Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  To each and every of them Mr. Jenkyns made a comical little bow, giving at the same time a sharp glance of his keen black eye, in the manner of one who is desirous of seeing rather farther than the surface, if he can.

  When he reached Sir Charles Temple, his manner appeared slightly embarrassed. He drew out his pocket-handkerchief, and flourished it about the lower part of his face, as if awkwardly at a loss how to address him. But if he really experienced a sensation of shyness in addressing the handsome young baronet, it must have been relieved by perceiving that he was too intently occupied in listening to something which Florence Heathcote was saying, to take any very particular notice of him. He muttered, however, something that seemed intended to be civil about being glad to see a gentleman who had been such a favourite with his old friend Mr. Thorpe; to which Sir Charles, without looking at him very earnestly, replied.... “I hope I see you well, sir,” and immediately resumed his conversation with his blushing neighbour.

  This ceremony gone through, Mr. Jenkins approached Mrs Heathcote with a smile, which seemed to say that he was well contented it was over, and that he was now ready to have a little conversation with her. But when he had reached within a step of the place where she sat, he suddenly stopped short, exclaiming, though almost in a whisper.... “That is not all... There is another whom I have yet to see. Where is Algernon Heathcote?”

  If this question was addressed to Miss Martin Thorpe, who had by this time resumed her own place in the middle of her own principal sofa, it apparently was not heard by her, for she immediately turned her head the other way. But Mrs. Heathcote, who had reached to a considerable degree of intimacy with the eccentric traveller, during his frequent visits to the banqueting-house previous to his journey to London, immediately replied —

  “Let me introduce our boy Algernon to you, Mr. Jenkins.” And without waiting for his answer, the zealous step-mother bustled across the room to where Algernon stood enjoying the richly wooded landscape from the window, and taking him by the hand led him, puzzled but unresisting, to the singular personage who had desired to make his acquaintance.

  “This is Algernon Heathcote,” said the kind soul, too proud of the boy, and too eager to show him off, to pause for any reflections as to how he might like to be thus exhibited. Now, had any one else been the exhibitor he would not have liked it at all; but loving her too well to quarrel with anything she could do, he smiled with such bright good-humour at the anxious-looking countenance that thus suddenly placed itself before him, that Mr. Jenkins seemed to lose the ordinary proportion of discretion (never particularly great), by which in general he endeavoured to regulate his words and actions, and placing a hand on either shoulder of the startled youth, he exclaimed, “Gracious Heaven!... And this, then, is Algernon Heathcote!”

  Algernon coloured, and certainly looked as handsome as the fondest and proudest mother could have wished.

  “Yes, Mr. Jenkins, this is Algernon; and when you get a little better acquainted with him, you will find out that his looks are not the best of him.”

  Having said this, Mrs. Heathcote returned to her place, leaving the new acquaintances standing together at the window.

  “You must not believe anything my mother says about me, Mr. Jenkins,” said the boy, laughing. “She is a very good woman in all other respects, but she very often tells stories about me “Then now I have made acquaintance with you, I must take care to judge for myself,” said Mr. Jenkins; and dropping into a chair he made the lad a sign to sit down beside him, and before the ten minutes which preceded the announcement of dinner had worn themselves away, he had contrived to set the youth off upon a very animated recapitulation of his Italian travels.

  When at length the welcome signal came for removing to the dining-room, the mistress of the house made a quick anxious movement towards Mr. Jenkins, and, offering to take his arm, said: “Will you be so kind, sir, as to take me in to dinner?”

  “No, my dear,” replied Mr. Jenkins, without much ceremony either in his words or manner; “that would be quite contrary to etiquette. You must take Sir Charles Temple’s arm, for to-day, Miss Sophy; and Mr. Wilkyns must lead in Mrs. Heathcote; the Major may give his arm to that Miss Wilkyns next you, because she looks the eldest; and the two younger-looking ones must amuse Florence as well as they can, though they, too, appear to have greatly the advantage of her in years. But as for me, you must let me take care of myself. I have found a young fellow here who suits me exactly, because he loves travelling, and he and I intend to sit together.”

  It was a sore struggle, both in strength and skill, for the heiress to listen to this without wincing; and perhaps at that moment she would have willingly abandoned all future hopes from the munificence of Mr. Jenkins, could she by so doing have, of a surety, consigned every individual of the party around her to the Red Sea. But as no such pleasant alternative was offered to her choice, all that was left her was to smile and walk on.

  The rest of the company stared at each other, more or less, according to their different degrees of intimacy and astonishment; but they all obeyed the sallow traveller’s marshalling, and took their companions and their places exactly as he had commanded.

  Few meetings could be less lively than was this second cousinly reunion at Thorpe-Combe. Major Heathcote made an attempt to converse a little with the eldest Welsh heiress, but was speedily monosyllabled down; that young lady finding it altogether impossible to recover her temper, after the brutal vulgarity displayed in the speech of Mr. Jenkins. Sir Charles occupied himself wholly and solely in carving anything and everything within his reach; for Florence sat next to her father at the bottom of the table, and, being on the same side as himself, was hopelessly out of reach even of a look. The amusement afforded by the two younger Misses Wilkyns to their pretty cousin, consisted entirely of whisperings between themselves, which she might perhaps have overheard in part, had she been disposed to listen; but that she certainly was not, consoling herself for the dulness of the dinner by recalling the gaiety of the luncheon enjoyed that morning in the banqueting-room, on strawberries, which Sir Charles and Algernon had assisted her to gather in the beautiful garden at Temple. Good-natured Mrs. Heathcote ate her dinner peaceably enough; and though nobody said anything to her, and she said nothing to anybody, she felt not the slightest inclination to complain, albeit she would decidedly have been more thoroughly comfortable had Sir Charles Temple and Florence been seated next each other, looking a little more gay and happy than they did now. Mr. Wilkyns was even better satisfied than his neighbour, for he watched nobody’s looks, and ate and drank without being interrupted by having any single word addressed to him. He had seldom or never been at so pleasant a dinnerparty. Sophia did, perhaps, the best thing which under the circumstances she could do; she sat perfectly silent, and any one who had occupied himself by studying her demeanour, might have come to no worse conclusion respecting her, than that she was too shy to speak.

  Mr. Jenkins and Algernon meanwhile talked pretty nearly enough for the whole party, or at any rate they talked without ceasing; but it was done in a tête à tête aside sort of tone, so that no one but themselves was the better for it.

  The evening was to most of the party quite as dull as the dinner, except indeed, that the relief afforded to the lovers, by the power of approaching each other, and conversing with no other restraint than lowered voices at a distant window, gave food for speculation to the three Misses Wilkyns; and at length produced a glance or two of such evident sympathy between Elfreda and her umwhile ardent admirer, Miss Martin Thorpe, as to lead at last to a very friendly and intimate sort of conversation between them, — the dreadfully bold manners of poor Florence being of course the principal theme. The certainty too, that whatever beauty some people might fancy they saw in her now, would not last long, was discovered with the most cordial unanimity of feeling and opinion; and so thoroughly agreeable and amusing did Miss Wilkyns make herself, that if anything could have consoled Sophia for the sundry gnawing anxi
eties which beset her, it must have been the discovery of so much admirable good sense in her cousin Elfreda.

  As to Mr. Jenkins and Algernon, the ladies saw no more of them that night. Miss Martin Thorpe, having in vain watched the door for some minutes, after the entrance of Major Heathcote gave notice that the dinner-table party was broken up, found an opportunity of asking her page Jem where they were “I don’t know for Master Algernon,” answered the boy, “but I believe the strange gentleman is gone to bed, for he told me to bring him a side-candle.”

  It was probably the consolation conveyed in this answer which enabled Sophia to enjoy as much as she did, the above-mentioned conversation with her sensible cousin, Miss Wilkyns.

  After the ladies had withdrawn, Major Heathcote had placed himself at the top of the table between Sir Charles Temple and the Welsh Squire; but Mr. Jenkins and Algernon bad retained their former places, and continued to converse very much as if they had been alone.

  “I declare to you, Algernon,” said the sallow traveller, “that you almost tempt me to say that I, too, must see Italy before I die. Hitherto I have been ever looking for my Eden in the East, but your account of Florence is very tempting.... But, now, I want you to tell me, Algernon, how you like coming borne? Does not Thorpe-Combe appear mighty dull to you after all you have been describing?”

  “Thorpe-Combe dull, sir?” replied the boy, shaking his head, “No; let what will come to it, I shall never be able to think Thorpe-Combe dull. I won’t say that I like it as well now as I did in the time that your old friend was alive, Mr. Jenkins, for he was a delightful old man, and seemed so very anxious to make us all comfortable, that it is impossible not to be sorry be is gone. But there is a room in this house, Mr. Jenkins, that I suspect you have never been in yet, that will pretty well prevent the place from being dull. Ill bet a shilling you have never been in the library; unless, indeed, you used to go there years ago, in Mr. Thorpe’s time, when you used to come over here from Broughton Castle, as you say. Did you ever see that room, Mr. Jenkins?”

  “I should like to see it with you, Algernon,” replied the sallow traveller.

  “Then let us go into it to-morrow, after breakfast.... Stall we?” said Algernon, eagerly.

  “I had rather go there to-night,” returned Mr. Jenkins.

  “But I am afraid there are no lights there, replied the boy, shaking his head. “By what Florence tells me, cousin Sophy does not care at all about the room, and never goes near it. Uncle Thorpe used to have it lighted up every night, and then, if possible, it was more delightful by night than by day. But unless there were a good many lamps or candles you could not judge of it at all.... for it is a very large room.... and such books!”

  “We might see it by a better light another time,” replied Mr. Jenkins; “but I have a fancy for going there with you to-night. Will you agree to it?”

  “To be sure I will,” cried Algernon, gaily, “and I know every corner of it so well that I can show you where the most particular things are if we had only a farthing rushlight.”

  “And how did you become so well acquainted with it, Algernon?” demanded his new acquaintance. “You were only here for a fortnight, they tell me. Was it Mr. Thorpe who taught you your way about it?”

  “No, sir,” replied Algernon, “it was Sir Charles Temple.... Mr. Thorpe said that the room made him melancholy. It was some thought about his lost son that made him so, Sir Charles said, and so I took care never to say much about it before him. But he found out, dear kind old man, that we loved to be there, and that was the reason that he had it lighted. And we did enjoy it, to be sure!.... Sir Charles, and Florence, and I, when we got together there, would always have liked to have stayed till it was time to go to bed, if we could.”

  At this moment the three gentlemen at the top of the table rose together, and Major Heathcote said, as he passed down the room; “As you do not take wine, Mr. Jenkins, you will perhaps like to join the ladies?”

  “Do not wait for me, Major,” was the reply; “Algernon and I will come presently;”.... and after remaining till the trio had entered the drawing-room, Mr. Jenkins made the request for a side-candle, which had been reported to Sophia.

  Algernon was right in saying that the library could not be well seen without more light than they carried with them, as they now entered it. The one candle only seemed to make its darkness visible, and he exclaimed, “Oh! dear Mr. Jenkins! Do not go on now, for you will not be able to judge of it at all. It is a shame to see it for the first time in this manner.” But the observation did not arrest the steps of Mr. Jenkins, who continued to pace up the long room in silence, and having reached a certain arm-chair at the top of it, seated himself in it, and resting his arms on a little reading-table at its side, buried his head upon them, and remained silent for several minutes.

  Aware that this reverie must be taking him back to the days that were gone, Algernon stood noiselessly beside him, and yielded himself very sympathetically to something of the same kind; for he too recalled time past, though recent, yet certainly as completely unlike the present, — as far as concerned that library and its owner, — as any which the wider range of his companion’s memory could recall.

  But, whatever the cause, there was stronger emotion on the countenance of the elder than on that of the younger meditator, when their eyes next met. It was, indeed, evident that Mr. Jenkins had been shedding tears, and Algernon showed all the sympathy which under such circumstances could be shown; for he turned away, and occupied himself in taking a volume from the shelves.

  “That’s over,” said Mr. Jenkins, abruptly rising, and speaking in his usual sharp, short, style of enunciation; “and now tell me, Algernon, how you should like to have such a library as this for your own?”

  “How I should like it, Mr. Jenkins?” repeated the youth. “Upon my word, that is a sort of question which I have never asked myself.... and to say the truth, I don’t think it is a very useful one.”

  “Nay, boy, I know not that,” returned his companion, laughing. “What should you say, now, to some kind friend who should exert his interest and influence to bring about a marriage between you and your cousin Sophia? What should you say to it, Algernon?”

  “I should say, sir,” replied Algernon very quietly, “that I think a kind friend, either to her or to me, might employ himself better.”

  “And why so, Algernon? It would be a means of giving you a share, at least, in the inheritance of your uncle; and if you think you could be happy in the union, I am quite serious in saying that I shall be willing to use all my influence to bring it about.”

  “Surely you can only be jesting, Mr. Jenkins,” replied Algernon laughing. “Miss Martin Thorpe is old enough to be married to-morrow, and you can scarcely, I think, say the same of me.”

  “Is that your only objection, Algernon?” said Mr. Jenkins, looking at him earnestly, and certainly with no expression of mirth on his features. “I very much wish you to tell me whether you think she is amiable?”

  “Upon my word and honour, Mr. Jenkins, I will not let you marry me to anybody,” returned the youth gaily....”I don’t know how you may manage these things in the East, but men, or boys rather, never do marry at sixteen in England.”

  “And that is the only answer you will give me, Algernon?” resumed the persevering match-maker. “I feel certain I could make her promise to wait for you, for I have great influence with her. If she will do this, will you, on your side, promise in three or four years’ time to become her husband, if I undertake to see a liberal settlement made on you?”

  “If I did not still believe you to be jesting, Mr. Jenkins,” replied Algernon gravely, “I should think you were very wrong to talk to me in this manner; for to me it appears quite wicked to propose that any one should marry from such motives. But I am quite sure you are not serious.... And now let us talk about the books, shall we?”

  At any rate, Algernon, there is one point on which I am quite serious. I particularly wish you to tel
l me, freely and candidly, your opinion as to the temper and character of Miss Martin Thorpe,” said Mr. Jenkins in his most sedate and deliberate manner, and waving his hand in token of his objection to any immediate change of subject.

  Algernon coloured, and for a moment remained silent; but upon Mr. Jenkins repeating the words, “Tell me candidly;” he replied:

  “Then very candidly I will tell you that I do not think myself competent to judge of any body’s character, in such a manner as to justify my pronouncing so deliberate an opinion upon it, as you now ask for; nor do I,” he added, with a gay smile, “know half enough of your character, to understand why you question me so closely.”

  “That is true, boy.... very true. So I will not quarrel with you, though you are very saucy.... neither will I, for the present at least, ask you any more questions.”

  The conversation then turned on a variety of subjects, upon all of which the curious Mr. Jenkins seemed to take particular interest in discovering the opinions, or rather the notions of young Algernon. Many costly volumes were looked at, and lightly discussed, and many lively remarks made and answered on both sides, till at length Mr. Jenkins bade his companion good night, saying, “I always take my coffee and my pipe in the solitude of my own room, Algernon, but you, I presume, will join the party in the drawing-room. The youth only answered by an evasive “Good night, sir,” but on finding himself alone in the hall, he made prize of another candle, and quietly stole back to the library, greatly preferring the quiet company he bad left there, to any advantage he was likely to gain from that in the drawing-room, even though the lady so obligingly selected for his bride was among them.

  CHAPTER ΧΧΧII.

  Before Sir Charles Temple had finished on the following morning the not lingering breakfast which preceded his daily walk to the banqueting-room, he received the following note: —

  “Mr. Jenkins presents his compliments to Sir Charles Temple, and will be much obliged by his permission to call upon him at Temple any hour this morning. Mr. Jenkins would wish to see Sir Charles Temple alone, and the earlier the hour named the more agreeable it would be to him.”