“Upon my word, Miss Martin Thorpe,” replied her young guardian, the playfulness of his manner entirely gone, “I am too much a stranger to the duties so unexpectedly thrown upon me by the dear friend I have lost, to be able to decide whether the resolution you so peremptorily announce, should be yielded to, or not. Were your minority of many years, I should decidedly think it should not, as the having so large a family thrown upon you to maintain, would, if the arrangement were continued for any length of time, be decidedly an inroad upon your property, which It would be obviously the duty of your guardians to prevent. But ft appears to me that the case is different now; and that if your feelings on the point are so decided and so strong, as you express them to be, we may be justified in yielding to your wishes... especially as it cannot be doubted that these wishes arise, in part, at least, if not wholly, from your very proper recollection of what your uncle and aunt Heathcote were to you, before your uncle Thorpe made you independent of them and of all the world. I Will therefore venture to give it as my opinion that we ought not to offer any opposition to your wishes, but settle your allowance at two thousand five hundred a year. In fact, Major Heathcote,” he added, turning to his brother guardian, “there can be no reason in the world why we should desire to let the property accumulate during the short time that it will remain in our hands.... Should ready money be wanted when Miss Martin Thorpe marries, enough will be found in the funds for any such contingency, for the late Mr. Thorpe has not spent above a quarter of his income for many years past.”
“Were any other than myself concerned in this matter,” replied Major Heathcote, “I have little doubt that I should look upon it in the same light that you do; but, as it is, I confess it is painful to me to contemplate the idea of my whole family living at free quarters upon my young ward.”
“Then, sir,” returned the heiress, very stiffly, “some other arrangement must be made for me; for most assuredly I will not submit to live in any manner by which my own house and my own establishment shall be supported from other funds than my own. But on the other hand,” she added, “I will not deny that I should hear with pleasure of your having decided upon lessening the number of young persons that I shall have to accommodate. Your eldest son, in particular, would be placed with more propriety anywhere than in my house. He is but a few years younger than myself; and if I may be permitted to form an opinion upon anything concerning myself, while I am yet a minor, I would say that his being an inmate with me, could not be considered as advantageous or desirable for me, by any one.”
The trio who listened to her appeared struck dumb by this concluding sentence, for neither of them for a minute or two attempted any reply. Had there been a few grains less of gentleness in the temper of either Major Heathcote or his wife, the question of Miss Martin Thorpe’s manner of life, as far as it related to them, would have been speedily settled, by their assuring her in language as positive as her own, that they would see her and her fortune at the bottom of the sea, before they would submit, themselves and their children, to become her guests, on any terms. But even in the moment of irritation produced by her last words, they neither of them forgot that though an heiress she was an orphan, and that there would be wickedness as well as weakness in permitting anything; she could say to interfere with their duties towards her, both as a young girl to whom they had volunteered parental protection, and as a ward whose tutorage had been accepted without scruple or reservation. But though both the good Major and his wife were prevented from replying with severity to her speech, by feelings so essentially the same, that no consultation between them could have rendered them more so, they were also equally incapable of answering her, for the moment at least, in any very conciliatory manner, and the eyes of both were simultaneously turned towards Sir Charles. Temple, in the hope that he would undertake to reply to her. But in his case, as well as in theirs, the retort dictated by his feelings, was speedily checked by his judgment. Though as little given to hatred as any man could well be, he felt, or fancied that he felt, something exceedingly like it, towards his youthful ward. At any, rate, he certainly did dislike her most cordially; nevertheless he had wisdom enough not to act upon this feeling, but very quietly replied:— “However much I may be inclined to differ from you, Miss Martin Thorpe, as to the impropriety of your cousin Algernon’s remaining a member of his father’s family while you also reside with him, I should very reluctantly interfere to overrule any feeling in a young lady which could be attributed to delicacy. Most unquestionably, no superabundance of this precious quality can be so objectionable as a deficiency in it; therefore on that point I will willingly agree to be your advocate, if Mrs. Heathcote and your uncle will have the kindness to permit my talking to them on the subject. But as to the younger members of the family, as the eldest male amongst them, remaining at home, does not, I think, number above eight years, I must beg you to forgive me if I hint that no ill consequences are likely to arise from his continuing a little longer under his mother’s protection.”
As dulness of comprehension made no part of the heiress’s mental peculiarities, she was at no loss to discover that her observant, and very obliging guardian, was laughing at her. For some occult reason or other, however, she felt no inclination to quarrel with him, and had sufficient command of herself to reply in almost the only manner that could prevent it; for she now called up more of a smile than he had ever seen in her face before, and said, very much as if she had really been exceedingly well pleased, “Thank you, Sir Charles Temple. If you and Major Heathcote will contrive to manage concerning his son Algernon according to my wishes, Mrs. Heathcote and I will undertake to settle about little Frederic according to yours. It is possible, certainly, that my aunt and I may differ as to the eligibility of turning the next year to profit, as regards the education of her daughters; but however greatly I may wish for what I conceive advantages to them, I am not, I assure you, at all likely to trouble her with any obtrusive advice on the subject. The parents of the dear girls can alone be the proper judges of this question.”
Now here were sentiments, and expressions also, with which it was impossible that any reasonable person could find fault. The Major actually coloured, from shame at having felt inclined to be so over-hasty to the poor girl, who certainly had a great deal of good sense, though she might not happen to be born with just such a gay sweet temper as her cousin Florence.
Mrs. Heathcote also was ready to acknowledge, that though Sophy’s manner was not exactly pleasant, yet that it was exceedingly wrong to be angry with her, for what, most likely, she could not help. And that nobody could deny that she seemed inclined to be very liberal, and could mean nothing but kindness when she talked about the improvement of the dear girls.
As to Sir Charles Temple, he was on this occasion by far the slowest of the three in deciding how to interpret the feelings and motives of his ward. He could not make her out. He, too, could not deny, though he felt something at his heart which strongly disposed him to do so, that Sophia’s refusal to let the Heathcotes contribute to the expense of her establishment, must be considered as liberal; neither was what she had said respecting the advantage which might accrue to the young girls of the family, by bestowing some part of the expense thus saved upon their education, at all undeserving of notice. And even on the subject of Algernon, it was possible she might be right; and that he, with his unsparing ridicule upon it, might have been as wrong as he certainly was uncivil. All this passed through his head, clearly and distinctly; not a word could be said against it. Nay, into the bargain, he was constrained to confess that she had borne his sauciness about little Frederic, in a manner which in anybody else he should have called good-humoured. Yet, nevertheless, he still thought Sophia Martin Thorpe one of the most particularly disagreeable human beings he had ever met with.
All these wise and conciliatory reasonings, however, led to a perfectly amicable termination of the interview; and Miss Martin Thorpe once more retired to her own room to enjoy in solitude, silence
, and secrecy the deep, deep, deep, delight of having acquired all that her soul most loved.
But as her quiet step now again led her away from all that could interfere with her delicious meditations, she was conscious of carrying with her yet more of triumphant satisfaction than when she last sat down to enjoy them.
She had had to deal with two men vested with power over her, both of whom were of resolute independent spirit, both decidedly and honestly differing from her in opinion, both resolute to do what they thought right, and yet, by a little sternness at one point, a little gentleness at another, and an unvarying determination throughout that she would have her own way, she had managed to obtain from them permission to spend nearly the whole of an income, about three times as large as a girl in her position would reasonably require.... to be left entire mistress of her own establishment.... with considerable reason to hope that she should succeed in getting rid of, at least, three of good Mrs. Heathcote’s darlings, and something very comfortably approaching to a promise that Algernon, her own especial aversion, should, somehow or other, be taken out of her way.
Catherine of Russia did not love power better than Sophia Martin Thorpe; and so predominant was this passion over every other feeling of her nature, that no adequate idea of the perfection of her present happiness can be formed without its being remembered.
And yet, though at present almost stifled by the rampant, flourishing, and unchecked growth of this master-passion, there was another lying hid within her heart, which, though less native there, was of a nature and a quality not likely to wither easily, however much it might be overgrown and kept in the shade. While at Thorpe-Combe, Sophia had been too intently occupied upon the attainment of one mighty object to have a single thought at liberty for any other; but short as was the interval since she had obtained it, she had found time to conceive another wish, which, though weak and faint, compared to the former one, she did not intend to abandon. In a word, she not only discovered that Sir Charles Temple was the handsomest man she had ever seen, but had moreover very firmly brought her mind to the conviction, that there could be no man handsomer. Moreover he had a title, which though not perhaps the highest she could command, would suffice to make her “my lady,” and lastly, be was the master of Temple, a place which she had been told that summer travellers often came miles to see.
It is true that Miss Martin Thorpe did not believe Sir Charles Temple was in love with her; on the contrary, she was fully aware that he disliked her very much; but this did not in the least degree shake either her inclination or her determination to be Lady Temple, of Temple, and Thorpe-Combe. She had faith unbounded in the power of wealth, and in the power of will; and nobeauteous girl, retiring to her room, blushing and tearful from the first avowal of a favoured lover’s hopes, ever looked forward to the union that would follow, with more confidence, than the little ugly Sophia now did to that, by which in the fulness of time she meant to bestow herself and her acres upon her unconscious and uncourteous guardian.
CHAPTER XV.
No important difficulties remained to impede the final arrangement of the plan of life which Miss Martin Thorpe had thus laid down for herself; and in the course of the evening which followed the above conversation, she gently contrived to intimate to Sir Charles Temple, that as soon as he should have done what he had given her reason to hope he would do, respecting settling some plan for her cousin Algernon, she should wish immediately to remove with the family to Thorpe-Combe.
“There can be no occasion whatever that it should be delayed, Miss Martin Thorpe,” replied the young man. “I have already sounded my friend Algernon on the plan that I have imagined for him; to which, I am happy to say, he makes no objection; and before I meet you to-morrow at breakfast, I hope that I shall have been equally successful in obtaining the approbation of Major and Mrs. Heathcote to it.”
Having thus pledged himself, Sir Charles Temple once more requested his host and hostess to retire with him to the scene of their former consultation, though by doing so he lost the pleasure which he had lately learned to prefer to all others that the world had to give.... namely, the looking in the face of Florence, as she listened to him when he talked or read or sang to her.
“I trust that our troubles and difficulties arc pretty well over, dear friends,” said he, placing a chair for Mrs. Heathcote, and sealing himself close to her; “and I am willing to hope that I may have been somewhat over-severe in my judgment of our singular-mannered young ward. It may be that she is only one of the people whom the world call odd, and this, if nothing worse is joined with it, signifies very little, perhaps, particularly with such tempers as yours. But there is one point that we have yet to settle, and on this I hope I shall find you both as kind and as willing to indulge all who have a favour to beg, as I have ever found you.”
“I am sure I wish with all my heart that you really had some favour to beg,” replied Mrs. Heathcote, earnestly, “just that we might show we understand all the kind feeling you have shown us.”
“Say you so, dear lady?.... Then I will put you to the test. I know the Major can deny you nothing.... Will you ask him as a thing you particularly wish, that Algernon may accompany me to Florence?”
“Algernon travel with you into Italy?.... My dear Sir Charles! I do really believe the idea would drive him wild. Well as he is, I doubt if he would have strength to bear it.”
“Then he is stronger than you imagine, Mrs. Heathcote,” replied Sir Charles, laughing, “for I have been talking to him about it, and he bears it perfectly well. What say you, my dear Major? Will you trust your charming boy with me for a few months? I will promise that the time shall not be altogether lost, but that ‘his studies shall be carefully pursued in whatever walk you shall direct. I really think that such an excursion may be beneficial to him in every way; and for the present, at least, our exigeante ward will be satisfied.”
Both the father and most maternal step-mother were overwhelmed with gratitude at this proposal. They declared, and with all sincerity, that they considered nothing so likely to confirm the improving health of Algernon, as such a scheme; and that the idea of the happiness it would afford him, and the improvement in every way which he was likely to reap from it, would leave them, for the present at least, without any species of anxiety on his account.
Before the little conclave broke up, both the Major and his wife stated their willingness to expend a part of the income that would be spared by their residence at Thorpe-Combe, upon sending their three elder girls to school; a determination of which Sir Charles modestly but decidedly expressed his approbation; though at the same moment he could not restrain a smile, as he remembered Algernon’s prediction that what Miss Martin Thorpe chose to do, that she would do.
So far, assuredly, everything seemed to proceed in very perfect accordance with that young lady’s wishes; nor was she at all insensible to the fact that it was so; but whatever triumphant exhilaration of spirit this might cause her in secret, no eye could mark its workings on her quiet firm-set features, or detect it in the inflections of her soberly-regulated voice.
Sir Charles Temple, notwithstanding the intention he had most sincerely stated on arriving, of hastening his departure as much as possible, made no difficulty about waiting a week or so, for the convenience of Algernon. It is true that at the time he mentioned this exceeding hurry, he had never remarked the colour of Florence deepen at his approach, nor heard her voice tremble when she named him. The time however, though Mrs. Heathcote with difficulty found words sufficiently strong to express the gratitude she felt at the patience with which he bore the delay, seemed to him, and to young Florence too, to melt into the past, more rapidly than that most silent and certain of all processes ever performed itself before.
But the dreaded moment came at last; Algernon was as ready as many hands could make him. The very last words that could be considered needful had been spoken between the young baronet and his now gentle ward; and Algernon looked as if the hope and joy which
lighted up his magnificent eyes, must act like steam restrained, and produce some vehement explosion, if not soon permitted to do the Office for which it was “up,” and bear him gaily over the sea and land that lay before him.
But yet there was one thing still left undone. Sir Charles Temple had not yet told Florence that it was absolutely necessary, in order to render his future existence endurable, that she should speak with her lips, and with well-authenticated information before her, concerning what she was about, the same thing that her innocent eyes had repeated for many days past, but evidently without her having the slightest idea of what they were talking about. In plain English, Sir Charles Temple had at last made up his mind not to leave Clevelands without having done his very best to make Florence confess that she loved him, and promise, notwithstanding his poverty, to become his wife.
In many respects this courtship was considerably out of the common way. For in the first place, instead of waiting and watching for a favouring moment, in which kind fortune might grant him an interview, Sir Charles, who perfectly well knew that any such hope must be desperate at Bamboo Cottage, managed the matter very unceremoniously at last, by saying to Algernon on the day preceding that on which it was settled that they should set off, at eight o’clock, “Algernon! I wish you would not walk with your sister Florence to the mill this morning. I will undertake to give the message about the grinding quite as discreetly as you could do; and I have got something I want to say to her before we set off.”
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 298