Mr. Mathews looked as if he felt this to be an important moment. He was about to hear the opinion of his wife, and his wife’s father, upon this newly-found grandson, of whom, to confess the truth, he certainly felt exceedingly proud.
Mr. King replaced himself in his easy chair. Mrs. Mathews walked to a small table near the window, and took possession of her knitting apparatus, with which she seated herself at the table, as near to the fire as she conveniently could. Mr.
Mathews looked from one to the other, and would have been well pleased if either of them would have expressed an opinion of the youth who had just left their presence. But Mr. King looked silently in the face of his son-in-law, and Mrs. Mathews looked silently at her stocking. Both the father and daughter perhaps felt that there would be something awkward in congratulating an elderly gentleman so nearly connected with them upon the unexpected arrival of a grandson under such peculiar circumstances; perhaps they both thought it would be better to let him speak first. And, as it happened, Mr. Mathews did not long feel any difficulty in doing so.
“Well!” he began, drawing a long breath, but not in a way that in any degree resembled a sigh, “Well! — this is a most unexpected thing to be sure! But he is an uncommonly fine young man, isn’t he?”
“Yes, indeed,” was pronounced at the same instant by both father and daughter; and Mr. King added very cordially, —
“Upon my word, Mathews, I must say that he is not merely what people call a fine young man, but that he is positively the handsomest fellow I ever saw in my life.”
Mr. Mathews rubbed his hands in irrepressible glee.
“I must say, Mr. King, that I am very glad to hear you say so,” he replied; “I did not like to begin saying too much about his good looks myself, because you know it is so natural that a grandfather should feel rather partial, and I must take care not to get quizzed upon that score. But I won’t deny that it is a great pleasure to me to hear you both speak so kindly of him.”
“Where did he come from last, Mathews?” said Mr. King, innocently, and quite unconscious that there was anything awkward in the question.
“I believe, — that is to say, — I don’t quite know for certain; but I fancy he is come from somewhere in the West Indies.-’
“Oh! the West Indies was it?” repeated Mr. King. “Well, it does not much matter about that, Mathews; let him come from whence he will, he has contrived to find his way to the right place, for there’s no doubt that you may be able to get him some sort of situation or other, in which he may maintain himself respectably. He seems to have very good manners, I think.”
“Why yes, Sir, I can’t say that I see much room to find fault,” replied the very decidedly delighted Mr. Mathews; who, notwithstanding all his efforts to restrain his satisfaction within decent bounds, could not have looked much more delighted had the youth been his legitimate grandson, and the unquestioned heir of a long line of noble ancestors, both on the mother’s and the father’s side.
Nevertheless he was not altogether insensible to the possibility that Mrs. Mathews, and Mrs. Mathews’ father might view the connection in a somewhat different light; and after meditating silently upon this possibility for a minute or two, he determined upon proceeding with great caution. He had already, indeed, completely made up his mind that he would at once acknowledge the relationship to the whole neighbourhood; being now very decidedly of opinion — whatever might have been the case before he had seen Stephen Cornington — that the circumstances of his birth were by no means of sufficient consequence to prevent his confessing, both with pride and pleasure, that he was the grandfather of so very splendidly handsome a youth. In a word, his thoughts were upon the whole very pleasant thoughts; nor was his recollection of the timely, or as he was quite ready to call it, the providential change in his marriage settlement, the least agreeable of his cogitations. Why his wife had so vehemently wished for the alteration, he had never been able to comprehend, for he was fully aware of her advantage over him as to the chance of survivorship. But, whatever had been the cause, he blessed it; and so happy was the state of his mind, that instead of being only ready to
“Bless every one possess’d of aught to give,”
he felt more strongly impelled still to bless the newly-found individual who was come so admirably apropos to receive.
But notwithstanding his measureless contentment at this evening’s important adventure, he soon became extremely impatient to bring this said evening to its close, for he wished very ardently to find himself alone. In fact, he had as yet but very imperfectly made himself acquainted with the contents of Madame Briot’s letter; and though the important statement that the bearer of it was his grandson was very clearly announced in the very first line of her epistle, he was still quite ignorant of what might be the young man’s hopes and objects in coming to him.
Now the handsome nuptial chamber of Mr and Mrs. Mathews possessed the convenient addition of two dressing-rooms. By far the largest of these, the lady, in consideration of the completely separate establishment which she enjoyed by the possession of her den, had arranged for the separate use and benefit of her husband; and there it was that he was now longing to find himself, for there it was that he knew he could safely abandon himself to the private perusal of Madame Briot’s letter.
But his wit failed him utterly when he attempted to find, or to invent, some plausible excuse for retreating to this sacred apartment somewhat earlier than usual. It was in vain that he hinted to Mr. King the great propriety of his retiring to rest rather earlier than usual, on account of the sudden surprise which had come upon them; the old gentleman declared himself to be all the better for it; till at length, while it still wanted a full half-hour to ten, which was the family hour for going to bed, Mr. Mathews took courage, and suddenly rising and walking to a side-table, seized upon a bed-candle, and exclaimed —
“Well, my good friends! I don’t know how you may feel after being so startled, but I confess that I long to be in my own little dressing-room, that I may think it all over quietly.”
“Good nights” were then exchanged, and Mr. Mathews, mounting the stairs with all convenient speed, found the profound retirement he wished for, and moreover, a bright fire to cheer him.
He shut the door and he locked it, for he felt a considerable degree of reluctance to running any risk of being surprised in the act of reading the letter which his grandson had brought him from the ci-devant Patty Cornington, of Vauxhall memory; and being thus protected he sat down, and read as follows: —
“MY DEAR AND NEVEE-TO-BE-FORGOTTEN ME. MATHEWS. — I hope you have done justice, Sir, to the motives which for so many years have caused me to avoid all correspondence and all intercourse with you. The excellent young man who will, I trust, be able to deliver this into your hands, is your grandson, Mr. Mathews, and as such I will not and cannot doubt he will be received by you as one dear to your heart, as well as near to you in blood. Surely the sight of him will be enough to warm your heart, Mr. Mathews, for neither you nor anybody else will be able to deny that he is one of the noblest looking young fellows that ever a grandfather looked upon. His poor father, our son, alas! is dead. It was a dreadful loss to me, Mr. Mathews, for he, too, was one that any parent might have been proud of — and oh! so very like you, Sir!
“But I must not dwell upon that sort of thing; it is not right in any way But to come back to the subject of our dear grandson, it is but right that I should tell you, before I confide him to your care, that he has been brought up with the hope of being able to live as a gentleman, for his father, poor fellow, had every likelihood of doing very well in the world and of leaving his son so as to do well after him. But in this country, Mr. Mathews, there is no answering for anything. A man that is rich to-day is poor to-morrow; and this has been the case with our son. So that he was in no way to be blamed for having given ‘Stephen an education, which, to say truth, makes him fitter to be your grandson than mine.
“I need not be afraid to te
ll you that he is very, very clever indeed, for you won’t know him long without finding that out. I have not forgotten what you were, Mr. Mathews, nor ever shall, Sir, however wrong it may be to remember it. Stephen is wonderfully like you in many things. His hands are so like yours, excepting that they are rather longer, that I could almost fancy that they were your own. And so they are your own. Arn’t they, Sir? And in his cleverness he is like you too; but in addition to your superior mind, he has got a lot of accomplishments that might do honour to any gentleman’s son in the world. He is a first-rate musicianer, and can play upon anything from a Jew’s-harp to an organ. I do trust you will he proud of him, Mr. Mathews, and I can’t help adding, Sir, that I think you ought. He speaks French, and Spanish too, as if he had been born in those countries; nor is he far behind anybody here in making pictures of every face he sees, and they are almost as like as if you saw the people’s faces in a glass, only his merry young heart will sometimes mix up such a deal of fun with his pictures, that he dares not show them to the people they are done for, or they would be fit to kill him for laughing at them.
“And, to tell the truth, this last is the reason why we have not set him upon getting his bread by his pictures, but the people are afraid of him I believe. But if you, Mr. Mathews, will take to him, as a gentleman of fortune ought to take to his grandson, he won’t have no need of any of his accomplishments to live by. The use of them should only be to make you proud of him. And now, Sir, hoping that you will do your duty to this fine young man that any lord in the land might be proud to own as a grandson, I take my leave, not asking any greater favour to myself, though once you seemed to think so much of me, than that you would be kind to one who ought to be dear to us both. I remain your always loving and “Obedient servant,
“MARTHA BRIOT.”
CHAPTER XIV
THIS letter, long as it was, was read deliberately twice through before Mr. Mathews thought of going to bed; and it would very probably have been read a third time, had he not recollected that his wife might be surprised and puzzled by his prolonged absence. But there was really no need for him to read it a third time; it had already made an impression on him too strong to be easily effaced.
Yet, nevertheless, he felt that he had by no means had enough of it, and though quite conscious of the propriety, not to say necessity, of going immediately to bed, he did not do so till he had carefully replaced the letter in its cover, and locked it up in a particularly safe little secretaire which was one among the many neat little commodities which he had brought with him when he was installed at Weldon Grange.
The key of this hung at his watch chain, and his watch and appendages were ever and always accommodated for the night in a particularly safe nook behind his pillow. So he lay down in peace as to the security of the (only) too interesting document which he had received.
Its effect upon him was very great, and upon the whole, very agreeable. Mr. Mathews was a very good sort of man in a small way; that is to say, he had no great qualities, either good or evil. He had kind and friendly feelings towards all his fellow-creatures, but would have been incapable of demonstrating this by any act that required strength of mind, or firmness of character.
With one single exception his mind had no prominent, or predominating characteristic, but that one exception would have appeared strongly marked to any acute observer, if any such could have found interest in the investigation. But, in fact, no one did feel interest in investigating the mind of Mr. Mathews, and consequently nobody was fully aware how sensitive he was on all points that either soothed or wounded his VANITY.
Of pride he had not an atom. Any approach to overbearing insolence towards the very lowest of his fellow creatures, was a feeling totally unknown to him; but he was vain — extremely vain, keenly, sensitively vain; and yet, poor man, unlike the generality of his fellow-mortals, who for the most part are exceedingly thankful when their little human failings are overlooked, Mr. Mathews would have felt nothing but mortification could he have been made to comprehend that nobody had the slightest suspicion of his being vain, because nobody had ever thought his harmless little character worth the trouble of examination.
Not even his wife had the slightest notion of the fact; and when she had occasionally observed him to be rather dainty about his dress, she invariably gave him credit for being so painfully conscious of his age, as to make him scrupulously attentive to render his appearance as favourable as possible.
She was the last woman in the world likely to fancy herself young at fifty; nevertheless she was quite aware that the fifteen years’ seniority of her husband was more than was desirable, and was very good humouredly anxious that he should not himself think too much about it.
But her anxiety on this head was altogether superfluous. Mr. Mathews knew perfectly well that his wife was a plain woman, and he pitied her for it, because he knew perfectly well also how very pleasant it was to be conscious of being handsome. The very excess of his inordinate self-admiration of his own person positively prevented the folly from being understood, or appreciated. It would have been very difficult to persuade any of his acquaintances that he really thought himself, even at the time of his marriage, one of the handsomest men that ever lived. Yet so it was, and the sight of the newly-arrived Stephen Cornington, radiant in youthful comeliness, was more pleasurable to him than it would be easy for language to express, from the firm conviction that all the neighbourhood would see in him a most admirable resemblance of himself.
He had already occasionally indulged himself by hinting to various individuals in the neighbourhood, at what he had been in the days of his early youth; and now the idea that first took possession of him after the first surprise of this unexpected arrival had subsided, was, that as long as his grandson remained near him, it would be easy enough for every one to form a correct idea of what he had been himself at the same age.
It was upon this thought that he went to sleep, and it was with this thought that he awoke in the morning.
But the vanity of good Mr. Mathews was of a purely individual and personal character; it did not extend an inch beyond his well-made, well-preserved, well-dressed person.
One proof of this was that when meditating before he went to sleep upon this most interesting occurrence, he felt very nervous as to the possibility that his wife, or his wife’s father, might object to the young man’s remaining with them. It never occurred to him that he might himself have an influential vote on the subject. His only hope was that his wife would be unable to deny him anything if he only made himself as agreeable to her as he was quite sure he could do. He had no hope whatever from his authority, but a great deal from the tender passion with which he felt quite sure he had inspired her.
He no more comprehended the real motives winch had led Mr. King to propose their marriage, and his daughter to assent to it, than a child of three years old might have done. His notion was that the wish for their union had originated entirely with the daughter, and in this he certainly saw nothing very extraordinary Such being his view of the case, it was very natural that he should consider a little tender attention on his part as the most effectual means of inducing his wife to second his views, and he was quite determined that this should not be wanting.
He was conscious, however, that there were peculiarities in the character of Mrs. Mathews, and he was conscious, too, that he did not quite understand them, though he was not wholly without a sort of theory on the subject; and this theory suggested the notion that the singularities of Mrs. Mathews probably arose from her having suffered a good deal in her mind before she had taken courage to open her heart to her father on the subject of her attachment to him.
There were indeed moments in which it had occurred to him as possible that Miss Mary King, in common with a great many other young ladies, had in some degree lost her reason while struggling with her passion, and her extraordinary love of solitude was the feature which most forcibly suggested this idea.
He was thankful, ho
wever, that the malady showed itself in nothing more striking, or inconvenient, and he had quite made up his mind to think that his most judicious course would be never to interfere with this, nor ever even to mention it.
He still, indeed, continued to be of the same opinion on this point; but nevertheless he felt called upon, having so very important an object in view, to address himself to the sentiment which, let it take what form it would, he was quite sure was predominant in her heart, in order to make her feel that she might hope for the very tenderest return of love from him, if her conduct towards his nephew was such as he wished it to be.
Fully persuaded of the correctness of his views upon the subject, Mr. Mathews quitted his dressing-room in excellent good time to ensure his being ready to receive his grandson upon his coming down stairs the next morning, and not without the hope of being able to say a few words to him, privately, before the business of breakfast began.
Nor was he disappointed, for the first thing he saw on descending to the hall was the figure of Mr. Stephen Cornington dressed precisely as he had been on the preceding evening, but with his beautiful curling hair combed, brushed, and arranged à ravir. The delighted old gentleman paused for a moment to watch him, as he stood with his back towards the staircase, earnestly looking, as it seemed, through the open door of the best drawing-room, which was a much better and brighter-looking apartment than the one he had seen the evening before.
At length, however, the young gentleman turned round, and coloured as he met the eye of his proud and happy grandfather.
“Oh, dear Sir! is that you?” he exclaimed in a voice expressive of great pleasure; “I have been looking about for you everywhere, for I don’t know how long.”
“Have you, my dear boy?” returned Mr. Mathews; “and you have found me at last, then, haven’t you?”
“Yes, Sir, I have, thank God! And thankful I am for it, Heaven knows. There is something so venerable, so full of protection in the title of grandfather, that from the moment I first heard you mentioned by my poor dear grandmother I have been longing to get within reach of you; but, for all that, I never guessed what a cherishing, loving, and lovable face I should get sight of when I did get at you. Let me kiss your hand, grandfather. Upon my soul, I feel as if I could kneel down and kiss your feet! But I ought to be ashamed of myself, Sir; ought I not, for feeling so much pleasure at looking at you, merely because you are handsome?”
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 388