It seemed that the encountering an old lady instead of a young one was more than the gentleman’s nerves could stand, for he instantly stepped back and closed the door. “There is some truth in what you say, Patty, about London. One never can tell who may be there, and who may not. I am monstrous glad I have got my scarlet shawl on,” were the words uttered by Mrs. O’Donagough, as she descended to the street-door; but they did not all reach the ear of her daughter, and the gentle damsel nestled to the side of her parent, as they commenced their walk, eager to hear the observations which the apparition of the sable head might give rise to.
“He must be an African or a Chinese, Patty, or something of that distant kind I should guess,” resumed Mrs. O’Donagough, as they walked on; “yet I can’t, for my life, help thinking that he is monstrous handsome, though he is so near being a blackamore. Did you get a peep at him?”
“At who, mamma?” said Patty, innocently.
“At the lodger on the first floor, my dear. Didn’t you see the door open as we came down?”
“I suppose it was while I was running up stairs for my pocket handkerchief,” replied Patty.
“Well, then, you must contrive to see him some day or other, child, for it is the most remarkable face I ever beheld; I should not wonder to hear anybody say that he was horridly frightful, and yet for the life of me I can’t help thinking him monstrously handsome.”
“I am sure, mamma, I should like to see him of all things,” replied her daughter; “but I don’t know how. I can’t walk into his room, you know.”
“Lor-a-mercy, no!” returned the mother, with great animation. “I beg and desire, Patty, that you won’t speak in any such flighty way about him. I am quite certain he is not the sort of person for any nonsense of that kind. If he lodges in the house, you will be sure to see him, sooner or later, I dare say, without playing any mad pranks to contrive it.”
Patty received this rebuke in silence, and walked on. It had been her intention, when inviting her mamma to take the air, to cross the street, and parade up and down leisurely on the other side of it; thereby giving an opportunity to the first-floor gentleman to see them out of the window if he liked it; but she was too sensible a girl to persevere in this project now, and they languidly pursued their way to Regent-street, first streaming along to the top of it, and then down again.
Nothing could he a greater proof that the mind of the fair Patty was preoccupied than the indifference with which she gazed into the shop-windows; but with her mother it was otherwise. Notwithstanding the stifling heat and dust of a fine October day in London, Mrs. O’Donagough’s energies all returned, as she contemplated the glories, faded and waning as they were, which every step presented to her view. “Oh, Patty!” she exclaimed at length, “what are you thinking of? Did you ever in all your days see anything so heavenly beautiful as these shops. Just look at those coloured muslins! How they do make one long! Don’t they?.
“To be sure they do,” replied Patty, roused at last, and throwing, as it were, all her recovered soul through the plate-glass barrier that separated her from the objects in question. “But it makes one sick and miserable to look at them without a single sixpence in one’s pocket. I declare I’d rather be dead than going on as I am now!” This melancholy reflection, and her own pathetic expression of it, recalled to the memory of the fair mourner the necessity of managing ably her projected attack upon the heart of her father; and no sooner did she think of this, than the injury which her gay dress might produce, should they chance to meet him, struck her forcibly.
“Let us go home now, mamma,” said she, in a tone of great depression and fatigue. “Upon my word I am so tired, I can hardly stand.” Mrs. O’Donagough could willingly have walked and gazed a while longer, but she yielded to this urgent entreaty, and they returned in time for Patty to prepare herself for the reception of her papa.
There was considerable cleverness displayed in her manner of doing this. She knew she could not turn pale, and she was very sorry for it; but all she could do, she did. She pushed back her redundant locks behind her ears, and made them hang as disconsolately as their nature would permit; she practised before the glass a sort of heavy, heart-broken look, dressed herself in a dirty faded suit, and then crept down stairs so quietly as to escape the keen ears of the Spaniard, whom she by no means wished to encounter in such a trim. Having placed herself in an attitude of great weariness and dejection, she awaited her father’s return in such pertinacious stillness that she very nearly fell asleep; but he entered at a favourable moment, real heaviness assisting that which was assumed, and giving her the appearance of being in a very deplorable condition.
“Mercy on me, Patty! what’s the matter with you?” exclaimed Mr. O’Donagough. “I hope,” he added, turning to his wife, ‘‘that she is not going to have the smallpox, or measles, or anything of that sort! Have you got a head-ache, my dear?”
“Yes, papa, my head aches very had,” replied Patty, in a gentle voice. “I believe people have always got the head-ache when they are as miserable as me!” —
“Miserable! why what have you been doing to her, Mrs. O’D.? You haven’t been scolding and badgering her, I hope? You know I don’t approve of it, and I won’t have it.”
“No, dear papa, that is not it,” said Patty, drawing out her pocket-handkerchief, “mamma has nothing whatever to do with it; but my very heart is broken, at thinking that I am in London, and can’t see the only friend I ever had in the world. I should not mind anything if you would only let me go and call upon Matilda Perkins!”
Mr. O’Donagough threw a glance round the room, and then at the personal decorations of his wife and daughter.
“Do you really wish, Patty, to let your friends see you in this changed condition?” said he, gravely, but without harshness. “When they saw you last, you looked like a duchess; and now darling, upon my word you look like her housemaid. Don’t you think it would he better to wait till we are up again?”
“Wait for three months, papa, without seeing Matilda Perkins? I am sure it will kill me, I am certain that I can’t bear it.” And here Patty applied her handkerchief to her eyes.
“I wonder any man alive would ever rear a daughter,” sang Mr. O’Donagough, laughing, and attempting to withdraw the hankerchief from the bright orbs he so greatly admired. “Come, Patty, don’t be a fool! Look up, and be a good girl, and we’ll contrive some way or other about seeing the Perkinses. But I must not have all my plots and plans spoiled either, mind that, if you please.”
“I am sure I don’t want to spoil anything, papa!” replied Patty; “only let me see Matilda, and I’ll tell her anything in the world that you like!”
“There’s a darling! Very well, Patty, you shall go with your mother, and call upon them to-morrow morning, if you will; only you must dress yourselves nice, and tell them that you came into town entirely to see them, for that you are in lodgings at Richmond, till your London house is ready. — No, no, upon second thoughts, you had better say that we are staying with friends at Richmond, or else perhaps they might expect to he invited. Do you understand, Patty?”
“Yes, papa, perfectly; and I shall like all that very much; a great deal better than letting them suppose that we are actually living in such a place as this. And nothing can be easier, you know, than telling them exactly whatever you please about it; only I shan’t at all get the sort of comfort I want if I am only to go once, and have no place where I may tell Matilda to call upon me in return.”
“It is my turn now,” said Mrs. O’Donagough. “I have not said a word yet; but if you will listen to me, both of you. I’ll engage for it I will manage the business better than either.”
“And likely enough, too, my Barnaby,” gaily replied her husband, who for some reason or other had returned in excellent spirits. “Likely enough, Patty, she’ll beat us both at a plot. So say your say, Mrs. O’D., and let us see how we can contrive to let the beauty have her way without interfering with what I have laid down as
firmly as the laws of the Medes and Persians.”
“Well, then, Donny, I’ll tell you what we must say to the Perkinses. First, we’ll begin by letting them know that we have been invited to stay with some very elegant friends at Richmond, and I can put in a word or two about our all enjoying it so very much. And then we’ll go on to say that there is but one drawback, which is the inconvenience of the distance from town just at the time when we have so much to do in preparing a house for the winter and spring; and then I can say that dear Mr. O’Donagough is so dreadfully afraid of my being over-fatigued that he has taken a little bit of an out-of-the-way lodgings, just for us to sleep in, whenever it happened that we were too much knocked up by a day’s shopping to be able to return to Richmond the same night. And then, you know, nothing will be easier, at any time, than to fix a day for their calling, by saying, come Monday, come Tuesday, for we have made appointments with tradespeople, which will oblige us to be in town.”
“Well done, Barnaby!” exclaimed Mr. O’Donagough, slapping her on the back, and laughing heartily. “Isn’t your mother a capital hand, Patty? In that way, my dear, you may see this dear friend of yours, three times in a week, if you like it.”
“And I should not make the least objection,” observed Mrs. O’Donagough, “to her passing a day or two at a time with them, if they happened to invite her. The change would do her a deal of good, dear creature; and the Perkinses are such perfectly proper people, that there could be no reason in the world against it.”
This was an idea that made Patty’s eyes sparkle again, as brightly as before they were rubbed by her pocket-handkerchief; and with such a prospect before her, and a delicious new novel, called “The Doubtful One,” to fill up all mental interstices, when her own meditations had been sufficiently indulged, the day passed away without another sigh or groan being heard from her.
CHAPTER XX.
As Mrs. O’Donagough herself was very little better acquainted with the general localities of London than her young daughter, there were but two methods by which they could hope to reach the desired bourn of Belle-Vue-terrace, Brompton, in safety; the one being by the guidance of a hackney-coachman — the other, by that of Mr. O’Donagough. The gentleman preferred the latter, as being the least costly of the two; only premising before they set out that they should both of them take such heed to their ways as might suffice to direct their return, he having business to do, which made it quite impossible he could remain during their visit. This very reasonable condition was readily agreed to, and the conversation en route consisted chiefly of observations relative to it.
“Take notice you turn to the right at the bottom of Regent-street.”—” Now observe both of you, this is Piccadilly,” et cætera, et cætera.
At length the street and the number indicated in Patty’s pocket-book were reached, and their anxious inquiries for the Miss Perkinses answered by the agreeable information that they were at home.
Mr. O’Donagough then departed, and his wife and daughter mounted to the drawing-room. The active grisette of the mansion, whose lightest labour was that of gentleman woman-usher to the Miss Perkinses, may be excused if she found the difficulties of the name insurmountable, and announced them as Mrs and Miss Hodnago.
The two sisters, who had just had time enough to finish the arrangements, embellishments, and general setting to rights of their little apartment, were sitting very snugly, and in the most lady-like manner, each at her own separate window, each with a little round-table before her, and each employed upon some sort of necessary and important needlework.
On hearing the door opened they both looked up, and on hearing the name of Mrs and Miss Hodnago, they both made a grimace, and ejaculated, “Who?”
But ere it could be repeated the glorious vision of their Brighton grandee friend, sailing into the room with all her wonted majesty, and followed by her blooming daughter, met their view; and in the same instant, both sisters, as if moved by springs governed by one wire, clasped their hands, started up, and exclaimed, “Oh, goodness!”
The only difference was, that the more ardent feelings of the younger propelled her forward with a vehemence which overturned her little table, and brought to view a couple of circulating library volumes which had nestled amidst the stockings and frills with which they were covered.
Miss Matilda and Patty were, as may be imagined, speedily locked in each other’s arms, nor did Mrs. O’Donagough fail to display her habitually caressing propensities; but, making direct for the slender Louisa, infolded her lank form with an energy that for a moment deprived her of breath. Many and fervent were the exclamations of delight which were uttered as soon as the hugging was over, and the four ladies seemed to vie with each other in the strength of the epithets by which they expressed their ecstasy at this re-union. For some time the eloquence of each was uttered for the good of all; but then Patty began to remember the thousand things she had to say which were calculated for the ear of Matilda alone, and she grew fidgety and restless, till she had contrived to draw her confidant to the most distant part of the small apartment; but even there she was far from being at ease, feeling suspicious that if she spoke loud enough to be heard by her, it was nearly impossible that the others should not hear her too.
“Could you not take me into your own room for a minute, Matilda?” she said, abruptly.
“Yes, to be sure, dearest!” replied her faithful friend; “it is only the next door.” —
And arm-in-arm they prepared to leave the apartment together; when, just as they reached the door, Patty remembered that it would he absolutely necessary that Matilda should be made acquainted with the history invented for the entire use and service of herself and her sister, and conscious that she remembered not one-half of it, she suddenly stopped and said, “I am going with Matilda into her room for half a minute, mamma; but I wish, before we go, you would tell them both all about our being in London and out of it, as one may call it, and all the rest of it, you know, mamma, about our beautiful house that we are going to have — because when she and I are together we never speak of anything but our own particular talk, and yet I should like for her to know all about it too.”
The quick-witted Mrs. O’Donagough comprehended the state of her daughter’s mind in a moment; and equally pleased by her prudence, and the opportunity it gave herself of indulging a little in the imaginative style of narrative in which she delighted, she replied, briskly, “To be sure I will! I want to tell them both exactly how we are situated. Sit clown, dear Matilda, for one minute, and then you shall run off with Patty, if you will.”
Matilda expressed, with the warmest gratitude, her earnest desire to hear everything she would be pleased to have the kindness to say; and seating herself close by Patty, took loving possession of her arm, while Mrs. O’Donagough explained “her situation,” as she called it, as follows: —
“The fact is, my dear girls,” she began, “we want, like many other people of some little consequence in this foolish world, to be in two places at once; and the consequence is, that we can hardly be said to be positively in either. A family of high fashion, distant relations of the Huberts, and therefore of mine, have taken for the summer a magnificent place near Richmond, and nothing will content them but that Mr. O’Donagough, myself, and Patty should pass a month or two with them there. Now most assuredly nothing on earth could be more agreeable than this proposal, if it were not that we have such an immense deal of business upon our hands, in consequence of our determination to take a house, and furnish it from top to bottom. Mr. O’Donagough is a man of great taste, and perhaps rather too fond of magnificence; and I therefore feel it to be absolutely necessary, and quite a duty for me to be with him when he is ordering everything; for if I am not, I feel-sure that he will be running into immoderate expense. Not that I have the least wish to prevent his having everything exceedingly elegant about him; a man of his family and fortune, of course, has a right to it, and Heaven forbid that I should wish to prevent it; only, you k
now, my dears, that there is nothing like a prudent wife for keeping a man out of mischief when he happens to have a decided taste for expense. So I have told O’Donagough fairly, that I will not give my consent to his taking the house, or purchasing any of the furniture, particularly the mirrors, chandeliers, and so forth, unless I am with him. And I have promised, delightful as our home at Richmond is, that I will constantly come to town once or twice a week for this purpose; and this promise I am determined to keep, however troublesome it may be. But poor, dear fellow! he is so excessively kind and affectionate, that he cannot endure the idea of my over-fatiguing myself; and if you will believe me, he has actually taken a little bit of a lodging, where Patty and I may have a bed whenever we feel too tired with our morning’s shopping to return with pleasure to our gay party at Richmond. Is not this kind and thoughtful of him?”
“Oh, dear! it’s quite beautiful!” exclaimed Miss Louisa, fervently.
“What a husband!” exclaimed Matilda, with a sigh.
“I do assure you, my dears, that the hope of seeing you no-wand then by this means, is one great reason for my approving it; and poor, dear Patty is quite in raptures with the plan on that account.”
“We can never thank you half enough for all your kindness to us,” said Miss Matilda, pressing the hand of her friend, and at the same time yielding to a hint, conveyed by a nudge of the elbow, that they might now retire.
“I am so delighted that I have got you to myself once more, my dearest, dearest Patty!” cried Matilda, embracing her friend anew, as soon as she had succeeded in getting her to the little space before the window, which the navigation round the bed rendered no easy task. “Oh, how my heart beats to ask you a few questions! Tell me, dearest girl, did you see much of Foxcroft after we came away?”
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 253