Those who came to laugh, remained to play, he understood what he was about too well to quarrel with any of them.
In this manner, and with a degree of success which soon removed from his own mind every fear lest his bold project should fail, Mr. O’Donagough went on with a steady, quiet, unruffled exterior of respectability, which effectually concealed all that it was necessary for his interest should be hidden.
Few, or rather none, of those who were not professionally interested in the fact, were aware how deep were the stakes nightly played for in Mr. O’Donagough’s drawing-room. For if it happened that some rich, but luckless novice became a victim, the lamented adventure was always made to appear as something purely accidental, as to its extent, and merely the consequence of the temporary excitement of the parties, which “really was very foolish, and must not happen again.”
Such was the prosperous state of the O’Donagough affairs, when the interval destined to Montagu Hubert’s itinerant studies between school and college being over, the general and his family returned to England. —
Sharp was the sparkle of Mrs. O’Donagough’s still unextinguished eye, when, as she sipped her coffee and luxuriantly enjoyed the columns of the Morning Post, she came upon the following paragraph:—” Arrived at their mansion in Berkeley-square, Lieutenant-General Hubert, his lady, and suite.”
“That’s delightful!” she exclaimed; “I declare to heaven that I shall have almost everything I want and wish in the world, if I do but get Agnes and the general here only just to witness one of our best nights! and that crooked-hack, little aunt Betsy too! It is not very likely that she should see it, but she’ll hear of it, Donny, won’t she? Don’t you enjoy the idea of it?”
“To tell you the truth, my dear, I do not care one single straw about it,” replied Mr. O’Donagough. “A year or two ago, indeed, when our circumstances were different, that is, I mean, before we were quite settled, I certainly thought that it was important, for Patty’s sake particularly, that we should be on good terms with these Huberts, — but now, it surely can make no difference whatever — and her presentation at St. James’s, you know, is all settled already.”
“You may cry down my relations as much as you please,” replied his highly-incensed lady, “but you are monstrously mistaken, and that I can tell you, sir, if you fancy that the name of Hubert is of no importance to us; often and often, when I have said not a word about it, I have seen its effect — I know not how it may be in your hack drawing-room set, Mr. Allen O’Donagough, but this I do know, that half, if not all the very best people in my front one, have been got at by means of their knowing that Agnes was my niece. And as to going to court, you may depend upon it that I shall not go, notwithstanding all Lady Susan Deerwell’s kindness, without taking care to know that Mrs. General Hubert will be at the same drawing-room. Of course Elizabeth will be presented this year, and it will he extremely advantageous that the cousins should be presented at the same time; it will read so well in the papers! — and it is so easy to get it in, you know.”
“You are a clever creature, my Barnaby, and I am not going to deny it,” said her husband, with a complacent smile. “I only meant to observe that we had gone on very well during the last two years.”
“Well? thank God we have! I am sure I am ready enough to acknowledge that; but still, if you please, Donny, we will not cut the Huberts.”
“By no means, my dear, — I have no such intention; quite the contrary; indeed, I would rather you should leave cards there than not; it will be more civil.”
This condescending assurance was quite sincere. Mr. Allen O’Donagough really had no objection to his lady’s visiting General Hubert’s family; nevertheless, it was equally true that he did not care one single straw about it. On first setting off on the bold and ambitious course he was now pursuing, he had seized with a masterly hand upon every object that could help his progress, but now, feeling himself completely afloat, he rather feared impediment than hoped for assistance, from a too-near contact with those around him; and though not insensible to the eligibility of Patty’s having such cousins, and his lady such a niece, he was not at all desirous of admitting General Hubert to any very close degree of intimacy.
Such being the prosperous state of her papa, it can hardly be doubted that the state of Miss Patty was prosperous too; and to a certain degree it certainly was so. She was dressed as smartly as she could possibly desire; had carte blanche as to the invitations she might wish to give her friend Matilda; drove in an open barouche with her mamma in the Park every Sunday, and in all fashionable streets during every other day; and finally, was permitted to flirt as much as she liked, with anybody, and everybody. All this was very delightful, yet Patty was not quite contented, nevertheless. By degrees she brought herself to acknowledge that Jack was neither more nor less than a good-for-nothing, false-hearted fellow, who had never intended really and truly to marry her, and who in his heart cared more for playing whist, than for anything else in the world. All this she acknowledged to Matilda, though to both mother and father she still persisted that she had been engaged to him, quite entirely engaged to him, but that she did not much care whether it came to anything or not. Of this statement her papa did not believe a single word, though he never for a moment hinted his incredulity either to herself or any one else. What Mrs. O’Donagough’s opinion on the subject might have been, it was not so easy to say; because on some occasions she did not scruple to declare (as in the case of Lord Mucklebury), that she believed the engagement was still going on, though Patty was such a coquettish young thing that she should not be at all surprised if she turned round and changed her mind any day. While to others, particularly to all young men of rank or fortune, she stated confidentially that such an engagement had existed, but it was clear to her that her dear girl began to doubt her own feelings on the subject, in which case nothing on earth would ever induce her, or her beloved Mr. O’D., to utter a word that might influence her; for, excellent as the connection was, they were quite determined, on this and every other occasion, to let their only darling consult her own pure heart, and nothing else!
In the midst of all this contradictory variety, Patty, while endeavouring to look mysterious to both father and mother, and saying little on the subject to either, took to hating Jack in her very heart of hearts, most thoroughly and sincerely, and she would have gone very considerable lengths, as she confessed to her friend, to plague him as he deserved. A feeling in no degree less hostile had also, very naturally, supplied, in the breast of the tender Matilda, the place of all other sentiments towards Mr. Foxcroft; and it is probable that nothing but their wholesome fear of Mr. O’Donagough kept either fair one within the bounds of moderate rudeness, whenever their faithless swains approached them. Nevertheless Patty had her flirtations, and Miss Matilda did her very best to have hers too, so that there was not wanting between them a constant fund of confidential secrets which nourished and sustained their friendship in all its pristine warmth and purity.
Having ascertained the affronting indifference of her husband respecting General and Mrs. Hubert, Mrs. O’Donagough called him not again to her councils respecting them, but quietly settled in her own mind how to indulge herself, by fully displaying to them, and to all their daughters and sons, the spectacle of her greatness.
Amongst other simulations of fashionable manners adopted by the prosperous adventurer and his family, was their ignorance and independence of each other’s occupations and engagements before dinner. Mrs. O’Donagough was blessed by having at her command one of the most showy carriages in London. Arms, embellished by a prodigious number of splendid quarterings, adorned the panels, the hammer-cloth hung stiff with embroidery of the same, blinds of crimson silk aided the glowing-complexions within, and tags, tassels, and silver lace decorated those without. Let those who best know Mrs. O’Donagough, judge what her feelings were in driving to the door of Mrs. Hubert in such an equipage as this.
With care and skill she chose th
at hour for her visit at which ladies are most certainly visible at home; namely, the interval between the two o’clock luncheon, and the three o’clock sortie for shopping.
Mrs. O’Donagough watched with some emotion the colloquy between the servants at the door, but all her doubts and fears were speedily put to the rout by the throwing wide the door of her carriage, and the presentation of the arm that was to assist in her descent from it.
“You will sit in the carriage, and wait for us, my dears,” said the swelling lady, with condescending dignity, to the two Miss Perkinses, who occupied the hack of the carriage.
“Oh! yes, ma’am! we shall be quite amused, I’m sure,” returned Miss Matilda.
“Pray do not think of us!” meekly ejaculated her sister.
“No, no, no, — of course not, my dear; you will do very well I dare say; take care about drawing up and down the windows. What do you poke that beautifully-laced pocket-handkerchief into your hag for, Patty? I did not buy it for that, I promise you.”
“And that’s true, and no lie,” said Patty, winking at her friend, as she prepared in her usual style to precipitate herself out of the carriage after her mamma, but at the same time obeying the maternal behest, and drawing forth the handkerchief with a flourish that sent it into the eyes of the simpering Louisa.
There were several persons in Mrs. Hubert’s drawing-room when Mrs and Miss O’Donagough were ushered into it. At a small table apart, near a window, sat two very lovely girls, each occupied before a little desk, one copying a page of MS. music, and the other drawing. Behind the chair of the latter stood a tall and graceful young man, whose head was bent forward as in the act of criticising the performance. He started as the servant distinctly pronounced the words “Mrs and Miss O’Donagough,” but did not immediately look up.
On a sofa near a loo-table at the upper end of the room sat Mrs. Hubert, and beside her an elegant-looking little woman, apparently some few years older than herself, but whose black eyes, neatly-cut little features, and fine teeth, still gave her a right to be called a pretty woman. In a deep chair on the opposite side of the table, another lady, about the same age, perhaps, but infinitely less well-looking, employed herself by incessantly twitching a green ribbon, which being attached to the collar of a poodle lap-dog, occasioned from time to time a sharp little hark that seemed to delight her. Mrs. O’Donagough had observed a carriage waiting at the door, and the dress of these last-mentioned ladies showed that it was for them it waited, and that they, too, were morning visitors.
If satin, feathers, and a profusion of the finest lace, could have made Mrs. O’Donagough look elegant, she would have looked elegant then, for she was dressed like a duchess; nor was her daughter Patty much less splendid; and even had their names been unknown to all the party, their appearance was altogether such as imperiously to have commanded attention. But their names were not unknown to any individual there.
It is possible that Mrs. Hubert was not particularly delighted by this early visit from her remarkable aunt, but most certainly she felt considerable consolation from perceiving that her manners, though affectionately familiar, were less vehemently caressing than formerly. In fact, Mrs. O’Donagough felt, and thanked God for the same, that there was no longer any occasion for it; besides, it was impossible to press anybody to her heart now, without risking the injury of her exquisite toilet, so she only stretched out one arm as she advanced, saying with a good deal of her most elegant lisp, “How do, Agnes, dear? What an age, isn’t it? You would hardly know Patty, would you? How are the children?”
Mrs. Hubert stepped forward, and received the large offered hand very gracefully, giving a smiling answer to each question. Patty followed after, and notwithstanding her anti-Hubert prejudices, stretched out her hand too, which was also received by Mrs. Hubert with a smile, while she turned her head towards the two young ladies at the window, saying, “Here is your cousin Martha, my dear Elizabeth.” Thus called upon, a tall, slight, lovely girl rose from the place she occupied, laid her pencil on her desk, and came forward.
“My goodness! Are you Elizabeth?” exclaimed Patty, really too much engaged by staring at her, to perceive her offered hand. “Well, I’m sure I should never have known you again — I wonder if I’m as much altered as you?”
“I do not think you are at all altered,” replied Elizabeth, sitting down beside her. “But you are looking very well.”
“Yes, I am always very well, and you know I have always got a fresh colour,” replied Patty, who was frequently apt to suspect, when people told her she looked well, that they might, perhaps, be thinking she had helped herself to a little of her mamma’s rouge. “Hardly anybody has got as much colour as I have; I am sure I often wish I hadn’t so much, people stare so. But my goodness! is that Emily?”
“Oh no! Emily still looks quite like a little girl; that is Miss Seymour.”
As she said this, the tall young man stood upright, and stepping forward, extended a. hand to Mrs. O’Donagough, while at the same time he paid his compliments to her daughter, by inquiring very civilly after her health.
“Soh! you are here, are you, Sir Henry. How d’ye do?” said Mrs. O’Donagough, thrusting a hand towards the young man over her shoulder, and throwing her plumed head on one side, with a sort of lolloping affectation that was intended to indicate great intimacy.
“I hope Mr. O’Donagough is quite well, ma’am?” said the young baronet, with a considerable augmentation of colour.
“Quite well, dear Seymour,” replied the great lady; “I hope we shall see you to-night? How late we kept it up, Tuesday, didn’t we? But Lord Mucklebury is always so delightful!”
While this was passing, the lady seated on the sofa by Mrs. Hubert, looked and listened with great appearance of interest and amusement, but said nothing. At length Agnes, who had been watching her with a laughing countenance, addressed Mrs. O’Donagough: “You do not remember these ladies, aunt?” and as she spoke, she pointed to both her bonneted visitors.
“Remember them? No, really! have I ever met them before? I live in such a round of company, that, upon my honour, it is perfectly impossible to remember one face from another. You must excuse me, ladies, if I have the honour of your acquaintance, but I have not the slightest recollection of you.”
“My name is Henderson,” said the lady on the sofa, “but formerly it was Mary Peters.”
“Mary Peters!” ejaculated the energetic Mrs. O’Donagough, almost with a shriek, “Mary Peters! my own dear first husband’s own niece! Gracious heaven! Well, to be sure, this is a most extraordinary discovery! And this?” turning to the plain-looking, middle-aged mistress of the lap-dog, “this must be, yes, to be sure, this must be Elizabeth?”
“Very true, indeed, I certainly am Elizabeth,” replied the lady she addressed; “but I am sure I do not wonder at your not knowing me at first, for I had not the least notion who you was. I never saw anybody grow so large in my life.”
“You are so dreadfully thin yourself, my dear, that I have no doubt I do look rather large to you;” then turning her back in rather a marked manner to her former ally, she addressed au almost interminable string of questions to her sister.
“And so you are married, Mary, are you? Well! that’s well. I can’t say I am any great friend to old-maidism — it spoils people’s tempers. I have had three — God bless me! — I mean I have had two husbands, both first-rate, quite first-rate men in their way, and I can’t say I think I should have had the fine temper that I believe everybody allows I have got, if I had remained single all my life. However, perhaps it is not quite civil to say so just now. Are neither of your sisters married, my dear Mary?”
“Oh yes! Lucy has been married many years, and has a very large family!”
“Poor thing!” said Mrs. O’Donagough with a deep sigh; “then I do pity her! There certainly is nothing so pitiable as having a large family!”
“Is it worse than being an old maid?” said Miss Elizabeth Peters, with a sneer.
>
“No, my dear!” replied Mrs. O’Donagough, turning sharply round upon her; “nothing, of course, can be so bad as that. And how is your mother, Mary? and your father? and James, I dare say he is married, isn’t he?”
“Yes, ma’am, he is married also.”
“And what sort of style are you all living in? comfortable, I hope? We must not mind your being a little humdrum, if you are comfortable; but let that be as it may, you must come and see me; I think my drawing-rooms will please you. But, dear me! how everything depends upon comparison! I remember as well as if it was but yesterday, thinking your drawing-rooms in Rodney-place quite beautiful, but when you come to see mine, my dear, you won’t expect me to think so any longer. In fact, my dear Mr. O’Donagough has so very superior a taste that I must not talk of comparing what he orders to anything else; I really want you to see my new carriage, Agnes — it will strike you, as something quite out of the common way.”
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 266