Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  It certainly was not without a feeling of surprise that Mrs. Mathews watched his proceedings as he opened the instrument and seated himself before it. It did not occur to her as possible that this youthful importation from Barbadoes was really a musician, or at all likely to perform on the piano, excepting as a joke which might have produced much such harmony as a cat might do, if moving somewhat boldly over the keys.

  Now the instrument was a very good instrument — everything in Mr. King’s house was good — and moreover Mrs. Mathews had taken care to have it put in tune in case either of her young lady guests might like to perform on it. The sight therefore of this almost herculean young man preparing himself to disturb the whist-players, by putting the instrument out of tune, very much disturbed her serenity, and the more so as she did not exactly like to perform the part of a step-grandmother, and chide him from his purpose. But ere she had at all decided as to what might be the best means of stopping him, the pianoforte was opened and his fingers were galloping over the keys in the performance of a very learned, and brilliant prelude; and, before she could in any degree recover her astonishment at this, one of the finest tenor voices it had ever been her fate to hear, began to warble in most enchanting style, “We met— ’twas in a crowd,” etc.

  Whist-players can, for the most part, endure a wonderful amount of sound and movement round them, without giving any indication of having forgotten their game in order to think of something else; but this unexpected outpouring of delicious notes, together with the dramatic feeling which the gifted performer gave to the words, seemed to electrify every one in the room, save the soundly sleeping host.

  Lady Otterborne, after listening for a minute or two, gave an inquiring look at Mrs. Mathews, which seemed to say, “What is he?” and presently after exclaimed, “Good heavens! What a voice!”

  The eyes of Janet were filled with tears.

  Mrs. Price looked amazed, and her son and daughter frightened.

  The priest laid down his cards upon the table, and crossing his hands over them, contemplated the performer in perfect silence, and with the earnest eye of one who was trying to unravel a mystery.

  Sir Charles exclaimed, “The Devil!”

  His son said nothing, but left his lady’s side, and stationed himself near the performer.

  Mr. Steyton and his lady exchanged glances together, but this look of intelligence seemed rather to have reference to their beautiful daughter than to the accomplished Stephen, for that free and easy young lady had followed her lover to the instrument; but she seemed to have forgotten him when she got there, for placing her two hands upon the back of the performer’s chair, she bent forward her head so as to have a good side view of his face, and remained very steadily in that attitude till the song was finished. Mr. Mathews and Mrs. Mathews alone seemed to feel more delight than astonishment. But this delight was wholly occasioned by the unmistakable effect which his grandson’s voice had produced, and not by the voice itself.

  If Shakspeare’s dictum be as right on this subject as it is allowed to be on most of the themes he touches, Mr. Mathews was by no means a trustworthy man, for most assuredly he had no “music in himself.” Nevertheless it was he who was the most enchanted by this unexpected display, for he was by no means slow to discover anything, of any kind, which touched his vanity; and now, on perceiving that everybody was admiring his grandson, whom he had brought himself to consider quite as an alter ego, his delight knew no bounds. He clapped his hands vehemently in applause, but was speedily stopped short in this exercise by the priest, who of all the persons present was very decidedly the one most capable of forming a correct judgment of what he heard. “Where has your grandson been educated, Mr. Mathews?” said he, when the song was concluded.

  “He was educated in Barbadoes, Sir,” was the reply.

  Mr. Cuthbridge elevated his eyebrows, upon receiving this answer, but said nothing.

  Of course the consequence of such a performance was an earnest petition for another song. But Stephen was capricious, and not even Sir Charles’ half-authoritative, half-coaxing address of, —

  “Come, come, my dear fellow, you must give us another,” appeared to have the slightest effect upon him; for he suddenly left the instrument, and darting into the hall returned thence with a great coat, a gentleman’s hat, and a walking-stick. By some means, not very easily described to the uninitiated, he so arranged the hat and great coat on the stick, and then contrived to manœuvre the fabric thus constructed by raising it above his own lofty head, as to give himself the appearance of a perfectly gigantic stature.

  This of itself was enough to elicit the most vehement shouts of applause from Miss Steyton; but when in addition to this, he began walking round the walls of the room, as if to examine accurately the pictures suspended there, and by the skilful raising and sinking of the hat and coat, produced the ridiculously exaggerated effect of an anxious connoisseur, first standing on tip-toe, and then sinking almost on his knees, for the purpose of accurate examination, her raptures knew no bounds. She clapped her hands, and cried bravo till she was hoarse, and after following him round the room in this style till her strength seemed exhausted, she sank into an arm-chair, exclaiming, —

  “Decidedly, Mr. Stephen, you are the most amusing animal I ever came near in my life, but if you go on in that style, you will certainly kill me.”

  “May the round world perish with you then!” he cried, dropping on one knee before her, in a comic, yet not quite ungraceful attitude; “but wait, oh! wait a while, ere you expire; and let the wretch, whose hope is to die with you, soothe your last moments and his own with a swan-like dirge.”

  And so saying he again bounded away to the pianoforte, and in a wonderfully skilful falsetto voice performed a magnificent Italian bravura which kept his hearers strangely suspended between admiration and laughter, for the performance was an admirable caricature, — admirable in every way, — of operatic singing.

  The carriages were now announced. The rubber was brought to a conclusion, and the party broke up, but not before the handsome and amusing Cornington had received very cordial invitations from Sir Charles, Mr. Steyton, and Mr. Price, all the gentlemen declaring a very flattering conviction that he would be a “monstrous acquisition.”

  CHAPTER XXXI.

  MANY neighbourly dinner-parties followed this, in tolerably quick succession, with some slight variations as to the guests; the Price family sometimes giving place to some others. But in no case was the brilliant Stephen Cornington omitted; and Mrs. Mathews had to endure the rather disagreeable, and very unexpected sensation, of growing more than heretofore in fashion in the neighbourhood that had known her so long, in consequence of Mr. Mathews’ illegitimate son having left an heir.

  “And is it possible,” thought she, “that my sweet Janet actually counts for nothing in all this, while this blazing holyhock is made the centre of all eyes, and the welcomed of all lips?”

  Yes, so it was; or at least very nearly so. For who is there, that when giving a party, would not welcome more cordially a young man, whose approach brightened every eye, and whose imagination in the invention of new and amusing vagaries seemed absolutely inexhaustible, than a quiet little girl, whose beauty, great as it was, rarely elicited unqualified admiration? For it was a very common saying at that time in the Weldon neighbourhood, that Miss Anderson would be very pretty if she were a little more animated, and certainly there was some truth in this. But how could any one appear animated in the presence of Emily Steyton? Or how could any intellect of any kind, or any manners of any mould, find popular favour when brought into competition with the romping fall-blown loveliness and bold vivacity of the affianced heiress?

  Nevertheless, while Emily was the unrivalled belle, and Stephen the unrivalled man of genius, of every drawing-room, there was a little under-current of different feelings going on in scenes less gay and hours less jovial, which, in a quiet way, was producing considerable effect.

  Lady Otterborne did n
ot abandon her project of having Janet often with her; nay, it sometimes happened that she was domesticated at the Manor-house for several days together. But although the increased intimacy which this sort of intercourse led to between the two families was of the most cordial and genuine kind, it was hardly possible that any people meeting so frequently, and with so much friendly and familiar unreserve, could understand less of each others hopes and wishes.

  Mrs. Mathews, great as was her admiration of Lady Otterborne, and justly as she appreciated her noble character, would not so joyfully and so fearlessly have entrusted her Janet to her, had so attractive and every way admirable a son been in the way, unengaged, But as it was, Mrs. Mathews was no more afraid of Janet’s falling in love with Herbert than with his father.

  On the other hand, there was nothing which would have pleased Lady Otterborne better, than that her son and Janet should mutually fall in love; for another of the many delusions which were afloat among these dear and intimate friends, was that Janet was a young lady of large fortune; a fallacy which Mrs. Mathews could never tax herself with having asserted, but to which she had most assuredly given birth, by her rather frequent allusions, when Janet was not within hearing, to her trustees in India. Neither was it possible that Lady Otterborne could have any reasonable fear, that by separating her son from the beautiful girl to whom he had so very suddenly appeared to attach himself, she ran any risk of injuring the peace of the young lady; for it was quite impossible not to perceive that if the unfortunate Herbert was not at his post by her side, his remissness seemed perfectly forgotten, as long as Mr. Stephen Cornington was there to take his place.

  Another important delusion arose from the constant and successful care taken both by father and son to prevent any information respecting the real state of Sir Charles’ affairs from reaching Lady Otterborne.

  Had she known that the last five hundred of her thirty thousand pounds had been drawn out, she might not have looked on, perhaps, with so happy a spirit as she watched the daily increasing symptoms of the fair Emily’s admiration of the stalwart and accomplished Cornington.

  Nor were the real feelings of this young man himself less understood, or more falsely reasoned upon, than those of his new friends. For Janet he had positively conceived a very strong aversion. He had never forgiven her for not availing herself of his delicate subterfuge in order to conceal her early tête-à-tête walk with him; nor had anything which had passed between them since, at all tended to lessen his dislike. Nevertheless, though he did not very often speak to her, he never failed to speak of her with the most enthusiastic admiration. Had not Mr. Mathews felt implicit confidence in the careful management of Miss Anderson’s Indian trustees, he might now and then have felt rather anxious when he heard the object of all his hopes declare that he thought Miss Janet Anderson the loveliest girl he had ever seen in his life. But though this statement was always made in the presence of Mrs. Mathews, it never deluded her for a moment. It seemed as if she were endowed with a sort of instinct concerning all things connected with Stephen Cornington, and this instinct assured her most positively that Stephen hated Janet.

  But admiration for Janet Anderson was not the only feeling which the young man thought it advisable to counterfeit. Whether in love with her or not it matters little, but Stephen had reasons of his own for wishing it to be believed that he was not in love with Emily Steyton, and it was believed.

  And for other reasons of his own he also wished it to be believed that he was in love, or at least that he was very likely to be in love with Miss Louisa Price, and this, too, was believed. And then, again, Mr. William Price was really, and truly, and very desperately in love with the beautiful Emily; but he would rather have let anybody cut off his right hand, poor young gentleman, than have had it supposed for a moment that he could be guilty of such presumption.

  Miss Emily Steyton, indeed! with eighty thousand pounds down, and more, ever so much more, afterwards! And she engaged to be married to Mr. Herbert Otterborne! No! He would rather, a great deal, run off, and leave the country altogether, than be guilty of such presumption!” And yet, poor young man, he really was very heartily in love, despite all the reasons he could bring to prove that such a thing was absolutely impossible.

  But notwithstanding this accumulation of blunders, delusions, and mistakes, the little neighbourhood went on through all the bright summer months increasing in gaiety, hospitality, and social intercourse of all kinds.

  When young people arrive in a new neighbourhood, where they are fortunate enough to become favourites, one invariable symptom of petting them is by arranging pic-nic parties for the sake of showing them whatever may be most worth seeing within the reach of a short excursion; and of making themselves all particularly gay and happy at the same time.

  Several of these agreeable excursions had this year taken place at Weldon. Sometimes a favourite hay-field, half-a-dozen miles off, had appeared a sufficient attraction. Sometimes a shady nook beside a limpid trout-stream; and as the pic-nic passion raged strongly, and that the season was particularly favourable, the deep shade of a picturesque copse, provided it were sufficiently distant to require an hour or two of riding or driving to reach it, had been thought exceedingly well suited for the purpose.

  Hertfordshire, though a very agreeable county, does not abound in what is called romantic scenery, and it was for this reason, perhaps, that the felicity-hunting inhabitants were so easily contented.

  There was, however, one spot that had enough of beauty and of interest attached to it, to satisfy the most fastidious: but it was nine miles from Weldon, and it was therefore never resorted to above once in the season, and not even that, unless the weather was considered to be particularly favourable and trustworthy, for the distance was too great to make a scramble home, in a sudden shower, an agreeable adventure.

  Knightly Abbey, however, notwithstanding its somewhat dangerous distance, was decided upon by our Weldon friends for their next pic-nic, and the day was to be that of the August full moon.

  Several trifling circumstances had occurred since the Weldon Grange dinner-party, and more than one feeling, not trifling, had arisen among the parties present at it, which might have tended very essentially to alter their positions in relation to each other, had not something that seemed to be the iron hand of necessity, kept things pretty nearly in the same state as they were then.

  For instance — Lady Otterborne’s somewhat imprudent experiment upon the constancy of her son might have produced some very serious results before the month of August, had not the said iron hand of necessity prevented it. For, as her ladyship had very sagaciously imagined would be the case, the quiet loveliness of the very highly intelligent, but very gentle Janet, had produced exactly the effect she had foreseen; that is to say, her son had become as fully convinced as she could possibly be herself, that Emily Steyton was precisely of that “order of fine women” which his judgment the most heartily condemned, and from which his taste the most sincerely revolted — and also that Janet Anderson was most accurately and precisely the reverse.

  And what had the devoted mother gained by her successful manoeuvring? But did the feelings thus roused tend in the very least degree to release Herbert either from his engagement, or the direful necessity for it? No. At the end of this three months’ struggle between hourly increasing love and hourly increasing dislike, Herbert Otterborne continued as steadily determined to marry Emily Steyton as before it began.

  Yet the unfortunate young man had not even the dignified and consoling consciousness of persisting in a purpose which ensured his own misery, solely from an honourable adherence to his pledged word; for the stringent necessity of the measure, as the only means of saving his mother from scenes which he firmly believed might rob him of her, was, undeniably, the real source of his constancy to a purpose which he perfectly well knew must make him wretched for life.

  Whether Sir Charles so arranged matters as purposely to bring the danger which threatened his own free
dom, as well as that of his household furniture, before the eyes and comprehension of his unhappy son, or whether accident did it for him, may be doubtful; but certain it is, that few days passed over him without bringing some proof that the only way to save his mother was by the resolute sacrifice of himself.

  And thus it was, that despite many very new and very powerful feelings, things still remained in statu quo.

  As to Janet, the idea of falling in love with Herbert Otterborne had never entered her head for a single moment.

  With his mother she certainly was very much in love. Young as she was, her observation and her judgment were sufficiently developed for her to be quite aware that Lady Otterborne treated her with a degree of flattering notice and consideration which she bestowed on no one else; and there was a feminine charm in her companionship which made her frequent visits at the Manor-house the most enjoyable part of her existence.

  She loved Mrs. Mathews with all her heart and soul; she loved her really and truly, as if she had been her mother; but in the beautiful, graceful, youthful-looking Lady Otterborne, she had a companion with whom she conversed as with an elder sister. This had all the charm of novelty, as well as every other, to enchant her; for she had never had a sister, and might almost be said never to have had a friend, save her own father.

  The conversing with Mrs. Mathews was, as she often thought, very like conversing with him; and dearly did she accordingly value it.

  But her intimacy with Lady Otterborne was altogether different. There was more of sentiment, more of imagination, more of poetry in it. It was a very dangerous and very doubtful device on the part of Lady Otterborne which had led to this; but if it had not succeeded in breaking off her son’s engagement with Miss Steyton, it had most assuredly added very greatly to her own happiness in another way; and yet the more she became attached to her young companion, the more eager became her wish that her now apparently unpromising project might succeed.