The two gentlemen, meanwhile, made as much use of their tête-à-tête as the ladies. That is to say, they were exceedingly conversable.
“That’s a fine place, my dear boy,” said the old gentleman, making his gentle little ambling filly approach closely to that of his gay grandson.
“Yes, Sir, it is. It is a place that gives one a good notion of the people that have it. They must have plenty of the ready, father, eh?”
“Why they have, now, Stephen, thanks to a large fortune unexpectedly left to my lady. But before that came, the baronet was pretty hard up, as we say.”
“And as we say, too, father, when people go rather faster than their income can follow them. This Sir Charles, now, I should think, had been a famous rattling chap in his day?”
“And he is a famous rattling chap still, Stephen, if all we hear of him be true. Rattling, in more senses than one, I am afraid; for they say he is never perfectly happy unless he has got a dice-box in his hands.”
“He does not play like a raw hand at billiards, either, Sir, I can tell you that; and yet I think I could bowl a few yellow boys out of him, if I had the money to stake.”
“Well, my dear fellow, you shan’t lose the sport and the pleasure for want of a few sovereigns to make a show with. But even if you play better than he does, I shall think a great deal less of that than of the sort of credit that would be got in the county by your being a good deal at the Manor-house. They are decidedly the first people in the neighbourhood for real aristocratical consequence; for my Lord Proctor, at the Castle, is never considered as really belonging to our neighbourhood.”
“You have got a lord here too, have you, Sir?” said Stephen, rather eagerly.
“Don’t use such a phrase as that in speaking of a nobleman, Stephen,” said his gentleman-like companion, looking a good deal shocked.
“My dear father, it was only in joke you know!” returned Stephen, smiling so brightly, and looking so superlatively handsome, that Mr. Mathews again gazed at him with unmixed satisfaction.
“Oh! then that’s all very well,” he resumed; “but as I was telling you, Sir Charles Otterborne’s family is considered quite the first, as to station, in the neighbourhood. Mr. Steyton, of the Lodge, though, I believe, is about a hundred times as rich — that is, as far as ready money goes; but his money was all got by trade, you know, and Sir Charles’ land came into the family after the holy wars, I believe, or something like it.”
“Oh!” responded Stephen, in a tone which might be understood to indicate a perfect understanding of the subject, or something approaching contempt for it. But there was no mistaking the genuine meaning of his next speech, for it was with a sort of overflowing sincerity that he exclaimed —
“Well! after all, father, there is nothing so pleasant to deal with as ready cash! What sort of a chap is this lucky Mr. Steyton?”
“Chap! my dear boy,” replied Mr. Mathews, laughing; “this chap, as you are pleased to call him, is about the most pompous fellow that you ever saw in your whole life. Old Mr. King says that he wonders Steyton does not contrive to get a little air manufactured on purpose for his own private use, for that he always looks as if he thought what he was breathing was not good enough for him.”
“Capital joke that! Well said, old King!” replied Stephen, with another of his beautiful smiles. “But I say, daddy,” he continued — playfully passing his arm under that of the old gentleman, much as if they had been walking together—” tell me, will you, something about the beautiful heiress that is going to marry that blackamoor young squire at the Manor-house.”
“All I can tell you about her, my dear boy,” replied Mr.
Mathews, “is, that her name is Emily Steyton; that she is the most beautiful girl that ever was seen, and that her father intends to give her eighty thousand pounds down. And many people say that she will have three times as much at his death — for he has neither chick nor child, except this beautiful Miss Emily.”
The young man was silent for a minute or two, and then said —
“Wasn’t it a pity, Sir, that I did not happen to come here a little earlier? I don’t see why I might not have had as good a chance of pleasing Miss Emily as that black-and-white fellow yonder. Upon my soul, if he had but a short face instead of a long one, I should suspect that he had a little negro blood in him. I won’t pretend to say that his hair is exactly like wool, but yet it does curl uncommon short round the back of his neck — doesn’t it, Sir?”
“Yes, Stephen, it does indeed; but I believe many young ladies think that very beautiful. However, I am a little of your opinion. I like your curls best, that blow about your face and shine in the sun almost like gold. But there is no accounting for taste, you know. I do wish that I had had my picture taken when I was just your age, and then you would be able to judge yourself of the likeness that I see so very plainly myself.”
“Oh, for that matter, I see it, too, Sir — I do, upon my honour!” replied Stephen; “I am sure everybody with eyes must see it. My grandmother always said so. But I say, father, we don’t know yet that this prize of a girl is so very overhead and ears in love with Blacky, as you seem to fancy. Your Sir Charles is a knowing one — take my word for that — and likely enough to have cooked up all the whole thing himself. I should like to have a try for it, daddy. Who knows? You don’t know what a fuss the girls make about me, Sir. They do, upon my soul!”
Mr. Mathews looked at him, and laughed.
“That’s not unlikely, Stephen,” said he; “I remember a little about that sort of thing myself. But you forget, my dear boy, that you can’t make any Joan a Lady, as young Otterborne can. That makes a terrible difference, Stephen, in the eyes of fathers as well as daughters. So I am afraid that scheme won’t answer. But if that does not some other may, you know. What say you, now, to Miss Janet Anderson? I have a great notion that she will have a very handsome fortune of her own, because my wife draws herself up so stiffly when I allude to the subject; and all I have been able to get out of her is, that the young lady’s fortune is in the hands of trustees. Of course, it is, you know, as she is such a young thing; but if she had no fortune at all, we should hear nothing about trustees, you may be sure of that. However, by hook or by crook we shall be able to find out something more particular on that point; and you must not fall in love with her, Stephen, till we do. For though you will be very well off, my dear fellow, when we are both dead, it won’t do for you to fall in love with any girl that has not got a good deal of money, you know. But this Miss Janet is very pretty, isn’t she, Stephen?”
“Why, no, Sir, I can’t say I think so,” replied the young man, colouring. “I don’t mean to say,” he added, “that she has not good features, and her skin is as white as milk; but I don’t like the look of her for all that. There is something in her eyes — I dare say you’ll tell me that they are very handsome, the colour of a violet, and all that sort of thing; but I don’t like the look of her, for all that. I’ll be hanged if she is not as cold as ice, and as stupid as an owl. I can’t bear that sort of girl.”
“Well, well! we need not be in a hurry, you know. We must make something or other of you, I suppose, before we can hope to find you a rich wife. What should you like to be, Stephen? I know I shall hate to part with you, my dear boy; but people would blame me, you know, if I did not give you some profession. What should you like, Stephen?”
“Why, it seems to me, Sir, that one ought to think a good deal about it before one fixes,” replied the young man, very gravely. “It would not do, Sir, to make a choice, and then change one’s mind afterwards.”
“That is a very sensible observation, my dear boy, it is indeed; and it is one that I shall feel it my duty to attend to, and keep in mind. And while we are thinking about it, Stephen, you will find plenty of things to amuse you here, and plenty of nice people to get acquainted with; and the more you know the better, for when you have fixed, you may find country friends very useful. It is the only way to get interest.”
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“The more people I get acquainted with the better I shall be pleased,” replied Stephen, gaily. “I am sure, Sir, you were never born to be a humdrum, and it is a shame that you ever should be one. And I suspect that I am too much like you to be easily made one either. But you have married a wife that is a great deal too old for you, father, that’s the worst of it.” Mr. Mathews looked at him as he said this with more than grand-paternal affection, and with a deeper conviction than ever that no two men were ever so like each other before, except in the case of twin-brothers.
CHAPTER XXV
THE residence of Mr. Price, the clergyman, who was at that time in possession of the valuable living of Weldon, was so near the Grange that Mrs. Mathews walked thither on the following day, after luncheon, in order to introduce Janet to the family This Price family have been already described, and no further preface is therefore necessary before Janet’s presentation to them.
The young man was not at home — but the father, mother, and daughter were sitting together, the very model of family harmony; Mrs. Price and her fair, light-haired daughter, Louisa, being both at work upon the same magnificent hearthrug, and both putting their worsted ends into the same little snow-white miniature basket, lined with blue satin to match the lining of the large basket which contained the many-tinted mass which stood ready for their needles; while Mr. Price was reading to them a few select paragraphs from the Morning Post.
“How do you do? dearest Mrs. Mathews! How very kind of you!” said Mrs. Price, extending both her hands.
“How very kind of you!” echoed the fair Louisa, extending both hers.
The presentation of Janet followed; and no stranger ever received a more smiling welcome, for the teeth of father, mother, and daughter — all, for their respective ages, particularly handsome — were fully displayed to do her honour.
And then began the neighbourly chit-chat.
“You have heard the news, I presume, my dear lady?” said Mr. Price, with the tone of a person who takes real interest in the subject discussed. “The Manor-house and the Lodge? Of course, you know that it is all settled?”
“Yes, Mr. Price, Sir Charles announced it to us yesterday,” replied Mrs. Mathews.
Mr. Price smiled, and nodded with a look of great intelligence.
“No wonder, my good lady; no wonder. It is always pleasant to tell pleasant tidings. The entrance of such a young lady as Miss Emily Steyton into a family might occasion joy anywhere. But HERE, you know!” And having said this, Mr, Price nodded his head, and then shook his head, and then nodded again, his eyes being fixed on Mrs. Mathews all the time, as if quite certain that she comprehended all he meant to express.
She gave no indication of this, however, but looked very much as she might have done had she been made of iron or stone.
“It will be a very gay affair, I suppose,” said Mrs. Price, — taking up, as it were her husband’s nodding process, and going on with it.
“Have you almost finished your rug, Miss Louisa?” said Mrs. Mathews to the daughter of the house, who had never suspended for a moment the action of her needle, though the sympathetic movement of her flaxen head showed that she, too, took a lively interest in the conversation.
All the energy of her character, however, was immediately turned into another channel by the question of Mrs. Mathews. “Finished! Why, dear Mrs. Mathews, we only began it this time twelvemonth! I don’t think any one can accuse either mamma or me of being idle; but I can’t even pretend to guess when it will be finished. I believe you forget that it is all tent stitch.”
“Yes, I did,” said Mrs. Mathews, “Oh! that just makes all the difference, you know. Is Miss Anderson a worker?”
“Mot much, I believe,” said Mrs. Mathews, — who, by-the-by, had never made any inquiry on the subject, and knew no more of Janet’s propensities in that line than those of her grandmother.
“Oh! yes, Mrs. Mathews,” said Janet, reproachfully; “I am a very great worker. I make everything I wear.”
Why Mrs. Mathews should frown so very harshly upon hearing this, poor Janet could not tell, neither could she guess why she should be so rude as to say to her, “Nonsense, my dear! You should never tell fibs, Janet Anderson, even in jest.”
It is possible that Janet might have attempted some defence against this vehement attack upon her veracity, which was as undeserved, as it was unexpected; for Janet very literally had made everything she had on “pour cause” to borrow a significant phrase; for if she had not, her mantua-maker’s bill must have been paid by charity. But no opportunity was afforded her, for Mrs. Mathews, rather abruptly turning her back upon her, addressed Mr. Price: “I suppose this wedding will take place in London, Sir?”
This looked very much as if Mrs. Mathews was not in a good humour; for, as she probably knew perfectly well, it would have been very difficult for her to have said anything more painfully grating to the feelings of Mr. Price than these words.
Mr. Price’s wishes were probably none of them very vehement or impassioned; but rarely or never had he wished anything more earnestly than that the heir of the Manor-house and the heiress of the Lodge should be united in the bands of holy matrimony in his church, and that he himself should pronounce the nuptial benediction.
“Did Sir Charles say so?” demanded he, with his usual gentle accent, but not without betraying a little agitation.
“I am not quite sure whether he did or not,” replied his tormentor; “but it is much more likely, I think, than that they should be married here.”
Poor Miss Louisa actually turned pale as she listened to these words; for she was honoured by the intended bride with a greater degree of intimacy than she bestowed upon any other young lady in the neighbourhood, and in her very heart of hearts she had both hoped and expected that she should be selected as one of the bridesmaids. Had Mrs. Mathews happened to look at her at that moment, instead of looking at her mother, she would hardly have had the cruelty to persevere in her fabulous statement, for the woe-begone expression of her pretty little face was piteous to behold; but, unfortunately, the attention of Mrs. Mathews was just then attracted to the generally very unmeaning countenance of her mamma, but which, at that moment, was considerably less unmeaning than usual, for her eyes were earnestly directed to the thin, and not very new black silk of which poor Janet’s home-made suit was composed, and there was much too decided an expression of scorn in the curl of her lip, for her countenance to have been called unmeaning at that moment.
Mrs. Mathews saw it all, and understood it all, which might be an evidence, perhaps, of the acuteness of her observation; but the result was certainly not an evidence of the goodness of her temper; for, abruptly turning to Mr. Price, she said, in her clear, distinct voice, which rarely permitted any word she uttered to be unheard, or its meaning misunderstood, “Things seem to be going rather sharply against the Oxford gentry, Mr. Price, particularly in our neighbourhood, if all that I hear be true. I am told that Dr. Belton is to be the new dean, and he is positively the most thoroughly low-church divine that we have.”
“Don’t call him a divine, my good lady! I do most humbly beg and intreat that I may not hear any such epithet applied to him! We have field-preachers, Mrs. Mathews, field-preachers, and street-preachers in abundance, who are ten times more orthodox than he is!” cried Mr. Price, with a degree of vehemence that brought a deep flush to the very roots of his grey hair. “He is an absolute infidel on many points,” he added, with a sigh, “and a most audacious dissenter on others — and as to the Rubric, I KNOW that he said.—”
“Never mind what he said, Mr. Price; and if you will believe me, you had better begin to speak of him with a little more civility, and a great deal more caution; for if they are going to make a dean of him now, you may be very sure that it will not be very long before he is made a bishop; and when that is done, Mr. Price, I feel quite sure that your own sense of propriety will make you very sorry for anything you have ever spoken against him. You know, Sir, we are
told that ‘a bishop must be blameless,’ and that upon such authority as you will not choose to deny. But do not let us talk any more about it. There can be no doubt that Dr. Belton will be a bishop, and therefore the less we any of us say against him the better.”
Poor Mr. Price was fortunately rather a thin man, and his pulse constitutionally beat time very temperately; had it been otherwise he might have been in danger of an attack of apoplexy, for he was at that moment as greatly irritated as it was in his nature to be, and very justly too.
Perhaps Mrs. Mathews was aware of this; for she suddenly let him alone, and was meditating making a generous atonement for all her misdemeanours by looking at and admiring the immortal hearth-rug, when most unluckily she perceived that the eyes of Miss Louisa were now engaged precisely in the same manner that those of her mamma had been a few minutes before. In short, Mrs. Mathews very clearly perceived that the dress and accoutrements of John Anderson’s daughter were undergoing a scrutiny which they were by no means particularly well calculated to stand, and this was a great deal more than it was in her nature to bear with patience. She felt it the more, too, because she was conscious that she had been herself most culpably unobservant on this point. She had looked, certainly more than once, in the face of Janet, and found it lovely; she had studied its varying expression, and found more than one look that set her thinking a great deal more about the looks of the father in days past, than the dress of the daughter in days present. But this was her own fault, and not that of neat, nice, well-dressed Mrs. Price and her fair Louisa; and had Mrs. Mathews been a little more reasonable, and a little less revengeful, she would not have left the Parsonage so mightily well-pleased with the idea of having made herself as disagreeable to its inhabitants as it was well possible for her to do, during the very moderate interval that she permitted her visit to last.
When people are out of temper they are very apt to make other people suffer from it, whether they deserve it or not — and this was most decidedly the case on the present occasion; for during the walk from the Parsonage to the Grange, Mrs. Mathews scarcely spoke at all, and when she did, neither her words nor her tone had anything at all pleasant in them; so that poor Janet, unconscious as she was of having done or said anything wrong, entered her room for the purpose of taking off her shabby, unstylish-looking little bonnet with the very painful conviction that her newly-found friend was angry with her.
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 397