This latter young lady, after pausing with very striking timidity of manner till everyone had placed themselves, before she ventured to take a seat herself, had finally dropped softly into the unoccupied corner of the couch on which the eldest of the co-heiresses had thrown herself; but as she did this, she cast a speaking glance round the little circle, and then at Miss Wilkyns, which seemed to challenge the congratulations of the whole party upon her happiness in having this precious place left for her.
The heiress perceived this, and was not too sublime to be pleased by it.
“Which cousin are you, my dear?” she said, with a very gracious smile. “It will be quite proper, you know, now that we have all been brought together in this very extraordinary manner, that we should make some slight attempt to get acquainted. For my share in the good work, I think I shall undertake you; so please, dear, to tell me your name, etc etc etc.”
“My name is Sophia Martin,” replied the timid girl, venturing, by gentle degrees, to approach somewhat nearer to her elegant cousin.
“Sophia Martin? It is monstrous queer, to be sure; but if you will believe me, I never heard your name before. Did you ever hear anything about Sophia Martin, Eldruda? or you, Winifred?”
“No, indeed, never in my life,” replied the second Miss Wilkyns, yawning.
“No, Elfreda, not I. It is not very likely I should, you know, if you never did,” said the third heiress.
“But you must not look vexed and mortified at that, my dear child,” resumed Miss Wilkyns, graciously. “It is no proof that we may not think you worth noticing now. How old arc you, Sophia Martin?”
“Twenty!” replied Sophia, as if more than half-ashamed of being so foolishly young.
“Twenty! only twenty? Dear me! I should have thought you a great deal older than that.”
“And how old may you be, my dear? that is, if you have no objection to tell,” said Mrs. Heathcote, addressing the eldest of all the nieces, and looking at her with her good-humoured laughing eyes.
“Objection! And pray, ma’am, why should I have any objection?” replied Miss Wilkyns, evading the good lady’s question by asking another.
“I dare say you have got no objection, my dear,” returned Mrs. Heathcote; “only I have known lots and lots of girls, when I used to be moving about with the Major, who, if they happened to have turned twenty-five corner, as our officers always called it, would rather have been pinched black and blue than have said a single word about their age before anybody, man, woman, or child. Nothing in the world can be so silly, however; for there is not one girl in five thousand that can pass for being in her teens, above a year or two at the very most, after she is out of them. But young ladies never will believe that. I have observed it scores of times. It is only when a girl gets married, that her eyes seem to be opened about it; and then, especially if she has the luck to get into the military line, she grows sharp enough; because it is rather a favourite joke among the officers, you must know, when they are moving up and down from quarters to quarters, to set about guessing the age of the young ladies at every new place; and ’tis quite astonishing how near they come, for the most part.”
Before Mrs. Heathcote had, finished this speech, Miss Wilkyns had got almost out of hearing, by walking off to a very handsome-looking grand pianoforte, the procuring and conveying of which to the Combe had been among Sir Charles Temple’s most daring improvements upon the original plan of preparation sketched by Mr. Thorpe.
Sophia Martin, who followed her, assisted to open it, and arrange the lights, which, together with some rather antiquated volumes of music, were placed ready for use.
“Oh, if I could but hear you play and sing!” said she, gazing in Elfreda’s face with a look of affectionate admiration.
“Are you fond of music, my dear?” demanded Miss Wilkyns.
“I never care about it, except from those I love,” replied Sophia...”Oh! those I admire, I should say. I know it is nonsense to talk of love before one has a right to do it,” she added, hanging her head over the music.
“I like Sophia Martin,” muttered the first to the second Miss Wilkyns, who had joined herself to the music-party. “She is so natural and unaffected.”
“At any rate, she is the best of the set,” answered Miss Eldruda. “What hare you got here, Elfreda? Nothing new, I suspect. What a bore if we are expected to perform old music!”
“They may expect what they please,” returned her sister, “but most assuredly I shall do no such thing. Somebody said that Temple was just come from Florence. If he is not a savage, he must have brought some new music with him.”
“Oh dear! that would be so nice!.... Is he not lovely, Elfreda? Quite beautiful, I think, and so uncommonly elegant. Don’t you think so, Elfreda?”
This was said in a whisper, and answered in the like manner by the elder sister, who made a little grimace, and replied, “I have not quite made up my mind yet, Druda; you know I am not very easy to please. The Wilkynses are accounted the handsomest family in Wales, please to remember, and that always makes people particular. Where will you see such a man as Papa? Such a magnificent height! Temple is not so tall by four inches. But he does not look vulgar, certainly; and to my feelings that makes a great difference. I believe people that are really elegant themselves.... people of fortune and consequence I mean, care a great deal more about fashion and elegance than about mere beauty of features. And that’s the reason why I like Sophia Martin, dressed so nice, and making the very best of herself, as she does, compared to that excessively dull-looking, ill-dressed, girl upon the sofa.... That’s just the sort of girl I hate.”
During this time Sophia Martin, who was much too well-behaved to appear to hear anything which the sisters muttered, employed herself by turning over the musical pages of the choice, but antiquated, collection of thick and thin volumes which filled the cradle under the pianoforte; till at length, having found something in an unknown tongue, which she shrewdly divined to be Italian, she brought it to her new friend, and oldest cousin, saying, “Here then, dear, dearest, cousin Elfreda!.... Oh! it is such a beautiful name, that you must let me call you by it.... Here is a song that I think may perhaps suit you. Do just look at it!”
“My dear child! this was composed in the year one! Upon my honour and word, an old-fashioned song chokes me; it does indeed, Sophia. I am not joking the least in the world, I assure you. It does positively, and literally, choke me. It sticks in my throat, and I cannot bring it out, if I would give my life for it. We have had a singing-master, you must please to observe, who attended ns for three years at our own place, Llanwellyn Lodge, coining ail the way from Swansea one day in every week. And when people go to such an expense as that, the worst of it is, that it makes them rather particular. However, my dear Sophia, you are such a nice little creature, that I am ready to do anything I can to please you.... And by the by, I quite give you leave to call me Elfreda. Papa will tell you, if you will wake him up, and ask him, that it is a name of considerable importance in the family, for the Carrgwynnmorris part of the estate came into the family by an Elfreda, and that is the part I am to have, if it is settled in the end, that the property is to be divided into three.”
“I don’t believe that there is a single one of Catamari’s songs in the whole collection; Elfreda!” exclaimed Miss Eldruda Wilkyns, after having vigorously turned over the leaves of nearly the whole collection.
“But cannot you sing something from memory?” demanded the anxious and persevering Sophia.
“Oh! yes, I suppose we can, if we chose it.... only it’s rather a bore. I always like to have my music on my desk before me. It is something to look at, at any rate; and I do assure you, my little lady, though I suppose you know nothing about the matter, that it is often a relief to know what to do with one’s eyes. The men, now-a-days, are such abominable puppies, that if by accident one happens to look at them in singing, they think you are quite ready to give yourself and your acres for the asking.”
&nb
sp; “You don’t say so, cousin Elfreda?” replied Sophia, looking perfectly shocked, and dismayed.... “And such a sweet, delicate-looking girl as you, of all people in the world! How you must hate them all!”
“Oh! do, my dear, I promise you — horrid creatures! If it wasn’t for our being heiresses, it would be quite different, you know. But it is impossible, as you may fancy, to help suspecting mercenary motives sometimes, when men that you don’t care a farthing for, keep falling in love, as such quantities of them pretend to do, at first sight. And that’s the idea that keeps me single, Sophia.... And single I’ll remain, you may depend upon it, till I find somebody worth having.”
“Noble-minded Elfreda!” exclaimed Sophia Martin, with an energy which it seemed beyond her power to repress. “Oh!” she added with a look of inexpressible delight, how happy, how very happy I am that I came here!.... I wanted so much to escape it.... for it seemed so perfectly ridiculous for a little nobody like me, to be shown up at this great family meeting. But we never know what is best for us.... Do we, Elfreda?... Oh! heavens, how bold that sounds! Can you, Will you forgive me? Will you let me love you, Elfreda?”
“Yes I will, my dear; because I think, as I said before, that you are a nice little creature. There is nothing vulgar about you, not the least in the world, and that goes a great way with a Wilkyns, I can tell you.”
It was now that Algernon Heathcote, having satisfied himself, or dissatisfied himself with his examination of his two cousins Spencer, and having also peeped about, in his way from the diningroom, as much as he thought discreet, made his appearance in the midst of the ladies. His sister Florence was by this time very soundly asleep, her step-mother being aiding and abetting thereto, by having seized upon her little feet as soon as she perceived the “fringed curtain of her eye” to drop, and without question or ceremony laid them on the green satin sofa, covering them with her own silk scarf, “that the dear child,” as she said, “might have a nice, warm, comfortable nap, after her terrible sharp journey.”
The kind-hearted lady started in some alarm as the door opened, conscious perhaps that satin sofas were not intended to support feet as those of Florence. But the sight of Algernon restored her composure, and pointing to his sister she held up her finger, and nodded her head to indicate that he was to approach gently, and not to wake her. The boy carefully obeyed her wish, and creeping to her on tiptoe contrived to find room between the cosily drawn up feet of Florence and her own plump rotundity, to accommodate his slender person.
“Are we going to have music, mamma?” he whispered.
“I suppose so, dear: I hope they won’t be very loud, for I don’t want to have this poor thing waked; I never saw anybody look so tired and thoroughly overcome in my life. If Florence could contrive to look ugly, for sure and certain she would have done it to-day. She did come as near to it as ever she could, didn’t she, Algernon? I was quite vexed, for I saw as clear as light that nobody thought much about her.”
“Did she look ugly, mother? I did not observe it. I wonder what they are going to sing. Have they sung anything yet?” said the boy.
“No. They have been all standing there, and talking about it, this ever so long. But they don’t seem in any hurry to begin. If there were any young officers dining here, I should think they were waiting for them.”
“Perhaps, mother, they are waiting to show off before uncle Thorpe. I should not be at all surprised if one, or all of those’ very finely dressed young ladies intended to be uncle Thorpe’s heiress or heiresses. They all seem to look as if they thought they had more right to be here than anybody else, don’t they, mother?... Don’t they? Come now, don’t turn away your head that I may not see you laugh. I am sure you think exactly the same about them that I do.”
“Algernon, if you grow so extremely impudent and well, you shall be sent off to Sandhurst without more ado. To sec you now, you saucy fellow! you look no more tired than I do; and I watched what a dinner you made... that I did, you may depend upon it,” said the step-mother.
“And you look as if you could eat me up for joy at it, you do!” said the boy, pressing close to her, and laying his beautiful head on her fat shoulder. “But, mother,” he resumed, “there is nothing in the world just at present so good for me as fun. Will you please to let me laugh a little about those very, fine young ladies? Will you, mother?”
“And how am I to help it, you audacious boy? “demanded the step-mother, knitting her brows. “Can I prevent your laughing, if you have a mind for it? Only you may depend upon it you shall go to college or to school, or somewhere or other, without any more nursing. You shall, indeed, Algernon;” and as she spoke she amused herself with parting the bright brown wavy locks that covered the boy’s forehead.
“Well then I will, as soon as ever we have done with uncle Thorpe. But just for this little bit of time that’s left, mamma, you cannot be so cruel as to refuse to have a little fun with me... Can you, mother?... You must laugh a little at these very fine young ladies with me; you must indeed, because I see already what’s going on, and it will be capital, if you don’t spoil it.”
“Spoil what, you foolish boy? What are you talking about?”
“Why of course we all know what we are come here for, don’t ye?”
“You are vastly clever, Master Algernon. And pray who told you... I should like to know?”
“Who told me that we were all to come here to be looked at by uncle Thorpe, that he might make up his mind as to who was to be his heir? Why, mother, I believe it was old Bridget who said it first. But you know well enough, and as well as I, that everybody knows it, and everybody says it. So don’t try to look so very solemn, as if my repeating it was a crime as bad as killing the good old gentleman at once.”
“As to looking solemn, Algernon, I have no intention to do it at all; but neither do I see any joke in the business. If things are as you say... and old Bridget is very seldom wrong... if you are all here to be judged of, you ought not to be turning your thoughts altogether to joking and jesting, especially against your own first cousins, because they are rather finer than anything you have been used to. It would be much more to the purpose, my dear, if you were to endeavour to show yourself off to advantage.”
“I, mother? That’s nonsense, you know; for everybody says I am going to die, except you, and Florence, and Bridget. I saw uncle Thorpe, good man, shaking his head, and looking very, very sad, kind gentleman, while he was listening at dinner to cousin Sophy, who was whispering about me, with a look about her eyes that anybody might have taken for tears, that knew no better. No, mother, the poor old gentleman has just been mourning the death of one heir, and he’d be a great fool to make preparations for mourning the death of another. It won’t be me, mother.”
“I don’t see what right you have to say that, Algernon, when you know as well as I do, that, since you have had your pony, and taken so to milk, you are no more like the same thing than chalk is to cheese... and I don’t take it very kind of you to talk so,”
“Why? Do you think I am the more likely to die, mother, because Sophy Martin shakes her head, and looks as if she was going to cry? Not a bit of it... and, to whisper a secret in your ear, I do not believe I am going to die at all, more than you do, But for all that, it is likely enough, and very proper too, that Mr. Thorpe should object to giving his estate to a person who is known to have been dangerously ill. So put me quite out of your head, mother...”
All this was said with his eyes stedfastly fixed on the group near the pianoforte, and his head still supported on the shoulder of his step-mother; but at this moment he changed his position, and, covering his face with both hands, laughed quietly, as was always his wont, but very heartily.
“Foolish boy!” whispered Mrs. Heathcote. “Foolish boy!”
“I have done, mother,” he replied, suddenly turning upon her a countenance of very grave decorum: “that is, upon condition that you will listen to me to-morrow, and let me have the fun of being showman, and point
ing out to you and Florence all that is being acted in this beautiful puppet-show. I dare not let in papa for fear he should scold.”
“And you ought to be afraid of me too, Algernon, you ought, indeed....” began Mrs. Heathcote, but her discourse was cut short by the door being again opened, and Mr. Thorpe’s entering the room.
For some time after the ladies had quitted the dining-room, the conversation, aided by the excellent claret, went on admirably; but though the vivacity of some of the party decidedly increased rather than diminished, and though the heart of the hospitable host most cordially rejoiced thereat, he, nevertheless, became so insufferably weary of the official graces of Mr. Spencer, within five minutes of the time they were particularly directed towards himself, that, casting a deprecating look at Sir Charles Temple, the impatient old gentleman started from his chair, and muttering something about his health obliging him to join the tea-party early, and their finding his good friend Sir Charles Temple, an excellent Vice, he fairly bolted, and made his entrée into the drawing-room at the time above described.
“I hope, fair ladies, that I shall not disturb you,” he said, bowing to all, but particularly addressing Mrs. Heathcote; “but the fact is my habits and my health oblige me to take my tea early, and I now come to throw myself upon your generosity, and implore you to give me some without loss of time.”
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 282