observation this was, Mrs. O’Donagough permitted it to produce considerable effect; for she laid aside a shabby old shawl in which she was about to envelop herself, and substituted one of scarlet, which had been purchased expressly for the Brighton campaign. And now, being fully equipped, they set off; Patty descending the stairs not only without singing, but without suffering the patter of her feet to he as audible as usual; nevertheless the olive-tinted stranger, who seemed to be the most watchful and attentive of language-masters, heard enough to bring him to his door, and somewhat to the young lady’s dismay, his dark visage and enormous eyes appeared exactly at the moment when Mrs. O’Donagough was passing it.