But now all the conditions of her existence seemed suddenly changed. This child, this daughter of John Anderson, who had hitherto only appeared to her as a distant object, full of interest, indeed, but so indistinctly seen as to produce something more like the vagueness of doubt than the brightness of hope, as she contemplated it, was now distant no longer. In palpable reality the child of John Anderson was within a few hours’ reach; and better still, oh! greatly better still, she was waiting for permission to approach her as eagerly as a child might long for a summons from its mother.
It was impossible, surely, that Mary King could be glad because the child of John Anderson was in poverty and sorrow. And yet, when Mrs. Mathews at length perceived that tears were very actively chasing each other down her cheeks, she could scarcely have honestly denied that they were tears of joy. At any rate it is most indisputably certain that Mrs. Mathews was happier at that moment than she had ever felt before in the whole course of her life.
And as she gradually and reasonably became aware of this, she wiped her eyes, and set herself steadily to consider in what manner she should commence the operations which her new state of existence rendered necessary.
Janet Anderson was at No. 5, John-street, London Docks.
“And how am I to get her thence? How am I to bring her HOME?” were the questions which Mrs. Mathews now asked herself. Mrs. Mathews was a married woman; and moreover she was still living in her father’s house, and not in her own; nevertheless it never occurred to her that there was, or possibly could be, any difficulty as to her immediately adopting Janet Anderson as her child; on this point she was thoroughly incapable of conceiving a doubt; for though she never, perhaps, stated the fact explicitly to her own mind, she had a quiet consciousness within her that her way would be the way in which all important matters would be managed at Weldon Grange.
Her only difficulty, and her only doubt, was concerning the manner in which her purposes were to be made known and put into execution. Not, indeed, that Mrs. Mathews had the slightest intention of announcing to any one, not even to Sally Spicer, that she intended instantly to adopt Janet Anderson, and to consider her and treat her as a daughter so long as they both should live.
There would be no advantage in announcing this, because it was a fact that would announce itself more satisfactorily to all parties by the course of events than by any spoken declaration of purpose.
But how should she set about informing her father and her husband that she intended immediately to set off for London (for such was the resolution she had come to on that part of the subject), in order to escort Miss Janet Anderson to Weldon Grange, where she was to find the “Red Room” in apple-pie order to receive her?
Mrs. Mathews would have felt a greater degree of contempt for herself than it would have been easy for her to endure, had she for a single instant permitted herself to doubt her being able to act exactly in the manner she intended and chose to do; but she was really, for the most part, a very well-bred, well-behaved lady, and had as little inclination for everything approaching altercation as any lady could have.
Even the discussion of any measure which she had determined on was disagreeable to her, and it was for this reason that she now condescended, very deliberately, to consult her judgment as to the easiest and civilest mode of proceeding.
Nor had she thus employed herself for many seconds before one very obvious course of action suggested itself as a sure and certain means of arranging everything she wished, as far as her husband was concerned. She felt quite sure that she had only to submit with a good grace to the occupation of the “Blue Room” by Miss Cornington’s grandson, in order to secure the appropriation of the red one to John Anderson’s daughter.
As to her good and ever gentle father, it would have been little better than affectation, had Mrs. Mathews bestowed a thought upon any opposition she might be likely to receive from him. She knew perfectly well that there was no danger, either on this, or on any other point, that she should meet with opposition from him. All her meditations, therefore, were speedily fixed upon the question of how best to announce to her husband the startling fact that she was on the eve of making an excursion to London for the purpose of bringing back with her a young lady, who from thenceforward was to be considered as a member of the family.
Mrs. Mathews always went down stairs for luncheon, in order to satisfy herself that her father was taken good care of at that, to him, very important little meal; and it was at luncheon time that she intended to electrify her husband by the flattering proposal of taking a little walk with him in the shrubbery.
On looking at her watch she was a good deal surprised to find that three hours had already melted away under the process of meditation upon the blessed event that had befallen her, and it was only then that she recollected that the hours which were gliding away so smoothly for her, in this delightful occupation, were passed by her already dearly-beloved Janet in all the misery of suspense and doubt.
As yet, however, she had lost no time, for she had missed no post; and as she did not intend that her first letter to Janet should be a very long one, she knew that there would still be abundance of time to write her letter and dispatch it to the post before she could be wanted down stairs.
It is probable, I believe, that most married ladies if about to announce to their lord and master an event so important as that of inviting a young unknown lady to come and live with them, would have written the invitation after making the announcement, instead of before it, but such was not the case with Mrs. Mathews.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE following letter was therefore written, and dispatched by Sally Spicer to the Weldon post-office nearly half an hour before it was necessary for Mrs. Mathews to descend to the dinner-parlour for luncheon.
“MY VERY DEAR JANET ANDERSON, — Had I nothing but my own inclination to consult, I should not now be writing this letter to you, but I should be going myself towards the railroad station in order to get to you as speedily as possible. But I cannot be quite so rapid in my movements as I would wish to be. You will find that both my father and my husband are quite old men, my dear Janet; and that, compared to you, I am not very young myself, and old people are not so rapid in their movements as young ones; nevertheless, I flatter myself that I shall be with you before you have had time enough to accuse me of being very slow. You must, I am afraid, my dear, be very uncomfortable at finding yourself alone in a new country, and a strange house; but keep up your spirits, Janet; you will soon be in your new home, and if you are not happy there, it will not be the fault of your father’s old friends. I flatter myself that nothing will prevent my setting off for London by the early train to-morrow, and if I can do this you will see me before twelve o’clock. And now, good-bye, my dear child. Do not fancy that in coming to my father and me you are coming among strangers. Such people as your father, Janet, do not quite leave this world when they die; a portion of their spirit is left behind them, and lives still in the memory of those who loved them, and in coming to my good father and to me, you are coming to people who cherish every memorial of him with sincere affection. Can you doubt then that we shall cherish you? Farewell till to-morrow
“Your affectionate friend,
“MARY MATHEWS.”
Having sealed and dispatched this epistle, which it really required a strong effort on her part to make so short, Mrs. Mathews went down stairs, and the first person she saw was her husband, who was standing at the open garden door, looking out upon the lawn, now bright in April sunshine, where his handsome grandson was amusing himself by making a little pet spaniel belonging to Mr. King leap repeatedly over a stick.
Mr. Mathews rushed towards her the moment she appeared, with an eagerness of welcome to which it was impossible that she could be insensible.
“Oh, dear me! how I have been wishing for you!” he exclaimed; “it has been the very prettiest thing you ever saw in your life — the seeing Stephen play with Frisk! — Do begin again, Stephen! Do m
y dear boy let Mrs. Mathews see him run round and round after you, as you made him do just now!”
But Mrs. Mathews did not seem inclined to enjoy the sport, for she did not look smilingly as she replied, “The seeing Frisk run round and round has nothing very new in it, Mr. Mathews, by way of an amusement, and my father’s basin of soup will get cold, I am afraid, if we stay here, for I saw it carried in as I came down stairs.”
“Stephen! Stephen! my dear boy, come this moment! I beg your pardon, my dear love, a thousand times over for detaining you!” and so saying, Mr. Mathews playfully passed his arm under that of his lady, and in that affectionate attitude escorted her into the parlour.
Mrs. Mathews understood it all perfectly, and perhaps she was not altogether displeased. She saw that she was to be coaxed into permitting the newly-found grandson to remain where he was, till his admiring grandfather had enjoyed a good deal more of his company. Had no tidings of the orphan daughter of John Anderson reached her by that day’s post, she would have beheld all these affectionate demonstrations on the part of her husband with very different feelings. As it was, she thanked her good stars for the happy coincidence which had brought these two new claimants upon Weldon Grange hospitality so fortunately together. Had either of them appeared singly, there might have been difficulties; now the good lady saw very distinctly that there would be none. But she had a part to play, and she did not much like that; for she had naturally a very strong inclination to be sincere, as well as successful, in all her dealings, and she winced a good deal at the idea of being obliged to simulate a wish for the continued society of the handsome Stephen, when in truth she would very greatly have preferred being without it.
The notion, too, that Mr. Mathews might go on taking her by the arm, and squeezing her hand whenever he could get hold of it, was exceedingly disagreeable to her, and it was absolutely necessary that the names “John Anderson” and “Janet,” should be repeated pretty incessantly by her heart to enable her to “behave herself seemly” under all the indications of tenderness manifested towards her by her husband during the repast. Such and so great were they, that at last her temper, though not her purpose, broke down. She felt that it would be impossible, absolutely impossible, for her to simper and look pleased when her husband, with nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles, addressed her perpetually as “Mary dear!” and “sweet love!” She felt already that this would be too much for her strength, and considerably before the bright-eyed Stephen had made away with his second plateful of apple-pie, she had resolved to change her system’ of operations, and not to display herself before the eyes of John Anderson’s daughter under false colours of any kind. It had been her purpose, during her projected tête-à-tête with her husband, to have led him to talk of his grandson, no very difficult task, as she suspected, and having gently brought him to disclose the wishes she had So plainly read for the young man’s remaining with them, to yield her consent very graciously, and then to have tested his notions as to reciprocal justice by stating the fact of Janet Anderson’s arrival, and the strong inclination she felt to invite her also.
But this mode of achieving her object had become so distasteful to her from the superabundant sweetness which she felt would be the result of Mr. Mathews taking the initiative, that she determined to reverse the order of proceeding which she had first decided upon, and to perform the business she had to do without any unnecessary sweetness, or hypocrisy of any kind.
This change of purpose brought a great feeling of relief with it, and it was with a promptitude which showed no sort of dislike to the business she was upon, that she said to her husband, as the party rose from the table, “Give your arm to my father, Mr. Mathews. He is going to sit in the garden, and then come to me in the east walk. I want to speak to you.”
If Mr. Mathews had been listening to airs from heaven as she thus spoke to him, he could not have looked more enchanted, which proved that he had considerable command over his features, for, to say the truth, he was in a terrible state of alarm, being strongly persuaded that his lady was going to say something about the sudden arrival of his grandson, which might be accompanied by such high-principled reflections on the unfortunate circumstances connected with his birth, as might render the delightful domestic arrangement which he had contemplated, extremely difficult, if not altogether impossible.
Nevertheless, there was evidently no choice left him as to keeping the assignation proposed, a fact of which she was herself most perfectly aware, and she accordingly set off, with no other protectors than her shawl and her parasol, to the place appointed. Nor had she remained there very long before she beheld Mr. Mathews approaching, for having placed Mr. King upon the favourite bench, he delayed no longer than was necessary to say to his grandson as he passed him, “Wait for me, Stephen, for five minutes, and I will show you a beautiful walk. Besides, my dear boy, it is likely enough that I may have something to say to you. I am going to speak to Mrs. Mathews for a few minutes, and I think it very likely that something may be said about you.”
Nature had not been liberal only towards Stephen Cornington in the gift of personal beauty, she had endowed him also with a large share of acuteness. He only listened to his grandfather with an air of docility, and replied, renewing at the same moment his gambols with Frisk, “You shall find me just about here, Sir, when you come back;” but he understood perfectly well, though nobody would have guessed it that looked at him, that his own destiny would very probably be decided within the space of the next half hour.
But it took even less than that to bring the colloquy of Mr and Mrs. Mathews to a conclusion.
She was hovering near the point at which she knew he would arrive, and having joined him, and declined his offered arm, she commenced the conversation thus:
“It is very likely, Mr. Mathews, that you may partly guess the subject on which I wish to speak to you, and therefore it will not be necessary for me to detain you by any long preface. I wish to speak to you on the subject of the young man who came upon us so very unexpectedly last night.”
“No doubt of it, my dear. Of course it is no more than natural and proper that you should speak of it,” he replied; “and I wish very much to speak upon it too.”
“Then pray speak upon it, Mr. Mathews;” she briskly rejoined, “I shall be glad to hear what you have to say upon the subject.”
“Why, my dear, the chief thing I have to say is that duty should be considered before all things. How, it seems to me that, considering the near relationship, my first duty is to remember what is due by the laws of God and man from a grandfather to his grandson.”
“Yes, that would be all very well, Mr. Mathews, only you know, in this case the laws do not authorize any man to call him your grandson,” she rejoined.
“But nature is stronger than law, Mrs. Mathews!” returned the gentleman very solemnly; “and I hope I shall never be so wicked as to be deaf to its voice.”
And what does its voice dictate on the present occasion?” replied the lady, with a tone a little approaching the ironical.
“It dictates to me, my dear, very plainly indeed, that it is my duty to treat the young man as what he really is, and that is, my grandson — the own son of my own son.”
“Of your natural son, Mr. Mathews,” said Mrs. Mathews in something like a whisper, but very distinctly.
“Well, my dear!” returned her husband, whose high appreciation of himself did not rest solely on his consciousness of self-approving beauty,” but who was conscious also of possessing a very considerable portion of wit, “Well, my dear! his being natural, ought not to make me UN-natural, you know.”
“No, Mr. Mathews, certainly not,” she replied, with great equanimity, “neither ought it to make my father and myself unnatural either; and you have lived long enough in the world, Mr. Mathews, to be quite aware that it would be very unnatural if we were either of us to wish that an offspring from your connection with the female called Cornington should take up his abode among us, as a member
of our family.”
“It is on my devoted affection to you, my dearest love,” returned Mr. Mathews, throwing as much tenderness as possible into his voice, and at the same time attempting to pass his arm around the lady’s waist, “ it is on my devoted affection to you that I rest my hopes of obtaining your permission for doing what would make me so completely happy, as having this dear boy to stay with me.”
The embrace was avoided by the unexpectedly rapid step in advance, which was at that moment made by Mrs. Mathews; but it required rather more deliberate consideration to enable her to answer her husband’s claim upon her gratitude.
Her spirit, it cannot be denied, was a stubborn spirit, and would not permit her, though she had a great object in view, to say one single little civil syllable, though the doing so might have paved a smooth and easy path towards the point at which she was anxious to arrive.
But there was something in her nature that seemed to render this impossible; so she strode stoutly on for a step or two, her husband following her in a very nervous condition, notwithstanding his firm conviction that he had inspired a very tender passion in her breast; but he had been accustomed to hear from his very earliest youth of the rigorous severity of single ladies against those less correct than themselves; and he remembered at that terrible moment, with a distinctness that positively made him quake from head to foot, that HIS lady had long been single! And the sort of awe in which he stood of her (which no persuasion of her love could enable him entirely to overcome), rendered him, as he thought of this, absolutely incapable of resuming the conversation.
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 390