Could she therefore be quite sure that the transaction between them would remain unknown to all beside themselves, her course was clear. She had only to keep the secret herself, and to keep also the treasure which fortune had put into her hands.... but if, on the other hand, he were, before the aberration of his intellect became generally known, to mention his visit to her, and the gift he had made in the course of it, the only thing for her to do, was to endeavour by every means in her power to ward off all suspicion of insanity, so that it might for ever remain doubtful whether he were not legally in a state of mind to render him capable of disposing of his property, at the time she received his. present.
Having completely made up her mind as to the modes of conduct which in either case it was her duty to pursue, the outward bearing of Sophia indicated nothing that in any way interfered with her usual monotony, and stiff composure of spirits; but in truth, she was not without her anxieties, and looked out for every sound which might bring the tidings of Mr. Timothy Jenkins, with a more lively degree of interest than she usually felt in the welfare of any human being, save herself.
On the evening of the sixth day after his first visit, Mr. Jenkins again made his appearance at Thorpe-Combe, but on this occasion he chose so strange a time for his visit, that no reasons less imperative than those which regulated Sophia’s conduct towards him, could have induced her to admit him. She was in the act of presiding at the economical family dinner at six o’clock, when the bell at the hall-door rang violently.
“This is an odd time for visitors,” observed Major Heathcote.
“Let nobody in,” said the heiress, knitting her brows into great severity of aspect; but suddenly recollecting herself she added.... “unless it is.... If any one wishes to see me, desire that the name may be sent in.”
It was the butler to Whom this was addressed, and accordingly he himself answered the doorbell; but not even the dignity of his very superior demeanour could induce the guest who appeared at it to submit himself to the etiquette he suggested. Before the hall-door was again closed, Mr. Jenkins was in the dining-room wearing a smiling look of assured welcome, which if it did not indicate madness betokened a degree of familiarity hardly less embarrassing to Sophia.
She immediately rose from her place, saying, “Let me show you into the drawing-room, sir;” but before she had well finished the sentence, Mr. Jenkins seized upon a chair, and drawing it to the dinner-table beside Florence, said, “Don’t stand upon any ceremony with me, my dear. YOU know I told you that I had been very intimate here, and you can’t please me better than by just letting me fall into my old ways again. I am come on purpose to dine with you, Miss Martin Thorpe, You keep too good a house to make a notice necessary, or else I should have given you one, for I am a little like yourself, my dear, I like what is nice.” Sophia was indescribably distressed. Her dinner was very nearly as far removed from deserving the epithet of “nice” in the sense in which she well knew Mr. Jenkins used it, as possible! It consisted of a tureen of pea-soup at the top and a round of boiled beef at the bottom of the table, cabbage, carrots, et cetera, furnishing the side dishes.
“That is a good substantial joint, my dear,” said the sallow traveller, eyeing the goodly ‘round,’ “but I don’t think it will suit you and me. It is a favourite with the Major, I suppose, and if so, that is very attentive and kind of you... but I think I can guess the sort of course which will follow.... and all hot, hot, you know.... so you shall give me leave to wait, if you please.”
“The ladye called her little foot-page And whispered in his ear” — that he should order Mrs. Barnes to prepare, and send in with the greatest possible expedition, whatever she had ready in the house that was “nice and having said this, she called him back again to add.... “Whatever she was going to get for my own supper to-night.”
Jem was a quick boy, and well deserved the promotion which had fallen upon him. He repeated the whispered message to Mrs. Barnes without a single blunder; but so great was the astonishment of the housekeeper at its purport, that notwithstanding the haste demanded, she made the grinning nuncio go through it every word again before she moved an inch.
“Her own supper!... The Lord be good to me! What mortal man can that be as she’d say that for?” demanded the good woman, looking perfectly dismayed.
“It is the queer chap as corned last week from the Castle with his Lordship,” replied Jem.
“Oh!... that’s it, is it? She wants to curry favour there, does she?... Nasty proud minx! But she may give away her dear supper, and her breakfast and her luncheon into the bargain, before she’ll bring that set here again as they used to be. However, madam shall try what her delicate supper will do, if it is only for the pleasure of knowing how moping and miserable she will go to bed without it”.... and in pursuance of this excellent resolution a very dainty second course made its appearance in less time than any one but a Mrs. Barnes could have achieved it, yet not so quickly, nevertheless, as not to make it very obviously visible to the meanest capacity that this addition to the entertainment was improvise, The greatly vexed Sophia did all she could to make this awful interval appear as short as possible by ordering the butler, to bring round champagne, and by most earnestly pressing Major, Mrs and Miss Heathcote to eat more boiled beef. But all would pot do. The first course and the second course were pretty nearly as distinct, as if the one had been called dinner and the other supper; and though the Major made a point of saying everything be could think of, and Florence answered freely and pleasantly to all the numerous questions Mr, Jenkins was pleased to ask her, time halted with them all most obviously.
Mrs. Heathcote was the person who appeared to suffer least by this; for the very lively and awakening feeling of astonishment which had seized upon her gave occupation enough to her thoughts to have employed them twice as long. What could be the cause of this astounding variation in the character and manners of Miss Martin Thorpe? She, whose avarice showed itself more visibly every day she lived.... she, whose temper stood not the slightest contrariety without exhibiting the most unequivocal marks of impatience... that she, that Sophia should submit to this unauthorised and very impertinent intrusion from a perfect stranger, not Only without displeasure, but with every appearance of thinking herself honoured and favoured thereby, was a mystery so perfectly past finding out, and at the same time so exceedingly exciting to curiosity, that, as Mrs. Heathcote sat and watched both the guest and his metamorphosed entertainer, the vacant table and the idle plates Stood before her unnoted.
As to Mr. Jenkins, all that could be made of him was, that his dauntless, reckless, indifference to all common forms rendered him absolutely unconscious of the strangeness of his own conduct But at the same time there was such an air of careless good-humour in all he said, that it was certainly difficult for a good-natured person not to fed in some degree pleased with him. But no person at all acquainted with Miss. Martin Thorpe could for an instant suppose that this sort of manner could have any charm for her. It was, on the contrary, clear as light, that it was and must ha, precisely the kind of thing she most detested; yet there she sat, convulsing her features into a ceaseless smile, and instead of looking daggers at every impertinent word he uttered, torturing every feature to express approbation and delight.
Nor was the conduct of Mr. Jenkins at all such as to render this labour of politeness easy. Though apparently in the most perfect good-humour, he showed without any attempt at reserve, that he was quite aware of the awkwardness of the operations which were going on, to, welcome him.
“I did not mean, my dear, to pull you into this terrible fuss,” he said.... “I can’t say, to be sure, that I like to eat salt beef. That would not be true, for I account it, next to salt pork, the most uneatable thing that Europeans put upon their tables. In general.... that is, among the higher and middling classes.... they are very decent feeders. But I would not have come in so unexpectedly, if I had thought your general manner of living was so unlike your nice luncheons. By the
by, I don’t mean your luncheon, Major Heathcote, I can’t say that looked very tempting, but yours, my dear, that you and I sat down to, so snugly together, about a week ago.”
“Will you not take another glass of champagne, Mr. Jenkins?” said Sophia, whose brown cheeks were gradually becoming crimson.
“No, I thank you... Yes, I will, though, it will make the time seem shorter.... Did you not think I was lost, my dear? I’ll bet an elephant to a camel, that you thought I was run away.... and that you would never see any more of my pretty things. Eh? was it so?”
This speech, however alarming from its allusion to what she intended none but herself should know, had enough in it to revive all the sinking energies of Sophia, and she answered in her very gentlest tones.... “You had said that you would return, my dear sir, and I felt sure you would not break your word, and most happy I am to see you again.”
“You would have liked it better, though, if I had come at lunch-time, instead of dinner?.... I must remember that, another time.”
“Come when you will, sir, you will always be welcome,” said Miss Martin Thorpe. —
The Major and Mrs. Heathcote, though the very last people in the world to exchange uncivil family glances, could not resist this. They looked at each other; and that look though neither prolonged nor of any very marked expression, said a good deal. If Mr. Jenkins observed it, he was less frank than usual on the subject, for he made no commentary. His next speech was addressed to Florence.
“My dear, you are very like your mother, and she was very’ pretty, I remember that. She was ever so many years younger than.... than her brother. It is very interesting, I assure you, coming back in this way to an old place that one remembers so well. Look here, my dear.... let me see your pretty hand. There; I brought this on purpose for you. My fingers are not very big, you see, so what was rather tight for my little finger is not a great deal too big for your third.... There.... How do you like it?”
While saying this, Mr. Timothy Jenkins, who appeared to the excited mind of Sophia to carry about with him an inexhaustible mine of precious stones, put upon the finger of Florence a diamondring of very considerable value, which, though hardly suited to so young and small a hand, appeared to sparkle in the eyes of the heiress more resplendently than any stone she had ever looked upon. For one short moment she turned her dark, dismal-looking eyes from the hand of Florence to her face; and the glance, though rapid, positively made Miss Heathcote start. All the deep, deep, mortification Florence had caused her at the ball; all her vague, latent suspicions, that the admired Sir Charles Temple thought her beautiful; all the corrosive, vainly battled consciousness which lay at the bottom of her own heart, that she was so; and that not all the wealth that all the world could give had power to make the richly endowed heiress as fair to look upon as her penniless cousin, all this, strengthened, it maybe, by the ill-humour which the vexatious circumstances of the present moment produced, seemed recorded in that look.... for it was one of unmixed hatred.
But though Florence started at the unexpected sternness of that strange glance, she was at an immeasurable distance from understanding it. She perceived that her cousin was very angry with her, and fancied that she saw some great impropriety in her having permitted Mr. Jenkins to take hold of her hand and place the ring upon it. In truth she did not greatly approve this, herself; and colouring to the temples, she drew off the glittering jewel, and laying it beside the plate of her new acquaintance, said, with a pretty shake of the head which conveyed a whole volume upon the impropriety of her accepting it.... “You are very, very kind, Mr. Jenkins, and I am very much obliged to you, but indeed I cannot take the ring, so do not be angry if I return it to you.”
Mr. Jenkins looked at her with a sort of meditative eye that seemed scanning her character. He took up the ring however, and replaced it on his own finger, but did not appear to have taken her refusal of it amiss, for he smiled as he replied.... “Very well, my dear, then I must keep it myself.”
When at length the second course did arrive, Sophia had the satisfaction of remarking that Mr. Timothy Jenkins did ample justice to it; and something in her own heart or rather in her own palate, perhaps, made her feel the importance of having the power thus to gratify a man, who gave away jewels, rich and rare, as freely as a crippled godmother in a fairy tale. She would willingly, however, have spared some of his laudatory remarks on the dishes set before him, bearing as they did upon their comparative merits, relatively to what she had given him at luncheon. For of her luncheons she never spoke; and though not particularly observant as to what the Heathcote family might think of her, on any point, she greatly preferred their knowing nothing at all about them. But there was nothing in the manner of either father, mother, or daughter, as Mr. Jenkins made these mal à propos observations, which betrayed their having excited much attention; perhaps the information they conveyed WAS not quite so new to her guests as she imagined, for Mrs. Barnes was a bit of a gossip, and would chatter a little to Mrs. Heathcote, now and then, when that very loving mother indulged herself by accompanying her little boys into the housekeeper’s room, which to them was by far the most agreeable part of the mansion.
Another whisper produced the lighting -up of the drawing-room, and then followed a very severe struggle in the mind of Sophia as to whether she could, would, might, and should carry off with her the precious giver of jewels when she removed from the dinner-table, or whether she must, in conformity to established usage, leave him to listen to whatever it came into honest Major Heathcote’s head to say. She had taken to peeling her almonds, as a means of lengthening the interval of meditation, and shortening that of danger which might possibly follow.... and having reached the very last upon which she thought it possible thus to employ herself, she abruptly rose, without paying the least attention to the fact that Mrs. Heathcote was in the act of dipping her fingers in her water-glass and said— “Everybody seems ready for the drawing-room, so I think we may all go there together.” This speech long delayed, and not delivered at last without hesitation, was rendered of none effect by the following reply from Mr. Jenkins —
“Together, my dear? what!.... gentlemen and ladies all together?.... That is quite out of the way, Miss Sophy. I am afraid your good aunt has not brought you as forward as she might have done, upon the chapter of customs and manners. However, you need not look grave about it, my dear. There is no harm done; and with your good leave, Major Heathcote and I will make ourselves comfortable for a little while here, with nobody to listen to us but a bottle of claret.”
Escape from this sentence there was none. The miserable heiress.... for at that moment, despite all she had got and all she hoped to get, Sophia was exceedingly miserable.... the miserable heiress bent her head, and said, with extraordinary gentleness, considering what she suffered, “Pray do, sir.” This effort made, and the parlour door closed behind her, she had, at least, the comfort of knowing that no farther restraint was necessary for the present; and brushing, with her accustomed disregard of ceremony, past Mrs. Heathcote and Florence, she took refuge in her own boudoir, where her sulky cup of coffee was as usual brought her, and where she remained, for along hour, execrating the yoke of her minority, which obliged her to endure the presence of the hated Heathcotes, and very gravely pondering again the possibility of picking a positive quarrel with them, and making herself a ward of Chancery.
At the expiration of this time her page came, according to order, to inform her that the strange gentleman and the Major had left the dinner-table, and she then descended, trembling lest she should find some alteration in the manners of her valued guest, which might be the result of his tête-à-tête with her guardian.
But her terrors on this subject were altogether vain and unfounded. She was right enough, perhaps, in thinking that Major Heathcote was not fond of her, but totally wrong in supposing him likely to make her or her conduct the subject of conversation with a stranger.
In fact, during the hour they remained together h
er name was not once mentioned between them. Mr. Jenkins, notwithstanding the eccentricities of his manner, was essentially gentlemanlike, and having, during many years of various adventure, acquired much out-of-the-way information and anecdote, the conversation was exceedingly well sustained, without either party having recourse to commentaries or questions concerning the few persons with whom they were mutually acquainted. During the last few minutes, indeed, which preceded their leaving the room, Mr. Jenkins led the conversation to Italy, and mentioned having heard that Major Heathcote’s eldest son was there with Sir Charles Temple. This was replied to, with all frankness, as well as a question or two, which followed, respecting the age of Algernon, and his enjoyment of the novel scenes to which his journey must have introduced him.
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 314