“Don’t you think there may be some danger of her becoming rather masculine?” said Mr. Spencer, raising his eyebrows, and slightly shrugging his shoulders.
“I hope not,” said Mr. Thorpe, rather tartly. “I could almost find in my heart to say that a woman had better be sickly than masculine; at any rate, I would rather see her hunch-backed.....I have no hesitation whatever in saying that.”
Sir Charles was one of the lookers-out from the window, and, precisely at the moment when his old friend pronounced his preference for hunched backs, his eyes were fixed upon the figure of Florence, who was rearing herself on tip-toe to reach a brilliant bunch of crimson berries, which were glowing amidst the frosted branches of a holly. As she stood thus, with her arms raised, her head thrown back, and her delicate little waist displayed, fine by degrees, yet with no wasp-like division to mark the bold genius of the stay-maker, she appeared so perfect a model of youthful female grace, that he could not resist whispering in the ear of the old gentleman, “Would you wish the addition of a hunch there?” —
Mr. Thorpe turned round to him, and replied laughingly, “Not just at this moment, Temple. It certainly would be rather a pity.”
“Nothing very masculine there,” re-whispered the baronet.
“Not very,” returned Mr. Thorpe.
“May I go to her, papa?” said Algernon, eagerly.
“What, without your wraps?” replied his father, in an accent of great alarm. “Where’s your mother, boy? Go to her, and ask her if you may go in your great coat and comforter.”
Algernon was out of the room in a moment.
“It is rather to be lamented, Major Heathcote,” said Mr.
Spencer, preparing to renew the game, “that your son and daughter cannot change sexes. Perhaps it might improve both.”
“I don’t know about that, Mr. Spencer,” replied the good-humoured Major; “I cannot say I much wish any change in Florence. She is a good, and I think she is rather a pretty girl; and as for her healthiness, dear child, I would not take it from her even to give it to her brother.”
“God forbid you should!” cried Mr. Thorpe, still watching the movements of his lovely niece. “God bless her, pretty creature! and keep her long as healthy and as happy as she is now! All I meant was, that I don’t love any coarseness in ladies; and if it were necessary, I would prefer, perhaps, sacrificing a little strength and activity rather than see them look unlike gentlewomen.”
“Good heaven, yes!” ejaculated Mr. Spencer, fervently. A boy-girl and a girl-boy are the most detestable monsters in creation. It would be difficult to say which is the worst.”
Sir Charles Temple looked at the political official as he said this, with an eye that expressed something or other which Mr. Spencer did not appear to think worth attending to; for be turned abruptly away from the window, and renewed the game.
Algernon meanwhile, finding that his mother was out, ventured to take the question into his own hands, and decided that nothing could possibly do him so much good as a walk with Florence. A very few minutes sufficed to equip them both, and forth they went, decidedly the happiest part of the company assembled at Thorpe-Combe. It was not till they reached the spot where Sir Charles Temple had joined her in the morning, that Florence was sensible of feeling any very decided regret that he was not with them; but then she made a halt, and said, “Algernon, you must try to get acquainted with the gentleman we found staying with uncle Thorpe. I have not seen many, to be sure; but I do think he is the very nicest, kindest person I ever met with in my life.”
“What is he called?” demanded Algernon.
“Sir Charles Temple. You must have heard his name yesterday, for uncle Spencer said it over and over again, and so did Miss Wilkyns. I wonder, Algernon, if it would be very wicked to say that I like him a great deal better than all my cousins put together?”
“I hope not, Flora,” replied the boy; “for in that case I should be the most offending soul alive. I hate them all, the whole set of them, with Miss Sophy Martin at their head: and as I see no good reason why one branch of so very odious a family should be likeable, when all the rest, male and female, rich and poor, old and young, are so particularly the reverse, I feel greatly persuaded that you and I are quite as detestable as the rest, though hitherto we have never had wit enough to find it out.”
“It cannot be helped, Algernon: if it is so, we must bear it as well as the rest. If we do not find it out, you know, about one another, it can’t signify much; but about Sir Charles Temple, I wish you would mind what I say, and try to talk to him. I am sure you never talked to anybody like him: and then if you could but hear him read! It is something quite extraordinary. It is just what I should like you to do, Algernon, when you are a little stronger. There is something very beautiful, I think, in the power of giving new strength to every feeling and to every thought of an author. I never heard it done before, and I can’t tell you how it made me feel. I think it is, a great deal better than being able to sing.”
“What nonsense, Florence! I had rather hear you sing than all the reading in the world; besides, I like to read for myself.
I don’t want anybody to make more out of the thoughts than I can find in them myself.”
“Well, then, I suppose I have been talking nonsense; or perhaps it may be the natural difference between a man and a woman, — a boy and a girl, I mean, Algernon. I think it is very likely that a girl may like to find somebody to help her on, and that a boy may like better to help himself; so we won’t talk any more about his reading, because you don’t understand me. But I do wish Sir Charles Temple was here now, for I don’t see the least sign of a waterfall; and he said it was just close to where we were this morning, and we have got beyond that ever so much. But hark! What noise is that? Something out of the common way, I am quite sure! Come on, come on, Algernon; “and a few rapid steps more brought them to a projecting mass of mingled stones and trees, on turning round which they were in front of a tolerably heavy fall of water, that came dashing, at three distinct bounds, from a height of between thirty and forty feet, nearly to the spot where they stood, and then, dipping beneath a rude stone archway, glided more peaceably for the remainder of the descent into the deep, clear, brawling brook below. Every lover of Nature would have deemed it an extremely picturesque object; but to Florence and Algernon, who had never seen anything of the kind before, it appeared stupendous, glorious, beautiful, and, hand in hand, they stood before it entranced in a species of ecstasy as delightful as it was new.
“How glad I am that I did not see it without you, Algernon!” was the first articulate sound uttered by either. “How beautiful! how grand! how wonderful! bounding, springing, dancing!.... Is it not like life and joy?”
“Florence, if I live I will see Niagara,” said Algernon, almost solemnly. “Fancy this multiplied a thousand-fold!.... If this is glorious, what must that be?”
“Foolish boy!” returned his sister, “to think of Niagara now!.... Is it not enough to look at that? How very, very much obliged I am to Sir Charles Temple for telling me of it! If it had not been for him, Algernon, I dare say we might have gone back to Clevelands without ever having heard of it; for you must perceive that the Misses Wilkyns, and cousin Sophy too, speak of coming here as if it was something terrible, and requiring desperate courage, not to say boldness.”
“Fools, idiots, dolts... How I do hate and despise them all! — And those puppy boys, with their airs of manhood and their silly talk! Upon my honour, Flora, if I heard one of the little ones at home.... Stephen, say.... who is just six years old, I believe.... if I heard him talk the twaddle that those boys do, I should look forward to seeing him locked up some day as an idiot. And they, poors animals! dare ridicule my mother; I heard them at it — calling her ‘old fatty,’ and, a fine dumpling dame’ — I know I shall quarrel with them before we part — I am quite sure of it, Flora.”
“God forbid!.... But how can you talk of anything so disagreeable now?.... Besides you must
not stand, Algernon, for fear of the cold. Just come round to that other corner, that we may see it from both sides, and then we will walk back again as fast as we can, to prevent your being chilled. I hope mamma will not think we have been too far.... How I do wish she could see it, Algernon!”
On returning to the house, they found the carriage just driving off to the offices, and on entering were greeted with the agreeable intelligence that luncheon was ready. A few moments sufficed to assemble the whole party again in the dining-parlour, where, on entering, they found the Welsh squire already established, and waiting with as much appearance of eagerness as his countenance could possibly express, till Mr. Thorpe should seat himself and the business of the hour begin.
What gentlemen would do in the country, if luncheon were there as uncertain a business as it generally is to them in town, it is impossible to say; but it is an undoubted fact, that when a country-house has a large party in it, the necessity of eating at two o’clock seems so general and so urgent, that were the table not regularly and substantially spread at that hour, a very alarming approach to starvation must be the consequence. None of the company, perhaps, felt the necessity of immediately eating, so poignantly as Mr. Wilkyns, but all were in a condition that appeared to render conversation exceedingly undesirable for the first few minutes after they sat down.
This first general craving satisfied, the various members of the party all raised their eyes, pretty nearly at the same moment, from their plates, looked in each other’s faces, and began to talk. A turnpike road at Christmas is rarely found to furnish great material for enthusiastic emotion, even in Herefordshire; so the four ladies who had been taking an airing, did not say much about it. Mrs. Heathcote, indeed, observed, that she dared to say the roads were a great deal better in sommer, and that she was sore the country all round must be exceedingly pleasant. The two junior Misses Wilkyns helped each other reciprocally to jelly and custard, but said little or nothing about it; and Sophia, after waiting with a look of modest trembling doubt, to see whether uncle Thorpe would again place her in the chair next himself, as he had done at breakfast, dropped into it, when the invitation was given, with downcast eyes, which were only raised when the old gentleman asked her if she liked driving out, and then she said with an innocent sigh, “It was a very great treat to me, indeed, uncle. I do not think I ever had such a pleasure before.”
“Dear little girl!” replied the old man, kindly. “Your young fife has not been a very gay one, I fancy; but we must look forward, Sophy, we must look forward. Life has yet to begin for you, my dear child.”
Neither was the conversation of the rest of the party particularly animated. Of course the Welsh squire did not speak; Major Heathcote confined his remarks to the state of the weather, and the effects of playing billiards upon people’s hands and feet when the thermometer stood rather below zero. Mr. Spencer senior yawned, and then addressed a few whispered inquiries to Sir Charles Temple, about the possibility of getting a newspaper. The Messieurs Spencer junior never spoke at all when they were eating anything which they considered as “devilish good,” which was just now the case. Algernon sat very close, and muttered a few pertinent, which some present might have called impertinent, remarks, to his step mother; and Florence sat very quietly by her papa, till Miss Wilkyns, raising her glass, and permitting it to make the tour of the table, rested it at length upon her, and skilfully gave some little movement to the conversation, by saying, as she gazed on the fair face still glowing with exercise, “How have you disposed of yourself, Miss Heathcote? I did not find you when I returned to the parlour.”
“I have been walking to the Waterfall,” replied Florence, with a blush and a smile.
“Did you go alone, my dear?” resumed the questioner, altering the angle at which she held her glass, so as to obtain a glance at the countenance of Sir Charles Temple.
“Oh no!” replied Florence; “not alone.”
“Your walks in the woods do not appear to draw many companions. — Was this ramble too, a tête-à-tête, dear?”
“Yes,” replied Florence, “And it was a gentleman, I hope, Miss Heathcote?” said Mr. Spencer, with his expressive smile.”
“Yes.” repeated Florence, smiling also.
All the Misses Wilkyns looked up.
“Why, my dear girl, you do seem a damsel-errant, I must say,” observed Mr. Thorpe, with something in his voice that sounded a little like reproof. “Do you know, I think it would be prettier for you to go airing with your mamma.”
“Prettier!” said Algernon, fearlessly, and turning his large eyes towards his uncle. “I don’t believe any carriage could take people to what is prettier than the wild place Florence has been looking at this morning. Just ask her to tell you about it, sir.”
“No, no, my dear; I won’t ask her anything about it now, and I’m glad she has seen it, because her head seemed running upon it so — and that’s all very well. But as a general rule, I don’t think the woods are such good walking for young ladies, as the garden. And besides, young ladies never should walk tête à tête with gentlemen.”
“Shouldn’t they?” said Algernon, with considerable surprise.
The junior Spencers, being in a state of transition from oysters to pie, looked up, and tittered; whereupon Algernon, who had completely finished his more simple repast of bread, butler, and milk, rose up, and walking down to where the brothers sat, side by side, put a hand on the chair of each, and bending down his handsome head between them, said, “What are you laughing at?”
“Laughing?” said Bentinck.
“Laughing?” echoed Montagu.
“Yes. What were you laughing at, when uncle Thorpe talked about my sister?”
“I don’t remember laughing,” returned Bentinck, looking at his father.
“I am sure I never thought of laughing,” said Montagu, giving his brother a nudge, and adding, “Come along, Bentinck, let’s go and see after some sliding.”
“Have you been walking with your sister to the Waterfall, Algernon?” said Sir Charles Temple, who, with a good deal of interest, had been watching the whole scene, and now thought it time to step in to the rescue.
“Yes, sir, I have,” replied the boy, turning from his cub cousins, with a look of very sufficient contempt, “and I never saw anything that I thought so beautiful. I should like, if I could, to see all the waterfalls in the world.”
“I wish I had been with you,” returned Sir Charles. “It is a favourite lion of mine, and none of the party will let me show it off.”
“Oh yes, we will! Sir Charles,” said Miss Wilkyns, in he. most obliging manner possible. “You have nothing to do but to challenge us,”
“But you must consult your uncle first, ladles,” said Sir Charles, looking rather mischievously at his old friend. “Are you not fearful that he will call you damsels-errant?”
“No, no, no, I do not mean that at all, Temple,” hastily replied the old gentleman.... “And so it was your brother, my dear, was it, that you have been walking about with?” he added, turning to Florence.
“Yes, uncle,” replied the unconscious girl, perfectly at her ease; adding, as she caught her mother’s eye— “But he was well wrapped up, mamma. — I am quite sure he could not catch cold.” Mr. Thorpe felt that he had been rather blundering and rather cross, and addressing Algernon in a very conciliatory spirit, he said— “Did I not promise you, young man, an introduction to my old-fashioned library?”
“Yes, sir, you said you would show me your library,” replied the boy, with sudden animation.
“Well then — let us adjourn thither; as many of us, at least, as care about old books in faded bindings.”
Finding something to do being an object common to all, the invitation, such as it was, was apparently accepted by all, for the whole party put themselves in movement upon receiving it. But ere they reached the apartment mentioned, the two Etonians escaped, despite a glance from their father which pretty decidedly indicated a wish to the contr
ary.
Probably the whole party, though some among them were not greatly versed in such matters, felt something like surprise at the stately style of the room they now entered. It was certainly out of proportion to the rest of the house, having been added by the present owner upon his return from Madrid, and being at that time a decided hobby. The venerable mansion requiring, in his opinion, no other addition, this room was not constructed to have any other above it, but was extremely lofty, and lighted by a graceful, well-proportioned dome, which prevented any part of it from being dark; though the whole of the walls (excepting the space above the chimney-piece, which was occupied by a splendid Velasquez) were covered by the most light-consuming of all things, books in dark bindings.
Exclamations of surprise and admiration were uttered by all; for the coup d’œil of a fine library always seems to make an impression, however little the beholders may feel interested about its contents. Mr. Wilkyns, indeed, did not articulate, it very rarely happened that he did; but he produced a kind of exclamatory grunt, which caused his eldest daughter to look at him, and to say, with much filial amiability, “Papa seems quite struck!” The three heiresses walked about, and looked and smiled and nodded to each other, and made ever so many little speeches, just as if they particularly well understood everything about books and book-cases. Mrs. Heathcote and the Major, who had entered arm in arm, strenuously declared it was the handsomest room they had ever seen; Mr. Spencer bowed gracefully to the owner, and said—” I make you my compliment, Mr. Thorpe. This is very well done, indeed. Capital; excellent good taste, throughout.” — And Sophia Martin crept to her uncle’s side, and said, but as if frightened at her own timidity in speaking to him, “Oh uncle! I do not know how to believe my eyes! I can hardly fancy that all this beauty and grandeur is real! How very, very kind of you to let a poor ignorant girl like me, come to see it!....If I never look upon anything like it again, I sha’n’t mind it now.... I have seen it once, and I shall never forget it.... It is just like coming into a new world, this visit to Thorpe-Combe.”
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 288