Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  “If the young lady does not require a thoroughly well-appointed carriage, it might suffice,” replied Sir Charles; “but as to the other question, respecting what she ought to pay, if she remains with you, I think no one can be so good a judge of it as your excellent wife. I therefore recommend that she should come hither to consult with you on the subject, while I get Algernon, and perhaps Miss Heathcote, too, to show me some of the lions of Clevelands.”

  This proposal being approved, and immediately acted upon, the three friends who had enjoyed so many wintry walks together at the Combe, now set off upon another, not much less inclement, but with a theme to discuss too interesting to leave them much leisure to think either of weather or scenery.

  Sir Charles listened to all his young companions said on the subject of their cousin’s inheritance with the deepest interest; he wished to read in the hearts of both, and there could not be a better opportunity for doing so. The feelings of Algernon seemed to have no mixture of vexation in them. The fulfilment of his prophecy delighted him; and he had already seen enough of the operation of prosperity on the fine mind of Miss Martin Thorpe to ensure him, as he expressed it, a never-ending joy in watching her. From the first hour, indeed, of the summons to present themselves at the dwelling of Mr. Thorpe, no shadow of expectation, either for himself or his sister, had ever suggested itself to him, though the probable reason for the summons had been openly canvassed among all the members of the family. He considered himself as perfectly out of the question, from being quite aware that though he was conscious of increasing strength, almost from day to day, there still existed a pretty generally received idea among the friends and acquaintance of the family, that he was doomed to follow the brothers and sisters, who had, in fact, fallen early victims to the climate of India. Yet he felt, too, that if the old gentleman rejected him, it was not likely that he would choose his sister, either because, despite her beautiful perfection of healthfulness, she was of the same objectionable race as himself, or because there was something awkward in taking the girl and leaving the boy. So that no disappointment whatever mixed itself with the affair. But not so, Florence. With all the simplicity of truth she avowed, that Algernon was in her opinion so much more calculated to do honour to Mr. Thorpe’s succession than any other pretender to it, that she was almost shocked, as well as disappointed, by the destruction of her hopes.

  Earnestly did Sir Charles Temple listen to the unreserved expression of feelings, equally affectionate, generous, and simple, which flowed from the rosy lips, that as he gazed and listened seemed equally eloquent to the eye and to the ear.

  “Florence!” he ejaculated, in an unheard whisper, to his heart; “if you are not my wife, I will go to the tomb of my fathers unwedded, no son of mine succeeding.”

  Nobody heard the vow, — for, as we have said, it was not audible, but it was registered where it could never be erased, — and this unmarked solemnity over, Sir Charles permitted himself to enjoy, with exquisite serenity of spirit, the air, the sky, the half-melted masses of snow that a long-lingering winter had left, making the path that the light-footed Florence trod beside him, about as miserable as a path could be. Yet still all was unspeakably bright and beautiful in his eyes; and having, at length, succeeded, by rather a singular process, to set all the tormenting doubts suggested by prudence at rest, he gave himself freely up to the sweet happiness of believing that Florence Heathcote would eventually be his wife.

  The reasoning that led to a decision which was in such exact contradiction to the conclusion at which he had arrived a few weeks before, when meditating on the same subject, did not arise from any observations elicited by his present opportunity of examination on the worldly prosperity of the young lady’s father. No, the logical process went contrariwise, and was founded on the self evident fact, that the extremest simplicity in their mode of living, and as little of luxury of all kinds, (excepting in the one article of leisure for reading, ) distinguished the Heathcote family from all others, either at home or abroad, with whom he had ever become acquainted. From these premises, it followed that, of all persons, either at home or abroad, with whom he had ever become acquainted, Florence was the fittest to be his wife; for what would be poverty to others must appear wealth to her; and all fear of the miserable struggle between gentle station and ungentle want, which he had heretofore contemplated as inevitable upon his marrying during the life time of his mother, vanished like a vision of the night, engendered by high feeding and unhealthy occupation.

  The most undoubted proof that the lady of his love possessed a splendid dower, would by no means so well have satisfied the long-descended young baronet, of the prudence and propriety of his choice, as did Florence’s thick shoes, coloured linen frock, little straw bonnet, and the home fabrics of all sorts which seemed to supply all the wants of her family. Had either Algernon or Florence known how exceedingly out of spirits Sir Charles Temple had been since they last saw him, they might have been greatly puzzled to account for the brightness of the glance that now shot from his eye, and the gaiety of the smile that curled his handsome lip. Not even the penetrating philosophy of Algernon would have sufficed to discover that it arose from the almost peasant garb of Florence, and the unsophisticated rusticity of all things at Bamboo Cottage.

  Whatever the causes, however, the walk was a most delightful walk to all the three; and, having discussed and dismissed the subject of the inheritance, they talked of a thousand other things, that proved how very much they all thought alike, upon every point whereon intelligence may be brought to bear, without the interference of general society to assist it.

  It was only because the appetite of Algernon announced to him the approach of the dinner hour that they turned about to return home when they did, and even this did not bring them back in time to save them from hearing Mrs. Heathcote express the greatest astonishment as to where they could possibly have been so long.

  CHAPTER XIV.

  Sir Charles Temple learned by inquiry from his fellow-guardian that their ward had not appeared in any part of the dwelling frequented by the family, since her dignified exit from the study in the morning. But he learned also, that the good Major and his wife had quite made up their minds upon the sum they should require from the heiress, in order to make her continued residence at Bamboo Cottage in all respects comfortable, and in fitting style.

  “If she were to pay us two hundred a year, Sir Charles,” said Mrs. Heathcote, looking conscious the while that she was naming an enormous sum, “if she were to pay us that, she might have a maid of her own, the school-room fitted up as a separate sitting-room, (for I could manage very well now the two biggest boys are off, to keep school in the parlour) and everything else suitable. It is a great sum of money, I know, to be added to such an income as ours, but I would make it my study in all ways to make her comfortable,”

  “If my opinion may be considered admissible on the subject of house-keeping,” replied Sir Charles, “I would advise you to name double that sum to Miss Martin Thorpe, which might, I think, enable you to keep such a carriage as would permit her extending her excursions and her visits, if she desired to do so.”

  This suggestion being agreed to, though not without a little shrug from Mrs. Heathcote, on the extravagant notions of the young baronet, it was farther settled between them, that these terms and statements should be submitted to the young lady before they left the dinner-table, as this would avoid the ceremony of inviting her to another private audience; and, accordingly, the other young people were instructed to withdraw as soon as the cloth was removed.

  Miss Martin Thorpe obeyed the summons to dinner conveyed to her by Florence, without relaxing one atom from the reserve in which she had from the first enveloped her feelings on the great change in her destiny. Such a chilling want of everything like confidence on her part was certainly sufficient to check all demonstration of sympathy in those around her; nevertheless Florence, who, after knocking, had waited for her at the door of her chamber, could
not resist saying as she took hold of her arm to accompany her down stairs, “Do you not feel very happy, dear Sophia?”

  To which question she received for answer another. “How do you mean, cousin Florence?”

  “How?” returned Florence, laughing, “oh, in a thousand ways, I should think.” This sufficed to bring them to the parlour door, and there the conversation ceased. Several attempts, however, were made by Mrs. Heathcote, the Major, and Sir Charles, to produce something like conversation with her, but it was evident that she thought the most inflexible gravity necessary to the receiving with propriety the important change which had taken place in her circumstances.

  Even though Sir Charles Temple was engaged in a laughing discussion with Florence, on her avowed delight in riding a donkey whenever she could get one, she remembered very dutifully the instructions she had received, and left the table, followed by Algernon and her two elder sisters, as soon as the table-cloth and the servant were withdrawn.

  It was, as heretofore, Sir Charles Temple who opened the conversation, which he did by saying, with a good-humoured smile, “I am afraid, Miss Martin Thorpe, that you will set me down as the most troublesome guardian that young lady ever had, for I must again tease you about business.”

  As he continued to look in her solemn little face, even after he had concluded his speech, she felt constrained to answer, and said, “I shall never consider business as teasing, Sir Charles Temple.”

  “I am excessively glad to hear you say so,” he replied, “and the more so, because I have so terrible a distaste to it myself, that if you were equally restive, and equally idle with myself about it, depend upon it we should never get on at all.”

  Sir Charles Temple looked exceedingly gay and exceedingly handsome as he said this, and Miss Sophia Martin Thorpe saw that he did; nevertheless it was only with a very faint attempt at a smile that she answered, “I flatter myself, sir, that I shall never be found idle when business is to be done.”

  “Bravo!” cried the gay and happy young man, who had fancied. within the last hour or two, that it would not be quite impossible to teach Florence Heathcote what it was to love, “Bravo! Miss Martin Thorpe. That assurance has removed all my embarrassment, and I can now enter upon that most detestable of all subjects, pounds, shillings, and pence, without a blush.”

  He then, with proper and respectful references to Major and Mrs. Heathcote, informed the young lady, that he had their permission to state to her what would be the difference in expense between her remaining to inhabit Clevelands with them, and their removing to inhabit Thorpe-Combe with her.

  Sir Charles immediately perceived that there was imminent danger of further adjournment, and that Miss Sophia Martin Thorpe was on the very verge of saying that she would give her answer after having considered the subject deliberately. He therefore went on to say, more rapidly than her manner of speech would permit her to interrupt him, “You see, my dear Miss Martin Thorpe, that this statement places the subject before you in such a manner as will enable you to decide at a single glance. It is evident to me, that, though as yet naturally unaccustomed to decide on subjects of importance, you have a vast deal of the sort of talent necessary to the promptitude which can alone enable people of fortune to make the different arrangements required by their position, without actually sacrificing the comfort of their existence to it. — Let us, therefore, have the pleasure of hearing your opinion without any farther delay, as to the comparative advantages of removing to the Combe or of remaining here.

  A moment elapsed before Sophia answered at all. It was not that she felt the slightest doubt as to the question to be decided; not for a single instant had she wavered in her choice; not for a single instant had it appeared possible to her that she could do so. But willingly would she have kept those whose movements and whose fate so wholly depended upon her fiat, some time longer in suspense. She was too acute, however, not to perceive that Sir Charles Temple had both the power and will to shorten this suspense. Had it been Major Heathcote who had requested to have her answer, the chances would have been fifty to one against his obtaining it, for perhaps many days to come; but giving a furtive glance at the handsome, spirited countenance of the young baronet, she decided upon pronouncing her will at once, and said, “You must be pleased to excuse me, sir, if I say that it seems strange to me that you should put to me the question that you have done. What have you seen in me which should lead you to suppose me capable of preferring such a home as this, which does not belong to me, to such a home as Thorpe-Combe, which does?”

  “Nay, fair lady,” replied Sir Charles, laughing, “our doubt as to which home we, in our character of guardians, should assign to you, did not arise from any preconceived notions as to your taste and character, but solely because we felt that, at the age of twenty, your own wishes ought to regulate our judgment, and it was impossible, you know, that we,.... or, at any rate, that I, could pretend to guess whether you would prefer spending your money or saving it.”

  There was a tone of lightness and almost playfulness in this speech and the manner in which it was uttered, that considerably discomposed the dignity of the heiress, and, again, it was well that it came from her younger instead of her elder guardian. As it was, however, she condescended even to give half a smile in return for Sir Charles Temple’s laugh, as she replied, “It would, indeed, be rather hard upon me, were I not permitted to regulate my expenses and manner of life according to my own judgment. Though legally an infant, I am surely not a child.”

  “We are quite aware of that, my dear,” said Major Heathcote, speaking for the first time since the subject was opened, “and it is for that reason, Sophy, that we are anxious to hear you explain what your own wishes arc.”

  “My wishes, sir, must not be my only guides,” replied the young lady, “I am fully aware of that. But I am willing to adopt, for the present, the mode of life pointed out by Sir Charles Temple this morning. I am willing to take up my immediate residence at Thorpe-Combe, under the personal protection of my guardian Major Heathcote and his lady.”

  Sir Charles Temple, inexpressibly amused by this high and mighty style, carefully repeated her words to himself, that he might regale Algernon with them, when this solemn session should be over — but being in rather too gay a mood to be cautious, he did this audibly, distinctly pronouncing “my guardian Major Heathcote and his lady!”

  Happily however for the equanimity of Miss Martin Thorpe the possibility that Sir Charles was laughing at her dignified manner of expressing herself never entered her head; but being occupied by thoughts widely different, she gave a very opposite interpretation to this repetition of what she had said, and with an air of mingled solemnity and decision resumed...

  “I should be sorry you should misunderstand me, Sir Charles Temple. My naming Major and Mrs. Heathcote alone, without deeming it necessary to add a catalogue of the young people’s names, was not intended by me to indicate any expectation that they should separate themselves entirely from their own family, in order to obtain the advantage of presiding for a time over mine. It might certainly be more convenient, were my cousin, Miss Florence Heathcote, the only one likely to remain at home during the period that such an arrangement is likely to continue, but it is not my intention to make a condition of it. I see no reason, however, why I should scruple to say that if the great pecuniary advantages which must naturally follow Major Heathcote’s taking up his residence in my family, should be found sufficient to place all his younger children at school, I should greatly prefer its being done.” There was an audacity of impertinence in the manner in which this was uttered, that for a moment seemed to paralyse the savoir-faire of the baronet, and he remained perfectly silent; but poor Mrs. Heathcote, in whom terror at the idea of losing her children superseded the new-born one which she was beginning to feel before the heiress, exclaimed with considerable energy— “God bless my heart and soul, Sophy Martin! you don’t expect that I will send all my dear children away, do you?”

&n
bsp; “I have said nothing about my expectations, madam,” she replied; “I spoke only of my wishes.”

  “Good gracious! How very strange that does seem, to be sure!” cried Mrs. Heathcote. “And you really would like, Sophy, to have all the dear children got rid of? Mercy on me! what a desert the house would seem!.... And how could they harm you, Sophy Martin, in such a great wide place as Thorpe-Combe? — Whatever the Major thinks right to do, that I always will and shall consent to, as in duty bound; but as far as I am concerned, I had rather live upon water-gruel here, with my children, than on ortolans at Thorpe-Combe, without them.”

  Miss Martin Thorpe smiled, a very particular sort of smile, which Algernon, on seeing one of the same kind afterwards, declared to be a full-grown specimen of the same species, of which they used now and then to see the buds, when Miss Martin Thorpe, of Thorpe-Combe, was plain Sophy Martin, the penniless pensioner of Bamboo Cottage; but she said nothing in reply to this burst of maternal feeling from Mrs. Heathcote, and it was the Major who spoke next.

  “I hope you do not think, Sophia,” said he, “that because I am appointed your guardian, by your uncle’s will, that it is my intention to maintain myself and family at your expense? I have not the least wish or intention of deriving any pecuniary advantage whatever from consenting to reside with you.... for certainly I shall not consider your being waited upon by a man instead of a maid, or your having six dishes perhaps, instead of four upon the table, any pecuniary advantage to me or mine. My expenses, exclusive of our clothes, amount to something less than five hundred pounds per annum, and it is my intention to contribute that sum to your housekeeping, if finally we agree to take up our abode at the Combe — So you perceive, my dear, that our sending the children to school is quite out of the question, even if your dear aunt liked it.... which, it is very plain to see, she would not.” Miss Martin Thorpe listened to this speech, the longest by far that the Major had ever made her, with unbroken and profound attention; and when she perceived that it was finished she turned to Sir Charles Temple, and said with a sort of dignified solemnity, that was realty rather impressive.... “I trust, Sir Charles Temple, that I may he at once and fear ever understood to be most peremptorily in earnest, when l say that nothing shall induce me to permit Major Heathcote to contribute any portion of his income to the support of my establishment at Thorpe-Combe. You of course are at liberty to judge whether I am wrong or right in this resolution... All I have a right to insist on is that it shall be considered as immutable.”