Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  “You are very kind to wish it, my dear Miss Steyton,” replied Janet, colouring; “but I do not feel myself quite my own mistress as yet; and it is dear Mrs. Mathews who must decide for me.”

  “Oh! very well,” was the rejoinder. “I don’t think I am much of a favourite with dear Mrs. Mathews,” and as she spoke, she suffered the hands of Janet to recover their liberty, and turning a little away from her, bestowed a very intelligent wink upon Miss Price.

  Janet did not see the wink, but she felt that her hands were thrown away, as it were, with what seemed like a feeling of disappointment, and she reproached herself for having given what might appear an ungracious reception to a proposal which was certainly intended to be complimentary.

  But there was no avoiding this, for Janet felt very strongly persuaded that there were very few things which she might not do with greater impunity than undertake the office of bridesmaid at the marriage of Herbert Otterborne and Miss Steyton.

  CHAPTER XXX.

  AND now the scene was again changed by the entrance of the gentlemen from the dining-room. The first words uttered by either of them were in the loud decisive voice of Sir Charles Otterborne.

  “How are we to make our rubber, Mathews?” said he.

  “If you will take your coffee, Sir Charles (and don’t forget the chasse, I’ll answer for its quality), if you will kindly take your coffee, I’ll take care to have a table ready for you directly,” replied Mr. Mathews.

  “But remember, Mathews,” rejoined the absolute Baronet, “remember you are not to give us the old man. Ten to one he’ll revoke, and won’t hear when he’s told of it.”

  “Who would you like, Sir Charles?” whispered the obsequious host, adding suggestively, “shall I ask Mr. Price?”

  “Damn it, no! I would as soon play with an owl, and should like it better; for the owl would not say a word either about orthodoxy or low church. No! let’s have the priest, yourself, and Mrs. Steyton. She plays like an idiot; but one can always get a bet out of her.”

  Having received these orders, the observant Mr. Mathews took immediate measures to comply with the wishes of the greatest man in the party; and whenever a master of the ceremonies is really in earnest, he generally succeeds in obtaining obedience. Mrs. Steyton signified her compliance by a smirk and a bow, that set all her ringlets and earrings dancing; but when Mr. Mathews approached Mr. Cuthbert, he would have been very glad if the instructions he had received had been less precise; he would at that moment very greatly have preferred the Protestant to the Catholic priest for his playfellow — for Mr. Cuthbert was actually engaged in what looked very like earnest conversation with Stephen Cornington, and it really was not without a pang that the proud grandfather interfered to put a stop to it.

  But no choice was left him — for Sir Charles was not a man whose will could be thwarted in a Weldon drawing-room with impunity; and, moreover, it was evident that Mr. Cuthbert himself intended to play whist as decidedly as Sir Charles intended it for him, for no sooner did he perceive Mr. Mathews approaching with a pack of cards in his hand, than he turned from the young man to his grandfather; but while extending his hand to draw a card from the pack that was presented to him, he said, in a voice but little above a whisper, “To-morrow morning, Mr. Cornington.” These words were received by Stephen with a most reverential bow, which was acknowledged on the part of the priest by the slightest possible inclination of the head.

  Was it an appointment? The idea was delightful. Such a compliment had been rarely, if ever, paid by Mr. Cuthbert to any young man in the neighbourhood. Herbert Otterborne, indeed, was occasionally known to have borrowed books from him, the consequence of which was, that he was universally considered throughout the county as the most learned young man in it; but even he could by no means be considered as being on intimate terms with the erudite librarian. An appointment for the morrow, given, too, with an air of so much mutual understanding, was a compliment indeed!

  Stephen fell back with another very deferential bow to make way for the priest and Mr. Mathews on their progress to the card-table; and till the party were seated at it he continued to stand in an attitude of great respect, and as if he were not conscious that there was any other person in the room save the priest who had so condescendingly spoken to him.

  But no sooner were the whist-party fairly settled at their game than the spell seemed taken off him. Perhaps Stephen, young as he was, occasionally played whist himself, and knew that it was an absorbing occupation; but be this as it may, the solemn expression of his handsome face immediately relaxed, and in the next moment he had seated himself with great audacity on a footstool exactly in the centre of the group into which the three young ladies had formed themselves in front of a window, the shutters of which were not yet closed.

  “Well done, Mr Stephen Cornington!” exclaimed Miss Steyton, laughing; “that’s what I call free and easy!” Then turning round towards a table near them, at which Herbert was seated, examining a volume of engravings, she added, “Why do you not follow this good example, Herbert Otterborne? You might as well be at the Land’s End as sitting here, for any good we young ladies get out of you.”

  Herbert rose, and approached her; nay, he even bent down, and addressed her in a smiling whisper.

  “No! positively, that won’t do!” she exclaimed aloud; “where is your footstool, Sir? You are not too proud, I hope, to sit upon a footstool at a young lady’s feet, are you?”

  “Not too proud, but too tall, my dear Miss Steyton,” said Herbert, laughing; “I really dare not present myself before you in an attitude so ungraceful.”

  “That’s all my eye!” exclaimed the beautiful Emily, also laughing, but more immoderately; “don’t look shocked now. I know it’s very vulgar, — at least among the English; but our French teacher declares that all elegant French women, particularly when they are young and handsome, say whatever comes into their heads first. That’s the fashion, Mr. Herbert.” Mr. Otterborne tried, awkwardly enough, to smile, — but he bowed in silence.

  “Come now,” resumed the beautiful Emily “I won’t have that! You are looking as stiff as a poker, and you shan’t do any such thing. And as to your being too tall, Mr. Herbert, I’ll just bet you anything you please, that he” (pointing to the almost recumbent Stephen) “is taller than you are. Stand up, you Mr. What’s-your-name; stand up, I tell you, and let’s see.”

  Stephen was on his feet in a moment.

  Herbert Otterborne, it must be confessed, did look rather stiff, but to refuse the lady’s challenge was impossible; and he, therefore, also stood tolerably erect, though by no means as loftily as he might have done, while the youthful but stalwart Stephen drew himself up to his highest possible altitude, and placed himself behind him, back to back.

  As they thus stood, Stephen Cornington appeared to be at least two inches taller than the slighter-made patrician; the real difference between them being, perhaps, one inch; and Emily, upon perceiving this result, clapped her hands boisterously together, exclaiming, in a voice of triumph, “I’ve won I’ve won!” Then lowering her voice a very little, she added addressing Miss Price, who stood beside her, with an arm lovingly passed round her waist, “What was the bet, Louisa?’ and then, in a tone which was a very little lower still, she said, “If he had his wits about him, wouldn’t he say it was a kiss Lou?”

  Up to this point Janet Anderson, who had made one of the youthful group when the gentlemen entered, continued in her place beside Miss Steyton, but she now very quietly and very silently quitted her chair and stole away towards the sofa that was occupied by Lady Otterborne and Mrs. Mathews. The sofa was not a very large one, and though neither of the ladies who were in possession of it were particularly voluminous either in person or drapery, it had the appearance of being fully occupied Mrs. Mathews, therefore, feeling that she could not very civilly place her pet, as bodkin, between Lady Otterborne and herself turned round to see if there were any unoccupied chair near them upon which Janet might seat he
rself; but before she turned her head again, to announce that there was one at no great distance, Lady Otterborne had made room for the slight intruder, not as bodkin, but by placing her beside her in the cushioned corner.

  Janet thanked her with just such a smile as the act deserved but Mrs. Mathews began gently to expostulate, and to express her fear that her ladyship must be very uncomfortably crowded.

  “It is a sort of uncomfort that I would willingly submit to very often,” replied Lady Otterborne, “for the pleasure o having Miss Anderson near me.”

  This was very civil and very kind; and better still, it was very true.

  It is rarely, I believe, that people are wise enough, when placed in such a position as to command a full view of what is interesting to them, but at the same time painful, — it rarely happens that persons so placed have the good sense to turn away, and look at something else. This sort of good sense had failed Lady Otterborne entirely from the time the three young ladies of the party had grouped themselves in the manner above described, before the window, for she had scarcely for a moment withdrawn her eyes from them. That the group was a very pretty one is quite certain; but, alas! this was not poor Lady Otterborne’s reason for looking at it. The consciousness that the beautiful creature who decidedly made its principal figure was about to be the wife of her Herbert, gave an interest to her contemplation of it greatly beyond what any prettiness could produce.

  But probably no spectator who knew Herbert less intimately than his mother did, could have been at all aware of the latent tragedy which she seemed so plainly to discern athwart the boisterous gaiety of her intended daughter-in-law. Many a tolerably refined lady, or gentleman either, might have found more of audacity than grace in the unmitigated display of beauty permitted by the dress of Miss Steyton: yet this might have been rendered infinitely less remarkable, had the movements of the young lady been less vehement; but Emily Steyton was rarely still for a single moment, and unfortunately it was pretty nearly impossible that she could move at all without making the peculiarities of her costume still more apparent. Nor was this all. Her voice, which of itself had nothing offensive in it, being the sound clear organ of a young person in perfect health, was rendered positively painful in its loud vibrations by the vehemence with which all her sallies were uttered.

  That Emily Steyton was conscious of her beauty, and proud of it, cannot be doubted, but she was rather prouder still of her vivacity. The great triumph of her existence, so far, had been the manner in which she had bullied her governess, and made all the teachers join in laughing at her, by her caricaturing mimicry of all she said and did.

  Her own description of herself was, that she was the handsomest, the liveliest, and the richest girl in the school (which school, though kept in a very large house, was but little calculated to lower her pretensions or improve her judgment), and upon her return home, when she had completed her seventeenth year, her loudly declared intention was to be married as soon as possible, and to the very handsomest man she could find.

  “Our French governess used to tell me,” she said to Miss Price in one of their earliest confidential interviews, “our French governess used to tell me that a young married woman, if she happened to be both lively and handsome, might be more powerful, if she managed well, than any queen that ever lived; and that if she was lucky enough to be rich too, she might turn the head of everybody she came near, and set the whole world spinning in whatever direction she liked. And that is just what I am determined to do,” concluded the young lady, whirling herself round with equal vivacity and vigour, and making at last a magnificent Dutch cheese by the help of her rich silk dress.

  Unfortunately, most unfortunately for the peace of Herbert Otterborne, he was the first very handsome man who was presented to her as a waltzing partner upon her final return from school. Her resolution was immediately taken, rather more suddenly, and rather more decidedly, perhaps, in consequence of her being reminded by her friend, Miss Price, that if she did fall in love with Herbert Otterborne, and marry him, she would not only be young, beautiful, rich, lively, and married, but she would be “My Lady” into the bargain.

  Very little time was lost before this resolution was acted upon.

  Her father was duly informed that she must die if she did not marry, and very speedily too, the man of her heart; and as the man of money had a very proper respect for the man of title, and was perfectly aware that the Manor-house ranked considerably before the Lodge in county consequence, no opposition whatever was made by Mr. Steyton to the wishes of his daughter.

  Obedient as he was in most cases, however, to the young lady’s will, it is probable that he might have attempted some resistance on this occasion, had he been better informed as to the real situation of Sir Charles Otterborne’s affairs. He knew, like everyone else in the neighbourhood, that he was a very extravagant man, but he knew also that his estate, or at least a considerable portion of it, was strictly entailed, and of the fortune unexpectedly bequeathed to Lady Otterborne, no one was left in ignorance who was in the least degree acquainted with Sir Charles, so that the retired tradesman thought it might not, on the whole, be easy to find a better match for his self-willed daughter, who he was quite aware would be likely enough to give him trouble if he opposed her.

  But all this had been decided and acted upon so suddenly, that neither Herbert nor his mother either, were yet fully aware of all that was likely to give them pain in the arrangement. Though quite ignorant of the actual present ruin which threatened them, and which Sir Charles had at length confessed to his son, Lady Otterborne was too well acquainted with the character and gambling propensities of her husband not to be aware that such a fortune as that of Miss Steyton would be very desirable for him. The extreme beauty of the young lady, too, very naturally blinded her to the impossibility, on her son’s part, of inclination having anything to do with the selection which he had made; and though the dress and manners of the beautiful Emily were very far from what she approved, her extreme youth and her apparent good temper suggested a reasonable hope of improvement. Yet still the idea of the marriage was distasteful to her, and if she had never yet fully expressed this to Herbert, it was because she could not endure the idea of using the influence which she knew she possessed over him, on a subject on which he alone ought to decide.

  “For if he loves this beautiful young creature,” thought she, “it is not my thinking her indelicate in dress, and coarse in manner and mind, which will console him under the loss of her!”

  But before this visit to the Weldon Grange family was over, Lady Otterborne had seen enough to make her doubt the righteousness of suffering such a man as Herbert to unite himself to such a woman as Emily Steyton, merely because he admired and was dazzled by her blaze of beauty.

  And then it was that an idea suggested itself to her, which was almost immediately acted upon.

  “He shall,” thought she, “at least have the opportunity of remarking the contrast between the delicate creature beside me and his lady love!”

  And then she returned to the theme she had touched upon before, and told Mrs. Mathews and Janet that the former must kindly spare the latter to her for a long summer’s day now and then. “If I did not remember her admirable father at all,” said she, “I should still wish to cultivate the friendship of your Janet, Mrs. Mathews, but remembering him as affectionately as I do, I feel disposed to claim a right of partnership in her.”

  It was pretty nearly impossible perhaps, that any compliment could have been paid to Janet, from any source, which should have so highly gratified every feeling of Mrs. Mathews as this; and the manner in which it was received, both by herself and by her adopted child, was such as to ensure a ready compliance with the flattering wish which Lady Otterborne had so cordially expressed.

  Meanwhile the frolicsome Miss Emily continued to occupy the three young men completely.

  To her affianced lover, who had taken the chair beside her which Janet had left, she spoke often enough (but
always in a whisper) to have made his forsaking his station near her an act of great discourtesy, even if the terms they were upon had not been such as to render it something worse still.

  But this in no degree impeded her staring into the face of Stephen, who was still pretty nearly recumbent at her feet, and exchanging with him a multitude of lively jokes with as much familiar intimacy as if he had been a family friend of a dozen years’ standing; while pretty Mr. Price stood exactly in front of her, with his languishing blue eyes expressing more passionate admiration than anyone at a first glance would have thought him capable of feeling.

  This was precisely such an arrangement as was calculated to keep up the liveliness of the heiress to the highest pitch, and accordingly she was very lively indeed.

  Nor was it any drawback either to her happiness or her vivacity, that both her young female companions had forsaken her — Janet being disposed of with Lady Otterborne and Mrs. Mathews, on the sofa, and Miss Louisa thinking it best to amuse herself by looking at the moon. Neither were the other individuals of the party at all likely to disturb her amusement; for Mrs. Price was endeavouring to keep herself awake by looking on at the whist-table; Mr. King, who had long ago given up the idle attempt of keeping his eyes open after a dinner-party, was fast asleep; and Mr. Steyton and the Vicar were discussing the probable necessity of an additional poor’s-rate.

  This state of things lasted for a considerable time, and might probably have continued a considerable time longer still, had not a sudden thought appeared to seize upon Mr. Stephen Cornington which caused him to spring upon his feet and rush to the pianoforte.