On the following morning the very unusual event of a knock at the back-room door summoned her to the breakfast-room a full half-hour before the coffee and the tea-urn were likely to appear.
“Well, Mary,” exclaimed her father, as she entered; “I have been thinking it all over, my dear, and this is what I think I shall propose about the settlements. He is to come here, you know, immediately after breakfast, and then, of course, you must leave us to ourselves, and that is the reason that I have called you down so early, in order that you might hear beforehand, and approve, as I hope, the proposals which I am going to offer to Mr. Mathews. The value of the property which I shall leave you, my dear Mary,” resumed the old man, after he had made her sit down beside him; “the value of the whole property, including the house and all it contains, together with the twenty acres of paddock round it, which, as you know, is in the very highest condition, cannot be worth less, as our good lawyer assures me, than fourteen, or, it might be, fifteen hundred a-year. Mr. Mathews tells me that his annual income from the funds is rather above seven hundred a-year. Now this altogether will make you a very handsome income, my dear; and as it so happens that you have neither of you any young relatives to whom it might be considered as a sort of duty to leave it — as there is nobody of this kind belonging to either of ns, I think that the best and the handsomest way of settling the joint property will be by leaving it at the disposal of the survivor. I am aware, my dear, that this may appear like giving you an unfair advantage, because you are so many years younger than Mr Mathews; but then, on the other hand, it must be remembered also that your portion of the property is very considerably the largest. So much so, indeed, my dear, that in addition to your having, from your age, the best chance of disposing of the whole of it, I shall not think it at all unreasonable, in conformity to what you were saying yesterday, to make the further condition that you shall have the annual sum of one hundred per annum for pin-money.”
The only item in this statement which was not perfectly satisfactory to the heiress was the amount of pin-money. She knew, however, perfectly well, that Mr. Mathews was a dozen years older than herself, and she felt that this made the settlement proposed by her father so advantageous to her, as to render any attempt of hers to make it more so, exceedingly objectionable. Neither did she feel inclined so completely to transfer the management of the whole affair from her father’s hands to her own, as she must do were she to avow her perfect indifference as to the destination of the property after her own death, and her strong inclination to have the power of disposing of rather more of it, according to her fancy, before that of her husband, than his plan would give her.
But Mary King, though often wilful, was never selfish. She remembered that she should never have consented to be married at all, but for the sake of pleasing her father, and that this very righteous purpose would be rendered abortive did she interfere in the arrangements for her interest which it was evident he was making with such supreme satisfaction.
A few moments given to such thoughts as these made her decide upon agreeing to his proposals without expressing any objection of any kind, and the evident delight which her approval gave to the anxious-looking old man, was an ample reward for her doing so.
CHAPTER VII.
THE weeks which immediately followed the arrangement of these preliminary matters were rather tedious and troublesome to the bride-elect, on account of the frequent visits which Mr. Mathews deemed it proper, under the circumstances, to make her.
It was perfectly natural, of course, that Mr. Mathews should have put his own interpretation upon Mr. King’s proposal of a union which had certainly never occurred to himself till it had been thus suggested; and his interpretation was that the lady was violently in love with him.
This solution was perfectly natural, for two reasons.
The first, and most important, was, that he truly believed himself to be still, if not the very handsomest, at least one of the very handsomest men in the British dominions.
The second reason arose from his consciousness that the lady’s fortune was much more considerable than his own, and the inference was, that such being the case, nothing but an unconquerable passion for him, on her part, could have induced her father to have made the advances to him which he had done.
Under the influence of this persuasion, therefore, he naturally felt himself bound in honour to prove by every means in his power that her devoted and unconquerable love was not unrequited; and visits, neither very short nor far between, was the most obvious mode of doing so.
But Miss King continued to manage better under the circumstances than most ladies could have done, for she very rarely remained in his presence for above ten minutes together, quietly assigning, as her reason for leaving him, that she was “busy upstairs;” — a system of defence, by the way, which she adopted as much with a view to future as to present convenience.
Yet even these short interviews were a dreadful bore to her, from their frequency; but she little guessed, good lady, the interpretation which the gentleman put upon the somewhat brusque manner in which she occasionally quitted him — she little guessed that Mr. Mathews was fully persuaded on these occasions the suddenness of her exits was caused by a modest maiden fear on her part that she might too openly betray her tenderness if she remained!
This very disagreeable period of her existence was, moreover, prolonged by an accidental legal difficulty respecting the title of a few fields which Mr. King had bought after the death of his father, and this accidental delay led eventually to a considerable change in the marriage settlements of his daughter.
It happened one morning that Mr. Mathews made his daily visit considerably earlier than usual, and it happened also, that instead of asking to see Miss King, he expressly desired to see her father; whereupon he was immediately admitted to the morning parlour, where he found his future father-in-law very pleasantly engaged in looking out upon his beloved lawn, and occasionally indulging in a little conversation with the gardener, who was sweeping it.
“I beg your pardon, my dear Sir, for breaking in upon you so early, but I have received a letter this morning that makes it desirable for me immediately to have a little conversation with you,” said Mr. Mathews, as with friendly familiarity he drew a chair to the window, and sat down beside him.
Mr. King assured him, very cordially, that he was at all times glad to see him, and then added, with friendly interest, “And what is this letter, my dear sir? — it brings you no unpleasant news, I hope?”
“You must have patience to hear rather a long story before I can explain to you what the letter is,” replied Mr. Mathews, looking a little fluttered, and a little embarrassed.
“Must I?” returned Mr. King, with an encouraging smile; “so I will, then. — Come, what is it?”
Mr. Mathews coughed a nervous little cough, blew his nose, and began as follows:
“No man, I suppose, can have lived so long in the world as you have done, Mr. King, without knowing that young men will be young men when they are young.”
“Yes, Sir, that is quite certain,” replied the other, in a tone of the most perfect conviction.
“And the truth is, I believe, that I was not a bit better than my neighbours, though I don’t think that, upon the whole, I was any worse,” returned his intended son-in-law “I was but just twenty,” he resumed, “when one evening, at Vauxhall, I made acquaintance with one of the most beautiful girls I ever saw in my life; and, to tell the truth, before that evening was over, I was over head and ears in love with her. But beautiful as she was, I saw at once, my dear Mr. King, that neither herself nor her party were in my own station in life, and I discovered afterwards that the man and woman with whom I met her were her uncle and aunt, and that they kept a small shop near Tottenham Court-road. But this had little or no effect upon me as an antidote to the girl’s beauty, though of course it prevented my thinking of her as a wife. In short, Mr. King, I committed the folly and the sin of making her my mistres
s, and in due course of time she presented me with a son. Within a year after the birth of this child, however, she left me, taking the child with her, and informing me, by letter, that she was going to be married, and that if I would send her one hundred pounds she should never give me any further trouble, as the gentleman to whom she was going to unite herself was willing to adopt the child, and provide for it. She informed me also that she should leave England as soon as she had received from me the sum she had asked for. It was scarcely possible that I could have received more agreeable news, for she was a violent-tempered young woman, and I was heartily tired of her; but whatever her life may have been since we parted, I cannot burden my conscience by thinking that my acquaintance did her much injury, for I had every reason to believe that she was a very ill-disposed girl when I first met with her. I immediately forwarded to her the money she asked for, and from that day I have never had any further tidings of her, till the post of this morning brought me a letter from her, from Barbadoes.”
“Indeed!” said Mr. King, “and does she mention any intention of returning from Barbadoes, sir?”
“By no means,” replied Mr. Mathews, “on the contrary she tells me that she is living in a very beautiful country, and that she is extremely well off.”
“And what has become of your son, Sir?” said Mr. King, in a voice that betokened some anxiety.
“I did my duty by him, Mr. King,” was the reply; “I allowed one hundred pounds a year for his education and maintenance, and it was not from parsimony that I did not allow him more, but from sincerely thinking that it was enough, his mother’s situation in life being taken into consideration; for, upon inquiry, I found that the gentleman to whom she had attached herself was a courier, making quite enough to maintain his wife, but not enough to place her in such a situation as to render it desirable for her to have more than a hundred a year in order to bring up her child in a style conformable with it.”
“Was that hundred a year, Mr. Mathews, to be paid out of the income you told me you possessed?” demanded Mr. King.
“No, Sir, it was not,” replied the other, eagerly; “a sum of money producing interest to that amount was placed by me in the hands of trustees, who have paid the income regularly into the hands of my son’s mother, upon receiving a certificate from her certifying that he was still alive. I hope, Mr. King, that you do not really think me capable of so deceiving you?”
“No, Mr. Mathews, I do not,” replied his venerable neighbour, very cordially. “I should have been as much surprised as grieved to find it so. But it was proper that I should ask the question,” he added gravely.
“Well, Sir, perhaps it was,” replied the other, “and I am fortunately able to answer it satisfactorily The child was chiefly brought up in Paris, I believe, for the courier was a Frenchman; but I have never seen him, as his mother assured me that her happiness, and her respectability as a married woman, would be destroyed for ever, if I came forward as his father, for that her husband had adopted him on the express condition that no other father should ever claim him. I felt, Mr. King, that this condition was perfectly reasonable, and therefore I submitted to it.”
“Well, Sir, I believe you were right,” returned the future father-in-law approvingly, “and I presume that there is now no danger whatever of your ever having any farther trouble about him.”
“About him, poor fellow!” replied the bachelor father with a sort of repentant sigh, “about him, I certainly can never have any more trouble, for the letter I have just received announces his death. But it announces likewise,” added Mr. Mathews, “that I have a grandson, and a grandson already grown up; my poor son having married at a very early age.”
Mr. King was evidently listening with great interest for what was to follow, but he said nothing.
A moment of rather embarrassed silence on the part of Mr. Mathews likewise was at length broken by that gentleman saying, with as much of resolute courage as it was in his nature to assume, —
“Such being the ease, my good friend, I flatter myself that you will see nothing unreasonable in my wishing to retain the ultimate disposal of my property in my own hands; subject, however, of course to your daughter’s enjoying the income of it for her natural life.”
Mr King’s head was still perfectly clear on all matters of finance, and he immediately perceived that this proposed change was injurious to the interests of his daughter; for although the proposed alteration was, of course intended to give her also the power of bequeathing her own property, subject to Mr. Mathew’s life-interest in it, yet still the difference between them in age made it evident that the change would be more in his favour than in hers. And this the old man stated el early and plainly.
“Yet, after all, my dear Sir,” returned Mr. Mathews, “this supposed loss on your daughter’s side is only a matter of chance. It is not impossible, you know, that I might survive her.”
“True, my good friend, quite true. But in all our worldly transactions we must submit ourselves to chances. All we can do is to seize upon such as appear most favourable,” was the very rational reply.
Poor Mr. Mathews felt a good deal disconcerted, but there was a passage or two in the letter which he had that morning received, which had inspired some new feelings and a little newborn courage also. Not that either the one or the other was of a nature to make him in any degree desirous of giving up the very certain and positive advantages which his projected marriage offered him; so far from it, indeed, that it is probable this new-born courage would not have sufficed to make him venture to insist very pertinaciously with Mr. King upon the alteration he had proposed, had not the bright thought occurred to him, that he might find his betrothed more manageable than her father.
Confident in her tender attachment, and conscious also that he might successfully use an argument with her, which would not be likely to have any effect on her father; he said, rising from his chair as he spoke, —
“Shall we agree, my dear Sir, to refer this question to your daughter? Miss King is so very superior a woman, that I really think we should be wrong were we to decide any matter of importance without consulting her.”
“You are right there. Mary must not be treated like a child. You are quite right, Mathews. If you like it, you can send for her now, and invite her to take a walk in the garden with you,” replied Mr. King.
The suggestion was immediately acted upon; the lady obeyed the summons, and meeting her affianced spouse in the hall, consented to take a walk with him in the garden; chiefly, perhaps, because she did not see any convenient way by which she could avoid it.
CHAPTER VIII.
IT will not be necessary to trouble the reader with Mr. Mathews’ repetition of the interesting tale concerning the follies of his early youth, which has been given in the last chapter. Let it suffice to say that the present version of it was given in the most delicate and refined manner possible. Of course he felt that a lady under the influence of such feelings towards himself as he attributed to Miss King could not listen to such a statement of his former attachment to another without vehement, and probably painful, emotion. He therefore, with very praiseworthy consideration for her, got over the ground as rapidly as possible, reserving the eloquence by which he hoped to obtain her consent to his proposal for the more recent and therefore less agitating portions of his narrative.
Having reached the death of his son he made a pause — a pathetic pause; and it was in a tone of very tender melancholy that he resumed his little narrative.
“The letter which announces this death, this early death, to me,” he said, “announces also a fact of which I have been hitherto ignorant — namely, the birth of my grandson. It is impossible, perhaps, under any circumstances, to hear of the existence of one so near to one without emotion; but this emotion is greatly increased by the assurance, that this youth — this young grandson of mine, Miss King — is one of the handsomest and most highly-gifted young men that ever drew the breath of life; and my correspondent says th
at he is so very strikingly like me, that no person at all interested about me could fail of being interested about him likewise. But of course I should never think of permitting myself to feel any partiality towards him on that account; on the contrary, indeed, I should think it my particular duty to guard myself against any such weakness. But this, however, has nothing to do, nothing whatever, I do assure you, with the subject upon which it is my wish, and that of your father, too, that you should be consulted. It is natural, of course, that the friends of this poor fatherless boy should be anxious that I should befriend him; indeed, it is their duty to do all they can to obtain my notice and affection for him, poor fellow; and were it not for the happy prospects which I am so fortunate as to have at this moment before me, I should certainly have thought it my duty to advise the poor boy to leave Barbadoes altogether, and to come to England. But as it is the case is different. The hundred per annum which I set aside for his poor father’s maintenance from the time he was born, I shall think it right immediately to settle upon him; and were I the solitary being I have been used to consider myself, I should do more; but now I have no intention to do anything of the kind either during my own life or yours. But I confess, that if you will agree to it, I should gladly make such an alteration in our proposed settlement as should leave us both at liberty to dispose ultimately — that is,” he added, in a tone very deeply sentimental, “when we shall both have ceased to exist, each of us our separate fortune, according to our individual wish.”
There was something in the whole of this queer confession and queer history which gave my ill-behaved heroine a very strong inclination to laugh; and it is extremely probable that she might have replied to it in anything rather than in a properly grave and business-like manner, if a sudden thought had not happened to strike her, which suggested the possibility of turning the request now made to her to very good account.
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 383