Mrs. Price was decidedly of opinion that he bore a strong resemblance to the Smitherton family, and even whispered to her daughter that there was a good deal of the Thompson look, too, in his eyes. Miss Louisa, herself, only peeped at him furtively now and then, but said nothing about him to anybody.
Mr. Steyton, perhaps, paid him the greatest compliment of all, for he knit his brows when he looked at him; and at one moment when he happened to perceive the eyes of Miss Emily evidently employing themselves in drawing a comparison between her betrothed lover and her new acquaintance, he adroitly changed his own position so as effectually to intercept her view of the dazzling stranger.
Lady Otterborne, however, did not look at him at all, and young Mr. Price very little; but no sooner had the Catholic priest entered the room than the watchful grandfather had the satisfaction of perceiving that his quick eye immediately recognized the young man. He perceived, too, and also with great satisfaction, that the young man not only recognized the learned Catholic priest, but that he immediately broke off the conversation he had contrived to begin with Miss Steyton, at the back of whose chair he had contrived, by one bold movement, to place himself, and approached with an air of great respect to pay his compliments to him.
“What a sharp-witted fellow it is!” thought the delighted grandfather. “He has already found out, somehow or other, that the moment the old castle book-worm is seen to notice a stranger, every soul in the country immediately sets that stranger down as something out of the common way in the article of cleverness.”
Moreover the Catholic priest received the young man’s respectful salutation by offering him his hand, a courtesy which the haughty-looking ecclesiastic had not bestowed on any gentleman present, except the venerable Mr. King.
CHAPTER XXIX.
THERE was a little awkwardness in the manner in which the sixteen individuals who have been enumerated were marshalled in passing from the drawing-room, and in which they took their places at the dinner-table; but it was almost inevitable, because there were but seven ladies, whereas there were nine gentlemen.
The order of their going was, of course, obvious enough up to a certain point, male heads of houses pairing off with female heads of houses. Mr. Price, indeed, ought to have taken precedence of Mr. Steyton, but then he must have led out his own wife; and Mr. William Price ought to have taken precedence of Stephen Cornington, but then he must have led out his own sister. It might, however, have been more civil, perhaps, if young Mr. Price had been appointed the companion of Janet, which would have left the two reverend gentlemen together, instead of letting the procession be closed by the father and son.
That it was so was the fault of Mrs. Mathews. It was not her pleasure that Janet should be doomed to listen to the simpering inanities of young Mr. Price, and it was her pleasure that she should improve her acquaintance with Mr. Cuthbridge.
And Janet had cause to be grateful to her for it; for, of all the words spoken before the company were marched back again to the drawing-room, the only portion worth listening to was that which passed between them.
Lady Otterborne sat for the most part in gentle silence beside her venerable host, who had never been a great talker, and was now become a deaf and very silent old man.
It might have been more conducive to her comfort, perhaps, had she not been so placed as to command a full view of her affianced son and his intended bride. Never had she before thought her so lovely, yet never had she disliked her so much. The extreme indelicacy of her dress was so painfully obvious as to make the looking at her earnestly almost an act of indecency, and it was only because she was too directly before her eyes to permit her being unseen, that she ever looked at her at all. Neither was the manner of Miss Emily at all more likely to propitiate Lady Otterborne than her appearance. Sometimes she permitted her beautiful head to approach so nearly to the shoulder of Herbert as very forcibly to suggest the idea that she wished to deposit it there. At other moments she withdrew herself to the farthest possible point from him and turning herself completely at right angles with the table, made it perfectly evident that she had taken the position in order to indulge herself with the pleasure of gazing on his face.
All she said to him was uttered in a whisper, and when he answered without practising the same discretion, she invariably looked reproachfully in his eyes, held up her finger reprovingly, and audibly pronounced the word “Hush!” Perhaps there was no great consolation for her unfortunate ladyship in turning her eyes upon another pair, also on the opposite side of the table, and marking the strong contrast which the manner of their conversing formed to that of her son and his affianced bride.
Mr. Cuthbridge and Janet had very speedily got into what has been expressively called a “full flow of talk.” The priest was about sixty years old, and had never, at any period of his existence, been other than a gentleman-like, tranquil-mannered person; no one had ever seen him
“Wink as an abbot ought not to wink,”
or in any other way offend against ecclesiastical dignity; but, nevertheless, Mr. Cuthbridge was very far from being a dull man. What were the subjects upon which he contrived to set Janet talking I know not, but it was something that evidently awakened all her intelligence, and gave to her fair face exactly that degree of animation which announces both intellect and vivacity, yet without disturbing the harmony of the features for au instant.
“Is it possible that Herbert — MY Herbert, can prefer that gaudy peony to this fair lily?” was the question Lady Otterborne asked herself; and the answer which she felt it her bounden duty to give was terrible in every way, for what could it be save, “I hope so”?
Mrs. Mathews was at the top of the table, and Lady Otterborne near the bottom of it, so the point of view was different. Mrs. Mathews could not so distinctly see the bewitching manoeuvrings of Miss Emily, but she could see that her old friend, the Catholic priest, was exactly as much occupied by Janet as she wished him to be. And she, too, found time to hold commune a little with herself, but in a much more agreeable manner than poor Lady Otterborne could do; for Mrs. Mathews could very safely assure herself that the conversation she was watching from a distance, would not betray the appearance of interest which it would, if Janet were only a very pretty girl. “My ‘auld-lang-syne’ partialities have not deceived me,” thought she, with extreme satisfaction. “There is only one thing which could make him listen to her as he does, — and that is, that what she is saying is worth hearing.”
As to the rest of the party, their conversation was so precisely in the ordinary style of such neighbourly meetings, that it is unnecessary to record it. The gentlemen were left to themselves without any indiscreet lingering on the part of the ladies; and the claret (which was the especial care of Mr. Mathews), having more to do in the agreeable half-hour which they passed together than any other element of the party, we will leave them to enjoy it, and pass into the drawing-room with the ladies.
The four married ladies, and the three single ones, were immediately divided into two separate groups, and the usual themes of “country neighbours’” conversation were immediately started and very patiently sustained by the four elders.
The extremely pretty group which the three young girls formed, as they first stood and then sat before a window watching the glories of the setting sun, was enlivened by the following conversation.
Miss Steyton threw her arm, as she stood, round the waist of Louisa Price. “Well, darling,” said she; “you know I told you long ago, that I was quite certain what it would come to. He is a magnificent fellow! isn’t he, Louy?”
“Not half so magnificent as you are, my dear,” replied the fair-haired Louisa, coaxingly. “But he is very handsome, certainly,” she added; “I am sure I do not mean to deny that; and you will make a lovely couple!” she again added, in a halfwhisper.
“You need not whisper, Louisa,” said Miss Steyton, laughing; “I do not pretend to make any secret of it; and I should be a fool if I did, in every way; for I wil
l just ask you to guess what chance there would be of preventing any single being in the whole county from knowing that I am going to be married as well as I do myself.”
“No; that is very true, to be sure,” returned the docile Louisa. “Everything you do, my dear, is talked of as much as if you were the Queen, I think; and no wonder, — is it, Miss Anderson?”
It was not very easy to answer this appeal, for Janet knew nothing whatever concerning the celebrity which the beautiful Emily enjoyed; but she felt that to avow this, would be to avow herself most deplorably unknown, so she smiled, and bowed with an air that expressed nothing like doubt of the statement.
“You must not believe one single word that Louisa Price says of me, Miss Anderson,” said the beauty; “for if you do, you may be apt to think I am an angel, for she is positively infatuated in the most ridiculous way in the world. Don’t you think she must be a fool, Miss Anderson?”
“Do you really think I am likely to pass such a judgment?” said Janet, with a smile.
“How should I know, my dear?” returned the beauty, laying a large ungloved milk-white hand on each of Janet’s shoulders. For anything I know, I may turn your head just in the same absurd manner that I have turned hers. Heaven knows what it is I have got about me that makes people make such a fuss. That beastly old priest, that you sat by at dinner, is the only person, man, woman, or child, that hasn’t made a fuss with me since I came home from school. The old brute always looks as if he didn’t see me. Idiot!”
“But you forget, my darling Emily, that Mr. Cuthbridge is a Roman Catholic priest. He is bound by his religion, you know, never to take any notice of ladies,” said Miss Price, demurely.
“Stuff and nonsense, Lou. I don’t want him to ask me to marry him, I know he can’t do that, child,” replied Miss Steyton, tossing her beautiful head; “but if he was not a fool, he might look at one. That could not do any harm, I suppose?”
“I am sure I should think that the looking at you could never do anything but good to anybody. But perhaps he has heard how lively you are, dearest, and he may be really afraid to listen to you?”
“That’s capital!” cried Emily, clapping her hands. “And now you have put it into my head, Lou, you shall see if I don’t pay him off. Won’t it be first-rate, delicious, girls, if I can make that fusty, musty old priest take fright, and run out of the room?”
“Was there ever such a rattle as she is?” said Louisa, hanging her head on one side, and simpering in the face of Janet.
“Miss Steyton is indeed very lively,” replied Janet.
“Miss Steyton! Oh! that’s horrible! I can’t bear to hear girls call one another Miss. It sounds exactly like the teacher at school. What is your Christian name, I wonder?”
“My name is Janet,” was the blushing reply.
“What do you colour up so for?” cried the beauty, pointing at her face. “Just look at Janet’s face, only because I asked her what her name was! Do you blush in that way, my dear, when gentlemen talk to you? If you do, take my word for it, they will all think you are in love with them. I happen to know that, because I have been told all about it. But I say, Janet, I want to ask you a question,” she added, in a whisper really low enough to prevent the married ladies from hearing her. “I say, I want you to tell me something. You are staying in the house, you know, with that beautiful fellow that sat opposite to me at dinner-time. What is his name? Stephen, isn’t it? Stephen what?”
“Cornington,” replied Janet, succinctly.
“Cornington? That’s all. You don’t seem inclined to waste words about him. You are not jealous, my dear, are you?”
“I hope not,” replied Janet, laughing.
“That is all very well,” returned the beauty, gravely nodding her head. “And I hope not, too, my dear, — for, living in the same house with him, you would make pretty work of it. And if you are not jealous, I am sure you are not in love; and that is another good thing. I say, Janet, did you see how he was staring at me? You sat opposite, you know — I think you must have seen it. What eyes he has, hasn’t he?”
“Yes, Mr. Cornington has very fine eyes,” replied Janet, quietly.
Miss Steyton winked at her friend Louisa, and said, “How grave we are!”
Louisa tried to look intelligent, and nodded in return.
“Yes, I suspect so,” said Emily, — bringing her own face very close to that of Janet, as if to examine her very minutely. “It is a fact, Lou! As sure as you live, those eyes of Stephen Cornington’s have been searching poor Janet’s heart to the very centre! Upon my honour and life, it is a shame! Now listen to me, Janet! You are rather a pretty girl, though you are so thin, and so pale, — and I have a liking for all pretty girls, because you know, I happen to be one myself; and my notion is, that we all ought to make common cause together, and never see a fellow trying to make a fool of a girl, without telling her of it, and putting her on her guard. Now you may trust me, because I am engaged, and can’t have any bad motive for what I say; and remember I tell you now, once for all, that your handsome friend, whose fine eyes you admire so much, my gentle Janet, is over head and ears in love with me! Poor dear girl! I am sorry for you, but I can’t help it. Can I, Louisa?”
“No, certainly, dearest! It is no fault of yours; and we ought all of us to be on our guard, Miss Anderson, for the same sort of thing may happen again and again.”
“What sort of thing do you mean?” inquired Janet, very innocently.
The two other young ladies looked at each other, and laughed.
“Don’t you really understand what I meant? Or do you only pretend ignorance?” said Miss Steyton, looking at her with a keen, though laughing glance.
“No, indeed,” replied Janet, gravely; “I am not pretending anything.”
“Never mind! It’s no matter,” cried Emily “Perhaps it is all very fair to pretend a little on first acquaintance; but when you get to be as intimate with me as Louisa Price is, you will find out that it is quite nonsense to pretend anything with me, for I find out everything. Don’t I, Louisa?”
“Yes, indeed you do! There never was such a girl born as you are! You will understand her better by-and-by, Miss Anderson. But one comfort is, that she is as good as she is clever She is not contented with looking like an angel, but she really is one,” — was Miss Price’s answer; and after a moment she added, “But I want you to tell me, dearest, when it is to be?”
“IT? What does it mean, I wonder?” returned the beautiful Emily, crossing her white arms upon her bosom, and raising her bright eyes towards the sky “As if I could be talking or thinking of any possible event but ONE!” returned her friend. “Do not be so tantalizing, Emily! Is the day fixed for your marriage? Can you understand me now?”
“Why yes, my dear, I think I understand you,” replied Miss Steyton. “You want to know, I suspect, exactly the day, hour, and minute, when your services will be required as bridesmaid? Do not be afraid love, you shall have quite notice enough to enable you to have your dress made.”
“Oh! you delightful creature!” returned Louisa; “then you do mean to be married at poor dear Weldon? Oh! I am so delighted!”
“Yes, indeed, I certainly intend to be married here. What fan would there be in going to London for it? I might walk into a London church, to be sure, as expensively dressed as it is possible to be, and there might be as many, or more people to see me there, than there would be here — though I don’t quite think that, either; but what good would there be in that, even if it was so? The very most that would come of it would be that the people might say, they had seen the most beautiful bride that ever was married, and that her dress was as beautiful as herself. But what good would that do me? What pleasure would there be in it? Not one of ’em all would really know anything about me, Lou! But here, you know, in dear old Weldon, every living soul, from Thomas Barnes the old greyheaded miller, down to little Reddy White, the carrier’s grandson, there would not be one single living soul that didn’t know me.
And then I should have to walk over flowers every step of the way from the carriage to the church-door, and every flower that was gathered for this, by every child in the parish, would be gathered for my sake; and the little creatures would all say, ‘This is for our beautiful Miss Emily!’ Oh! there will be some fun in that, and there would be none at all in London.” This long speech was very rapidly uttered; but though it did not take long in the delivery, it gave the thoughtful Janet time to speculate a little upon her beautiful new acquaintance. She had listened to a dismal lament on the part of Mrs. Mathews on the subject of Herbert Otterborne’s intended marriage with Emily Steyton. Mrs. Mathews had assured her (and actually with tears in her eyes) that the girl was not only vulgar, ignorant, indelicate, and vain; but that she had not a single redeeming quality upon which to hang any reasonable hope of improvement. It now struck Janet, as she listened to her, that it was possible Mrs. Mathews might be mistaken. “I have a notion that she is truthful,” thought Janet; “and if my dear father’s doctrine be correct, there may be some goodness in her; for it was one of his favourite theories, that truth was the highest quality with which a human mind can be endowed. I must talk to my new mother about this. Perhaps she may find hope and comfort in it.”
While these thoughts were passing in the mind of Janet, her beautiful, dark, quiet, thoughtful eyes were fixed upon the greatly animated face of Miss Steyton; who, after running on a little longer in the same strain, perceived it, and suddenly stopping short in the description which she was giving, with childish glee, of the beautiful marrying fête which her papa meant to give on the occasion, she took Janet’s two hands in hers, and said, with a very bright, good-humoured smile, “I say, Miss Janet, I wish you would be one of my bridesmaids too. I should like to have all the pretty girls in the county for bridesmaids. I hate ugly girls, though I know that the teachers used to say at our school, that all pretty girls hate one another; but if there is any truth in that, I am sure it is only when they are not quite so sure of being beautiful, as really beautiful people must always be. Will you be my bridesmaid? I really think, though you are such a tiny thing, compared to me, that you are very pretty and nice-looking. You will, won’t you, now?”
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 401