Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  Mrs. Mathews, however, knowing that she had a great deal of important business on her hands, was by no means disposed to let this profitless silence continue, and she therefore suddenly turned round, and standing still, till her husband had overtaken her, she said, —

  “It is impossible to change what is passed and gone, Mr. Mathews. Had I any such power I certainly would make many circumstances, connected with this young man, very different from what they are at present, — you can easily believe this, Sir, I suppose?”

  “Oh, dear me, yes, my dearest love! I can, indeed, and I am sure I only wish that I could change everything, so as to make it all exactly what you would most like and approve. But, you know, my dear,” —

  “There is one thing,- Mr. Mathews, that I certainly do know,” replied his wife, interrupting him with very little ceremony; “I know that I will never consent to have my father’s house, and my own manner of living turned over and over in the way you propose, unless I can have some whim of my own gratified to make up for it.”

  “You would find it quite impossible, utterly impossible, my dearest Mary, to propose anything agreeable to yourself that I should dream of opposing for a single moment. Only say, — only explain,” —

  “Very well,” she returned, again interrupting him; “you shall know all about it in a moment. I daresay you remember a letter that came here from India a few months ago, and that both my father and I, for some time after its arrival, were constantly expecting that it would be followed by a young lady, — the orphan child of an old friend of ours?”

  “Oh dear, yes! my dear Mary,” replied her husband, “I perfectly remember all about it.”

  “Her not coming,” resumed Mrs. Mathews, “was a great disappointment to us, for we had a very sincere regard for her father; but so long a time has elapsed since the arrival of this letter, without our hearing anything further of Miss Anderson, that we concluded she had changed her plans, and that the next news we heard of her would be that she intended to remain in India. But, by a singular coincidence, Mr. Mathews, the news of her arrival in England travelled from London, as I think, by the very same conveyance which brought this young Mr. Cornington. Confident, as she well might be, from her father’s knowledge of us, that she would be affectionately received by my good father and myself, she has merely written to tell me that she is awaiting my instructions in London, and these instructions of course will be that she should come to Weldon Grange immediately. And now, Mr. Mathews, I will deal very fairly with you. Had I not received this news as to the arrival of Janet Anderson in England, I should most certainly have opposed the entrance of Martha Cornington’s grandson as an inmate of my father’s house, and as a member of my family. But I am willing to make a compromise with you. I think I should like to have a young friend and companion of my own sex, and I think it very probable that if this young lady be as deserving as I expect to find her, I may like to keep her with me till she is settled in life. That I may do this without any difficulty, or any suspicion of objection on your part, I will consent to your inviting this young man to remain with you as long as he shall conduct himself to our satisfaction, or till you shall have been able to find some situation in which he may advantageously occupy himself, and employ his talents to his own profit and advantage.”

  “That is all I ask, my dearest love,” replied the delighted grandfather. “He has great talents, my dear Mary. I have it from the very best authority that he has very extraordinary talents, and of course my first object will be to put him in the way of profiting by them. That is all I ask for. Only give me an opportunity of enabling him to provide for himself. He will catch at it, as soon as it is offered: I am quite sure of that from the character I have received with him. And as to your young friend, my dear, it will be the very greatest honour and pleasure to me to behave to her like a father.”

  The sort of groan with which these last words were listened to was uttered in a very theatrical aside. The trees might have heard it, had they been a sentient audience, but the companion at her side was in no degree aware of it. And, as she made him no other reply, he resumed the discourse by saying, —

  “Of course, my dear, this Indian young lady brings a large fortune with her, — all Indian young ladies do. We must take care of her, Mary, in every sense of the word, you know.”

  “Her fortune will be left in the hands of her Indian connections who have been appointed her trustees, I believe,” replied Mrs. Mathews, rather stiffly, and with the air of a person who rejected the discussion of a subject upon which the individual addressed had no right to interfere.

  “Well, well, we’ll say no more about that then,” returned the old gentleman, who was too happy to take offence at anything; “ but I must go and find my dear boy. There will he some comfort in looking at him now. Good-bye, good-bye, my dear.”

  “You shall go this moment,” returned his wife; “I only wish to tell you first, I mean to go to London by the early train tomorrow, to escort Miss Anderson to Weldon.”

  “To London, my dear! Are you really serious? — are you really going to set off for London? Somebody must go to take care of you, certainly Would you like that Stephen and I should both accompany you? I dare say he would be delighted to go.”

  “I think it is very likely he might,” replied Mrs. Mathews, stiffly, “but you should remember, Mr. Mathews, that it is possible I should not be delighted to have him. As a hint for the future, let me give you one bit of advice: If you wish that we should go on well together, you must take care that he never obtrudes himself upon me when he is not wanted. This is the only way to insure our continuing on good terms together. You know that my habits and manner of life are particularly independent.”

  “I know it, my dear, I know it!” replied Mr. Mathews, eagerly; you told me so from the very first. I beg your pardon a thousand times for forgetting all about it at that moment. Stephen shall be made to understand it, he shall indeed.”

  “Then everything will be right, and go on smoothly: and now you may go and find your grandson, and I will go and find my father.”

  And so saying, Mrs. Mathews turned aside towards the garden-seat on which her good father was sunning himself, and soon contrived to make him feel highly delighted at the idea of having poor John Anderson’s little girl to be kind to.

  CHAPTER XVII.

  MR. MATHEWS also found his fondly-admired grandson; and their conversation was, in like manner, extremely satisfactory — but it was not carried on in the garden. Mr. Mathews knew that there was too much to hear and to say on both sides to render the garden a proper scene for the interview.

  “Come with me into my own dressing-room, Stephen,” said the old gentleman, as soon as he had secured the arm of his volatile grandson, whom he again found gambolling with Frisk, with great apparent enjoyment.

  Perhaps the young man thought that this was about the safest occupation he could choose till such time as he could obtain such a carte du pays as might enable him to judge what frolics he might safely play, and what it would be most discreet to leave alone.

  It was with very ready and smiling acquiescence that he followed his grandfather to the snug retreat he had named; and it was with an eye that had some speculation in it that he looked round the comfortable, well-furnished room. He had already learned on the road that Mr. King was the owner of Weldon Lodge, and he made a bow to his grandfather in his heart, and gave him credit for being a very clever old gentleman for contriving to marry the heiress of such a place, and to get himself so very comfortably put up in it.

  “Well, Sir,” said the saucy boy, looking radiantly handsome as he smiled in the old man’s face, and already not quite unconscious of the agreeable effect which his smiles produced on him, “it is certainly a pleasure after a long, tiresome voyage, to find such a grandfather as you are at the end of it, especially when he has got such a dressing-room for his own as this is.”

  “I suppose, then, my dear boy, you have not been much used to such handsome hou
ses as Weldon Grange?” returned the grandfather, with a look and a tone that expressed a great deal of interest and some little curiosity. The boy returned the look, but it was playfully rather than gravely that he answered, after a moment’s consideration, “Such a house as this, Sir! No, not exactly, because our houses in the West Indies are quite different from your houses in England. You have never been in the West Indies, have you, Sir?”

  “No, my dear boy, no; I never have. I have been in France two or three times, but I have never been in the West Indies.”

  “Why, then, my dear grandfather, it is very difficult for me to make you understand the difference; but there is a difference, I assure you — a very great difference. But you must not think either, because I say so, that my dear, good grandmother, who has brought me up with as much care, I think, as if I was heir to the whole world (though I don’t believe that she has a single shilling that she can leave me, dear soul) — you must not think, that because I say there is a difference, that our house is a shabby house, for I do assure you it is not. My dear grandmother has done her duty by me in every way.”

  “I’ll tell you one thing, my dear fellow,” said Mr. Mathews, looking at him very fondly; “one thing that your grandmother has done for you, is the giving you the inheritance of her own beautiful eyes. I never could have thought that one pair of eyes could be so like another pair of eyes as yours are to hers.”

  “I am glad” — replied the youth, in an altered voice, for there was nothing like gaiety left in it; “I am glad of that! for it may be one means of making you love me, my dear, dear grandfather!”

  This sudden transition from playful gaiety to deep feeling affected Mr. Mathews very powerfully. For a moment he was quite incapable of speaking, but he held out his hand, and clasped that of his newly-found grandson with exceeding tenderness, and at length said: —

  “You are right, my dear boy — quite right! you are like us both, Stephen, take my word for it, you are very like us both; and I certainly am not likely to love you the less for it. I dare say, now, that you have heard your poor dear grandmother say you were very like me — very like what I was, you know, as a young man; that is what I mean, of course?”

  “Have I heard her say so?” exclaimed Stephen, ardently; “I have heard her say so, father, a thousand and a thousand times, while the tears ran down her cheeks, dear soul, as she thought of the days that were gone!”

  Mr. Mathews pulled out his handkerchief, and pressed it to his eyes.

  “Don’t weep, dear father!” said the young man, tenderly taking his hand; “let me be a cause of smiles to you, and not of tears! and let me call you father, may I? — it is so much easier said than grandfather, and I think, if possible, it is sweeter still.”

  “Yes, my dear boy, do call me so!” replied the old gentleman, eagerly; “I like it a great deal better; and you shall find, Stephen, that I will be a true father to you. Thank God! I have still the power to be so, though I am married. And as to that, Stephen, I have not made a marriage that will in any way be likely to injure you, but quite the contrary Mrs. Mathews is an heiress, my dear boy, and this house, and the handsome property that surrounds it, is entirely at her own disposal as long as she lives, but it is my property after, and is left entirely at my own disposal. And this is a great comfort to me now you are come! My own property is not quite so large as that of my wife, but it is a pretty property too, and quite independent and unencumbered, Stephen, and both the one and the other are entirely at my disposal. I tell you all this at once, my dear boy, because it will be greatly for the happiness of us both, Stephen, that there should be no secrets, no reserve of any kind between us. We ought to be everything to each other, we ought indeed! — more like brothers, I should say, than anything else.”

  “How exactly that is what I feel, my dear father!” exclaimed the young man, his voice trembling from emotion; “and oh! if I could but hope to make you as happy as I feel sure you will make me,” he added, “I should think Weldon Grange something a great deal more like heaven than earth.”

  “And between us, if we can manage matters cleverly, we will see if we can’t make it so,” returned Mr. Mathews, with an unusual degree of vivacity. “The fact is that hitherto, Stephen, since my marriage, I mean, I could not help feeling that there was two to one upon any point great or small, where I had an opinion that differed from theirs. But now things will be changed.”

  “But you forget, father,” said the youth, rather sadly, “you forget that I am nobody! How can my poor voice count for anything against the master of the house and his daughter?”

  “We shall see, my dear boy, we shall see. If you play your cards well with that face of yours, I don’t think anybody can be able to resist you. Besides I have something else to tell you,” he added, “my wife has been talking to me about you since luncheon, and although I know well enough that she is too much in love with me to make it very easy for her to deny me anything, yet she set off in such a way just now as to put me in a tremble, Stephen, from head to foot; for she began to look as stiff and as stern as the church tower, when she alluded to my not having been married, you know.”

  Stephen on hearing this said nothing, but screwed his handsome mouth into a circle, and performed a low and very sweet little whistle.

  Mr. Mathews rubbed his hands, and laughed. “How exactly, how very exactly you are like what I was at your age, Stephen;” he exclaimed. “If I happened to have any old friend call on me, who knew me just at the time that I first became acquainted with Martha Cornington, there would be very little use in my denying the relationship between us, for he would be sure to find it out at the first glance. He would, indeed, Stephen!” and once again Mr. Mathews rubbed his hands, and laughed heartily.

  “And how did you get your right honourable lady out of her stiff fit, father?” demanded the young man, whose handsome eyes spoke more interest in the question than the tones of his voice expressed.

  “Why thereby hangs a tale, Stephen, and it seems rather a sentimental one, too; only I don’t think my right honourable lady, as you call her, was ever handsome enough to be the heroine of such a one. You would hardly think, now, I dare say, to look at her, that Mrs. Mathews was several years younger than I am.”

  “Impossible, father!” exclaimed Stephen, knitting his brows as if from a feeling of indignation at such an attempt to impose upon him.

  “It is true though, upon my word and honour,” replied the old gentleman, very solemnly; “but Mrs. Mathews is a very plain woman, that’s a fact, and it is quite astonishing what a difference that makes as to showing age. But now you must listen to my romantic story; and for what I know, Stephen, you may contrive, if you are a clever fellow, to get up a little romance of your own to make a sequel to it; for I promise you there is a young lady in the case.”

  “But she must be a beauty, father, or I will have nothing to say to her,” replied Stephen. “She must be as handsome as my dear grandmother was the first time you ever saw her. I mean to be like you in everything as well as in features.”

  “As to that, you saucy chap,” replied the delighted Mr. Mathews, “you must take your chance, I know nothing whatever about her beauty; but what, perhaps, may be as much to the purpose, Stephen, I have a great idea that she has a good fortune, because my wife looked so vastly grand and dignified when she mentioned her. However, all she told me explicitly about her was this: She is, it seems, the only and the orphan child of a Mr. Anderson, who, before he was a married man had been a great friend and intimate at Weldon Grange. Having lost both mother and father, this young heiress, as I suspect her to be, has been sent over to this country, and consigned to the care of Mr. King and his daughter. How this consignment has evidently delighted my wife exceedingly; but I fancy that she has been alarming herself by remembering that it was very possible I might object to so troublesome an addition to my family as a young lady inmate might prove; and I have a great notion, too, that she was by no means sorry to have so fair an opportu
nity of proposing a compromise, as your apropos arrival offered, and it now stands as a matter of agreement, made and concluded between us, that if I keep you here to please myself, she may keep Miss Anderson here to please herself.”

  “Capital!” exclaimed Stephen, triumphantly, waving his hand over his head. “Now then, my dearest friend, my father, grandfather, and brother, all in one, now then let us see if we cannot contrive to make one another happy! Nature, father, which is stronger than any tie invented by man, Nature teaches us to love one another, and if we refused to obey her, we should be monsters and not men!”

  This was said with a degree of fervour and feeling that went straight to the heart of the delighted Mr. Mathews, and as he looked at the towering stature and radiant countenance of the magnificent young man who thus addressed him; he said, not quite aloud, yet not quite in soliloquy, —

  “I should not only be a monster, but a fool into the bargain, if I could look at anything so like me, and not own it for my own.”

  It is possible that the youthful Stephen both heard and understood this affectionate outpouring of paternal love, and if he did it may be that it created an answering emotion too strong to be expressed suitably in words, — for certain it is that he turned away, and did not for the next minute or two permit his eye to meet that of his newly-found, but tenderly-cherished progenitor.

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  MRS. MATHEWS, meanwhile, after very satisfactorily explaining to her father the necessity which existed for her going to London by the early train on the following morning, in order to escort poor John Anderson’s orphan daughter to Weldon, enjoyed herself greatly for an hour or two in a manner perfectly new to her, and in an occupation as unlike as possible to all which had hitherto employed her time, and constituted her happiness. In a word, she devoted herself altogether to the comfortable arrangement and nice decoration of the “Red Room.”