It would have been very nearly impossible for Mrs. Mathews to have announced anything to Janet at that moment which could have produced an equal sensation of pleasure.
The idea of escaping into bed, instead of having to undergo an introduction to the three gentlemen who had just been described to her, produced, it must be confessed, a much greater feeling of happiness than was at all reasonable. If she had tried to express this feeling to its full extent, she could not have done it; but when, after quitting the railroad carriage, she passed her arm uninvited under that of her new friend, and murmured, as she gave it a little, gentle, loving pressure, “How very kind you are to me!” Mrs. Mathews understood her quite well enough.
There was a footman at the hall-door as they passed in, but Sally Spicer was a step in advance of him, and took the parasols of the two ladies from them before they had entered the house.
This was convenient, for it gave the mistress of it the opportunity of saying to her, —
“Don’t let William open the drawing-room door, Sally. Let us go up to her room at once.”
And to her room they did go; and perhaps the moment in which Mrs Mathews, looking round upon all its pretty preparations for comfort, took Janet Anderson by the hand, and said, as she placed her upon the sofa, “This is your room, your own room, my sweet Janet; and so let it be, my dear adopted daughter, till some one who loves you as well, and has a right still stronger than my own, shall take you away from it,” — perhaps that moment was the happiest that Mrs Mathews had ever yet known.
Whether the influence was electrical, or mesmeric, or sympathetic in any other mode, I know not; but certain it is that the words, or the manner, or the looks of Mrs. Mathews did, by some means or other, entirely efface and carry away all the doubting, fearing, trembling emotions which seemed to have taken possession of Janet as she entered the house.
Nay, so bright and beautiful was the look that Mrs. Mathews received in answer to her words, that she began to doubt the wisdom of the decision which had doomed Janet to remain in her bed-room, instead of coming downstairs to dinner.
“But perhaps it is folly after all, Janet, for me to make you stay up here, instead of letting you come down to make acquaintance with the beautiful grandson? Now I think of it, I do not approve the scheme at all. It is absolutely turning myself into a most barbarous jailor. Why should I tell you to sit up here, pretty one, when you might amuse yourself so much better down stairs.”
“Think of it once again, will you, Mrs. Mathews?” replied Janet, coaxingly; “cannot you fancy yourself to be me? And if you can, do you not feel at once how much better it must be for me to keep quiet for this one evening, in this dear beautiful room, instead of trying to dress myself smart in order to show myself off to the rest of the family.”
“I believe you are right, Janet; I think you will be more comfortable up here,” was the reply; “but you will let me come up to have another peep at you before you go to bed? We are going to dinner in a minute or two; for my polite husband insisted upon waiting dinner for us, and therefore dine we must. I will send you up a chicken’s wing and some fruit, which will be quite dinner enough for you. I think you have a little fever, my child. Your little hand is hot, and you are flushed one moment and pale the next.”
“And if so, dearest lady, it would be better that I should eat no dinner at all. And if you would be so indulgent as to send me the fruit, without the chicken’s wing, and your free leave to go to bed outright, I think you would find me tomorrow morning perfectly well, and without any malady of any kind.”
“Then so be it, Janet Anderson,” replied her hostess, who pronounced the name of her guest with a degree of pleasure which she enjoyed the more from the pleasant conviction that nobody could understand it but herself, and then she left her, with as little of fussy hospitality as might be, but not without taking good care that everything she was likely to wish for she should have; and upon this principle a teapot waited upon her in company with the fruit; and then Sally Spicer silently uncorded her trunks, and then a huge vase of warm water was seen steaming away beside her washing table, and then a night-lamp was observed to twinkle within the fender, and then her door was very noiselessly closed, and Janet was left to go to sleep if she liked it.
But it was a good while before she did like it. When left in perfect silence and solitude to her own reflections, she began so sensibly to feel the contrast between her present situation, and what it had been when she sat down in trembling to write her letter to Mrs. Mathews, that it took a considerable time to bring the two pictures so distinctly before her mind’s eye as to prevent her doubting the reality of either; and when at length she did feel quite certain that she was awake, and not dreaming, and that the kind heart upon which she was already leaning, with such delightful confidence, was as much a reality as the soft pillow which sustained her youthful cheek, — when, at length, she had fully persuaded herself of this, it took some time longer still before she could bring to a close her grateful thanks to Heaven for making her such a very happy creature.
But at last she sunk into the deep, delightful sleep which youthful exhaustion is sure to bring; her last thought taking the form of a blessing on her father for having bequeathed her such a friend as Mrs. Mathews.
CHAPTER XX.
THE sleep of Janet Anderson on this first night of her being sheltered by the roof of Weldon Grange, and which, moreover, was the first for many months in which she had laid herself on any bed without an aching sensation of anxiety at her heart, her first night’s sleep at Weldon Grange was both profound and long. But as she had gone to bed very early it was not very late when she awoke. She had drawn back her curtains, and opened all the window shutters before she went to bed, for Janet Anderson loved to open her eyes upon the light of the corning day instead of upon the darkness of the past night. Her first peep upon the outer world was a timid one, for she could not guess what hour it might be, and for anything she knew to the contrary, the whole of the Mathews’ household might be within reach of seeing her in her night-cap. But she soon perceived that there was no great danger of this; for, except that the birds were singing, everything was profoundly still.
Nor were there any windows to overlook her own, for the garden front of Weldon Grange was in a straight line, having neither bow windows nor projecting corners in it. This was a great comfort, for it enabled her fearlessly to throw up the sash, which operation, however, she performed with a gentleness that could awaken no one; and then, did she not enjoy the bright green scene before her? She who had never in her life looked upon an English garden before, and who had just passed so many dreary, dreary weeks in sailing across the ocean, with her own miserable doubts and fears for her constant companions! An English garden, judiciously made up of lawn, flowers, and trees, with a mixture of pasture and woodland for its background, when seen at the hour of prime, is likely enough to seem beautiful to any eyes; but to poor, long-suffering Janet, its beauty, its perfume, its gaily-twittering music, together with the delightful confidence which she felt in the friendship which welcomed her to all its loveliness, was overpowering, and she dropped on her knees beside a chair, laid down her head, and wept.
But happiness rarely permits us “to cry for what we are glad of” very long, and Janet was speedily engaged in completing such a toilet as might enable her, if she could but find the way out, to enjoy a walk among all the beautiful things that were before her.
Fortunately for her, the housemaid at Weldon Grange was not addicted to late hours, for she was already busily employed in performing the duties of her profession in the hall, the door of which towards the garden was already most invitingly open.
Janet nodded her head good-humouredly to the girl as she passed her, but Martha was not too respectful to be friendly, and she therefore suspended her occupation, and said, “I hope you slept well, Miss?”
“Very well, indeed, thank you,” was the reply, to which was added an inquiry as to the best direction in which t
o take a walk not too long for the time left her before the hour of breakfast.
“Oh there’s plenty of time, Miss, for a beautiful walk,” replied the girl, “and if you’ll please turn to the right as you go out, you’ll come to a little gate as opens with a latch that will lead you straight to what we call the primrose-copse, ‘cause there’s such quantities of primroses there, and violets too, Miss, if you’ll look for them.”
These instructions were very gratefully received, and the happy Janet set forth upon her first English walk.
The path to the copse was certainly not difficult to find; if it had been so, Janet Anderson would most assuredly have missed it, for her delight at every step she took was much too great to leave her in possession of her usual quiet presence of mind.
A very noble row of elms would have shaded, if in fall leaf, the whole length of the path which led through the first large field upon which the little garden-gate opened, and the abundant crop of grass, which was already within a week or two of being ready for the scythe, appeared to Janet to be the most beautiful vegetation she had ever seen.
Nevertheless she did not forget the promised primroses and violets; and notwithstanding that she stopped in an ecstasy of delight to look about her at least half-a-dozen times before she reached the copse, she did contrive to arrive there at last without losing her way.
Martha had in no degree exaggerated the fecundity of this copse as to its production of primroses and violets, and the hour of the morning, as well as the season of the year, assisted in showing them off to the greatest advantage; and, after all, though she had suffered so much, and had certainly grown rather grave in consequence of it, Janet was really still quite a young girl, and it was with all the delight of quite a young girl that she now set about making a large collection both of the primroses and the violets.
She had already collected more than she could conveniently carry in her left hand, while she assiduously went on increasing her treasures with her right, and had then deposited the whole collection at the foot of a tree, as she daintily stepped down into a dry ditch, while she made prize of some peculiarly magnificent specimens which flourished on the further side of it, when she was startled by hearing a very magnificent voice, at no great distance from her, begin to sing Leporello’s celebrated catalogue of his master’s loves.
At the first moment she was terrified, her flower-gathering was suspended, and she remained in doubt whether she had better keep herself perfectly quiet, and so remain concealed, or spring out of the ditch and run home.
But before she had decided the question, her alarm had very decidedly given place to pleasure. Of the meaning of the words she knew nothing; but the notes upon which they were pronounced were enchanting to her, and she would have been puzzled if asked to explain why they were so. Of their comic spirit she could of course comprehend nothing, and as little was she cognizant of any musical skill attending their enunciation. But there was something most startling, vibrating, and deliciously clear in the sound; and well there might be, for they proceeded from one of the finest voices that ever was heard; so that, all ignorant as she was, she listened to them with delight.
But presently these delightful sounds died away in the distance; she was greatly consoled, however, for the loss of them by the consciousness that she should now be presently relieved from the embarrassment of her position, which decidedly was an awkward one, as it obliged her either to remain cowering in the ditch, to avoid being seen, or else to spring out of it, and confront the performer in a more striking and startling style than would have been at all agreeable to her.
But now she felt herself to be quite safe, for the voice gradually passed away in a contrary direction to that which led to the house, and therefore, while quietly waiting till it was quite out of hearing, she gathered a few more of the very whitest and sweetest violets that ever were seen or smelt, and then boldly left her place of concealment, recovered those which she had deposited at the foot of the tree, and set off to retrace her steps towards the mansion. But having walked about half way across the large meadow, the path through which was so delightfully shaded by the row of elms, she perceived a low bench at the foot of one of them, which had escaped her notice as she approached from the other side, but which now tempted her, as her ramble had been much shorter than she intended, to sit down and enjoy at leisure the exceeding beauty of the morning.
She placed her flowers on the bench beside her, took off her bonnet, leaned her head against the tree, and then closed her eyes, certainly not in sleep, but for the sake of enjoying, in the very perfection of dolce-far-niente, the sweet air that played upon her cheek, and the sweet notes of an accomplished blackbird, who really seemed to have perched himself on a branch above her head for the express purpose of regaling her with a serenade.
How long she sat thus she would have found it difficult to tell us, for it is no easy matter to count moments of such delicious ease; but however long the interval might have been, she would have wished it longer still, for not only was she enjoying herself most completely, but she was roused from it by the sound of a step so sudden in its approach as to startle her unpleasantly.
She opened her eyes almost in terror, and perceived standing almost close before her, and gazing very earnestly indeed at her face, a young man, who was decidedly the very handsomest individual she had ever beheld of the genus homo.
This was a sort of adventure which could scarcely fail of producing a little appearance of emotion in any young lady of seventeen, even if she had not been a stranger in the land. Besides, it was exceedingly disagreeable to be seen lying about in that strange way, with one’s eyes shut and without one’s bonnet; in short, Janet got up blushing vehemently, and utterly forgetting the large collection of primroses and violets which lay on the bench beside her, she set off with a quick step upon her return home, tying her bonnet very tightly under her chin as she went.
As no obtrusive step appeared to follow her, she relaxed her speed before she reached the end of the meadow, for she felt that she was getting out of breath, and she thought that if dear Mrs. Mathews happened to be walking in the garden, and met her in that condition, she should feel exceedingly foolish if she were obliged to account for it by saying that she had seen a young man under the elm-tree.
Scarcely, however, had she resumed the ordinary pace at which well-behaved young ladies are accustomed to walk, than, to her utter astonishment, she perceived that the same young gentleman whom she had seen staring at her when she was so unfortunately without her bonnet, was now actually walking beside her.
“Miss Anderson?” said he, interrogatively, and bowing with great politeness. “It must be Miss Anderson! I am quite sure of it. What I heard from Mrs. Mathews last night, about a tired young lady who was gone to bed, was quite enough to make me sure that I am speaking to the same young lady now.”
A vast deal of extra meaning may be given to words by the accent in which they are spoken. Had Janet been told as distinctly as words could express it, that Mrs. Mathews had spoken favourably of her appearance, and that the young gentleman beside her perfectly agreed with her in opinion upon that point, she could not have understood it better; and therefore she blushed again, and walked on a little faster than before.
“Don’t run away from me till I have restored your sweet-scented bouquet to you,” said the young man, with a step so rapid in advance as to bring him exactly in front of her.
She stopped for a moment, almost by necessity, for she could have only avoided doing so by very rudely passing him; and then he presented her nosegay to her with a very graceful bow, having bound it skilfully together with a blade or two of the long grass.
The value of the flowers was greatly increased by this ingenious device, for it had become much too large to be conveniently held without it, and the well-timed gallantry was repaid by a very gracious smile on the part of the young lady, — who, of course, by this time knew perfectly well that the handsome young gentleman was no other tha
n the Stephen Cornington whom Mrs. Mathews had already mentioned to her as the grandson of her husband, and with whom, therefore, there could be no sort of objection to her making acquaintance.
“Shall I be forgiven,” resumed Stephen, while his magnificent eyes sought for a reply in hers; “shall I be forgiven for this flagrant breach of honesty?”
And as he spoke he drew forth from his waistcoat-pocket a very tiny bunch of the white violets, not more perhaps than half-a-dozen.
“Will you forgive me,” he repeated, “for having stolen these? I know it was dishonourable. It was not, however, a breach of confidence, you know; for when you ran away from me you did not confide them to my care. Had you done that, I would, like a faithful dog, have breathed out my life beside the treasure, rather than suffer it to have been violated, — the hand that seized it must have slain me first. Will you then forgive me for having taken these?”
And Mr. Stephen Cornington pressed them to his lips as he spoke.
Perhaps Janet did not see this, or, perhaps, if she did, she only thought he was inhaling their fragrance. At any rate, she certainly had no intention of disputing the possession of them; she answered only by half a smile and half a bow But there was so much modesty in Stephen Cornington that he contented himself even with that, as was evident by his thinking himself privileged to retain the flowers, which he placed within the bosom of his waistcoat, deliberately unbuttoning that garment to admit them.
It was just possible that Janet might not have seen this manoeuvre either, although the young gentleman walked backwards before her as he performed it; but she appeared to be looking rather at her own bouquet than at his. But as this backward movement, though really performed with infinite grace, rendered their progress slow, she said, “I shall not like to keep Mrs. Mathews waiting breakfast for me, and therefore you must excuse me, Sir, if I walk a little faster.”
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 393