“Oh! my darling, only Patty!” returned the terrified favourite, in an accent which seemed to predict a shower of tears; “how can you speak so cruelly? Do you not know how I dote upon you? Don’t you know, that excepting my poor dear Foxcroft, to whom I am determined to be as faithful as you have been to your Jack, don’t you know that excepting him, there is no living creature in the whole wide world, that I love and dote upon as I do you.”
“Very well, then — don’t let us say any more about it; but tell me, Matilda, what do you think I ought’ to say the first time my beautiful sweetheart asks me downright to marry him?”
“Say, my dearest creature? Why, just at the very first, I suppose you must say that you are too young to think of such a thing.”
“But, suppose he should take me at my word, Matilda? Suppose he should really go away again, for heaven knows how long, just as he did when he went to Sheerness, you know? What would become of me then?”
“Oh, you must take care of that, dearest! you must take care that he does not out-and-out suppose you are quite in earnest. Common sense teaches one, you know, when one says anything of that kind, to do it with a sort of look, or a hesitation, or something or other that shall make a man understand, if he is not a very great fool indeed, that you don’t mean to kill him with cruelty.”
“Well, then, that will he got over without danger, for my Sir Henry Jack is no fool, I promise you,” replied Patty, exultingly. “But I say, Matilda, how long do you think it will he before we shall be all right and ready to invite him?”
“Quite directly, I should think, — as soon as you have got into the house, I mean,” replied her patient friend, who had listened to the same question, and made the same answer about a hundred and fifty times since the Curzon-street house had been taken.
Meanwhile Mr. O’Donagough, who, in his own way, and in a less demonstrative manner, was quite as desirous of getting things en train as either Patty or her mother, did an immense deal of business in a wonderfully short space of time, and performed it all with as much skill as despatch.
It would not be easy to paint Mrs. O’Donagough’s ecstasy, when she found that her generous husband intended she should possess both a very tall footman, and a very little tiger. It was, as she told Miss Louisa Perkins, a proof of such lover-like attention, as she never could forget.
“Such a multitude of people, you know, my dear, are absolutely obliged to do with only one or the other, that I feel very greatly touched, I must confess, by his so positively insisting that I should have both. Oh, my dear Louisa, how heartily I wish that you and poor Matilda, too, had exactly such a husband as Mr. O’Donagough! You have no idea — I am quite sure it is impossible that you should have any idea — how excessively kind he is to me.”
Good Miss Louisa fancied she had remembered a few little scenes not quite accordant with this testimony; but she was far too obliging a person to remind Mrs. O’Donagough, at this happy moment, of circumstances which had occurred at one less so, and therefore only replied by uttering a sigh, in a sort of coaxing cadence long drawn out, which might be written thus: Ough — ugh — gh!
“Poor things!” muttered Mrs. O’Donagough, as she bustled off to receive and examine a dingy-looking woman, who came as a candidate for the honour of being her cook, and who, like all others desirous of a place in her household, presented herself at a given hour in the grand drawing-room of Curzon-street. “Poor things! what a shocking misfortune it is, to be sure, not getting a husband at all! Yet! bless me! so thin as they are, and with such light little eyes, what could they expect?”
At length the important day arrived, that was to convert Mr. O’Donagough from a lodger into a householder; a transition which, from his lively recollection of past events, amused, as much as delighted him. The footman, the tiger, the cook, and the housemaid, were all made aware that though “the family” had been constantly coming to town to look after the house, they were, nevertheless, resident at Richmond. This was a sort of fact, which Mr. O’Donagough himself was particulary anxious to establish, knowing, as he sometimes hinted to his wife, the real value of appearances a good deal better than she did. He therefore arranged the ceremony of their entree into their mansion in the following manner: — Mrs. O’Donagough and Patty having been despatched by an early coach to an hotel at Richmond, the husband and the father superintended the removal of all trunks, boxes, bundles, and baskets, by a cart from “the lodgings” to “the house,” and then mounting into an omnibus, he rejoined the ladies, indulged them very liberally with sandwiches, cheesecakes, and porter, and then handed them into a postchaise, which four horses drew at full gallop, to the inexpressible delight of Patty, to the mansion in Curzon-street, where they were received by the footman, the tiger, the housemaid, and the cook, in a style which caused emotions in the breast of Mrs. O’Donagough more easily imagined than described.
A well-spread tea-table awaited them; and it was then and there that Mr. O’Donagough thought fit to enter, more at length than he had yet done, into a statement of what he wished and expected from the two ladies under the novel circumstances in which they were now placed. The conversation was, however, opened by his lady.
“Well, my Patty!” she exclaimed, contriving by a skilful movement of her impressive person to bring her luxurious armchair a little nearer to the fire. “Isn’t this glorious?”
“I should like it better if there was more company,” replied her candid daughter.
“That is very natural, my dear,” observed her father, gravely: “but it is not civil to say so. And now we are on the chapter of manners, it is just as well to tell you both at once, that I must desire and insist that you are very careful on that point. ‘Manners make the man,’ you know, and they make the woman too, I promise you, quite as much as fine eyes and a fresh complexion. You must both of you he exceedingly careful to he always lady-like and perfectly genteel in everything you say and do.”
Mrs. O’Donagough became exceedingly red in the face while this was said. Not Mrs. Malaprop when her “parts of speech” were attacked, could feel more indignant, than she did at this insinuation respecting the perfection of her manners.
“This is something new!” she exclaimed, while her expansive bosom heaved almost convulsively; “this is breaking out in a new place, Mr. O’Donagough, I must say. And pray what are you going to put, into my daughter’s head next? If my manners are not good enough to be a model for her, I should like very much to know where she is to find one. Prom my very earliest childhood, my manners have been remarked, and it is not for me to repeat what has been said of them. But this I will say, that I believe you are the first that ever found out there was anything in my manners to be mended.”
“Upon my honour, my dear, I did not mean to say anything at all affronting about your manners. Of course I admire them extremely!” replied Mr. O’Donagough. “But Patty is very young, you know, as yet, and therefore I think it is as well to give her a hint that she must be careful not to be too frolicsome and rampageous if she intends to be my Lady Seymour. The young man, you see, is a good deal with Mrs. Hubert and that set, and I’ll bet you what you will, that though he may he in love with our Patty, owing to their old acquaintance on board ship, which is quite natural, so handsome and affectionate as she is, yet still, I’ll venture a good bet, he’d say, if he was asked, that Mrs. Hubert’s manners, and her daughters’ too, were exactly what is thought most elegant by people of high fashion; and that’s what you must try to appear, if you can, you know.”
Scarcely were these dangerous words uttered, ere he was assailed by both wife and daughter, who in the same instant burst upon him, each trying, as it seemed, to outscream the other.
“You don’t mean to say,” vociferated the elder lady, “that any living being in their senses could give the preference to the cold, starched, hateful; old-maidish manners of Agnes Willoughby over mine? MINE! Gracious Heaven! That I should ever live to hear you say such a thing as that, Major — Mr. I mean —
Mr. Allen O’Donagough! I should like to hear Lord Mucklebury’s opinion on the point.”
While these words were being uttered on one side of him, a shrill, young voice assailed him on the other with, “You think Jack would like Miss Longshanks Elizabeth better than me, do you? Well then, let him take her — that’s all I have got to say about it.”
“Wheugh!” whistled Mr. O’Donagough, extending his hands, as if to drive away a swarm of stinging flies, “what a racket you do make, ladies, about nothing at all. You don’t quite catch my meaning, I perceive; but perhaps, by degrees, I may be able to make you understand me better. However, we will say no more about it now, if you please. And, by-the-by, my Barnaby, there is something else to-talk of, which I dare say you will think more agreeable. You have mentioned Lord Mucklebury; and do you know, my dear, I should like exceedingly to find him out, that you might renew your acquaintance, and introduce me to him. I will promise not to be jealous, and I rather think he is one of the sort of people I should like to know.”
There was in this speech wherewithal to heal very satisfactorily all the wounds inflicted by the former one. The conversation immediately flowed into a most agreeable channel, wherein a future of very great and hopeful splendour was sketched. Patty, indeed, fell asleep in the midst of it, which was probably owing to some rather business-like details which entered into the discussion; but scarcely ever had the ci-devant major and his Barnaby passed an evening in more perfect harmony.
CHAPTER XXIV.
IT so happened that the first visitor introduced into Mrs. O’Donagough’s new drawing-room, by the intervention of the tall footman and the little page, was Mr. Foxcroft.
This gentleman, in consequence of having some still unsettled business to transact with Mr. O’Donagough, had kept up sufficient correspondence with him, to make him acquainted with his address; but it had not, as it seemed, been of so confidential a nature, as to include any description of his present abode, or manner of living. It was, therefore, with very undisguised astonishment, that this Brighton friend looked round him upon all the finery and all the grandeur which Mrs. O’Donagough, her daughter, her servants, and her drawing-rooms presented to his view.
Some people might perhaps have thought this exceedingly uncivil, but Mrs. O’Donagough was not one of them; and the delight with which she witnessed his surprise, was as little concealed on her part, as the surprise itself was on his.
“How d’ye do, Captain Foxcroft? ha! ha! ha! How you do stare about you!” cried Mrs. O’Donagough, very cordially extending her hand. “Why, don’t you know Patty again? I declare that’s too bad, as if you never saw her elegantly dressed at Brighton.”
“I beg your pardon a thousand times, my dear Miss Patty!” exclaimed the visitor, striding across the floor, and shaking and pressing the young lady’s hand with very affectionate vehemence; “for goodness’ sake do not suppose I did not know you! I am sure if I had seen you sitting upon a throne, I could never for a moment have mistaken your charming face for any in the whole world; — only I had no idea, certainly, that your London residence was so completely elegant.”
“Isn’t that capital, Patty? “said Mrs. O’Donagough, with another hearty laugh. “Just look here, Foxcroft,” she added, majestically leading the way to the second, and then to the third drawing-room. “I think on the whole this room is quite perfect — because of the recess, you see, and the elegant drapery about it. Isn’t that a beautiful looking-glass? Of course you observe that all the chimneys have looking-glasses. That’s a great advantage. There are a monstrous number of houses, and very elegant ones, too, where there is but one; but nobody can tell that hasn’t observed it, what an extraordinary difference it makes. To be sure, Mr. O’Donagough is a man of the very best of tastes, — and I must say, as liberal as he is elegant. Sit down, Captain Foxcroft, sit down upon the sofa; we don’t at all mind using the sofas, though they are, certainly, excessively beautiful. But what good is there in having beautiful things if one’s afraid to use them? Nothing, I think, shows a greater vulgarity, than that sort of carefulness, particularly in a house that one hires furnished. Heaven knows we pay enough for it!”
“Of course, ma’am,” replied the gentleman, “nobody can doubt that, and a delightful thing it is to be able to do things in such a style. I hope Mr. O’Donagough is well? I took the liberty of asking for him, and the servant said he was at home. There is a little business that I want to speak to him about, if be is quite at leisure.”
“I believe he is in the library, Captain Foxcroft,” replied Mrs. O’Donagough with much dignity. “Ring the bell, Patty. I will send the page to inform him you are here.”
When Mrs. O’Donagough from any accidental circumstance, or for any particular reason of her own, felt herself exalted higher in the scale of created beings than, ordinary, her voice underwent a singular change, not easy to be described. It was as if some unusual fulness had arisen in her throat, which, while it obliged her to place her head in a particular position, and to add a third tier to the redundancy of her exuberant chin, appeared to elongate every word she uttered, and to give a sort of swelled and preternatural roundness to every syllable. “Oy cawn vainthure to asshurre y-you, Cawptin Fawxcroft,” she said, as soon as she had given the message to the little priggish button-bedecked boy who answered the bell, “Oy cawn vainthure, I awm certawin, to asshurre y-you, that eef Mr. O’Donagough is not veery partiqularly engaaged, he will not refewse to re-ceeeve you.”
Poor Mr. Foxcroft, who was come upon some rather awkward business, felt this sublimity to his fingers’-ends, and rather to escape from the danger of being overwhelmed by any more of it, than from any wish at that moment of enjoying the playful vivacity of Miss Patty, he suddenly rose and crossed the room to where, as usual, she was lounging upon a couch placed close against the window, and looking into the street.
“I hope you have not forgotten an old friend, Miss Patty, because you have got into a new house?” said he.
“No, that I havn’t, Captain Foxcroft,” replied Miss Patty, well pleased, as it seemed, by this address; “I was only waiting to see how long it would be before you would have done palavering with mamma. None of your old friends forget you, I can tell you that.”
Delighted at finding that one, at least, of the family remained much in the same state of refinement as heretofore, Mr. Foxcroft expressed very warmly his gratitude for the consolatory assurance, adding, “I need hardly tell you, my dear Miss Patty, that there is no change on my part.”
“So far, so good,” replied Patty, with very friendly exultation, “and I suppose I may repeat that, mayn’t I, wherever I like?”
“To be sure you may, my dear Miss Patty!” he rejoined with an air of sudden intelligence; for, in fact, he at that moment recollected, for the first time since he entered the fine drawing-room, that one of his lady-loves was, or had been, the elected amie de la maison. To say the truth, Mr. Foxcroft’s personal concerns had occupied him, of late, so exclusively, that the remembrance of the fair Matilda had melted from his recollection altogether; and not till the marked emphasis which Patty placed on the word “wherever,” set him to meditate on her meaning, did her idea recur to him. Then, however, “a sudden thought struck him,” that it might be worth while, under existing circumstances, to renew the acquaintance. A good footing at the house of Mr. O’Donagough was essential to him, and it mattered little how it was obtained. Female influence was always powerful, and, moreover, it was not quite impossible that he might find, upon inquiry, even stronger reasons still for renewing his tender intercourse with the susceptible Matilda. As these thoughts passed rapidly through his head, his eyes became animated, and expressed that sort of second-hand tenderness, with which gentlemen of his tone and manner, are apt to address the young-lady confidantes of their beloveds.
“How excessively kind it is of you to take so much interest in me, Miss Patty!” he said, hanging his head a little on one side, and pressing his hands fervently together; “I am sure yo
ur eyes can read my heart, and you are quite at liberty to repeat what you find there to — to those, you know, who are in your confidence.”
“Well! that’s fair and open, any way,” replied Patty, she shall know what you say, trust me for that.”
At this moment the page returned with his master’s compliments, and “he would be happy to see the gentleman in the library.” Giving a look of confidential intelligence to Patty, and a bow of prodigious respect to Mrs. O’Donagough, Mr. Foxcroft followed the page, who ushered him into a back parlour, large enough to have been called a library had there been books in it, but of these the show was so scanty, as almost to escape a cursory observation. However, there were not wanting any of the various other articles, which, in the minds of many, as essentially constitute a gentleman’s library as the books themselves. Thus, there was an oblong table with drawers at its sides, and covered with leather, on which was spread abundance of manly litter, among which might be found pen, ink, and paper. On another table were several newspapers, together with a boot-hook and a shoeing-horn. There were, moreover, among “the fixtures,” two large cases, probably designed to accommodate such “silent friends” as the owner might choose to invite; but as yet, none such had arrived at Mr. O’Donagough’s bidding, and the glass doors sheltered nothing more erudite than Mr. O’Donagough’s wardrobe, he having happily agreed in opinion with his lady, that he would find it very comfortable and convenient to make the library his dressing room. Notwithstanding the want of books, however, Mr. O’Donagough was reading, and this, together, with the literary-leisure air communicated by a printed calico dressing-gown, made him feel that to all intents and purposes he was receiving his friend in his library. But though surrounded thus by dignity and ease, he condescended to rise, throw away the Sporting Magazine with which he was engaged, and hold out a hand to his friend.
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 259