Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  About three minutes before this inspiring idea suggested itself, Mrs. Mathews was in a state of such very severe mental suffering that, had it been in her nature to faint from painful emotion, she must have fainted then.

  Happily, she did not faint, however; but, instead of it, became, as I have said, a radiant personification of felicity.

  The profoundly sad condition which had preceded this, was occasioned by the recollection of her own miserable settlement. She knew, indeed, that her Janet had no natural claim upon her; and that, as she had never given the least hint that she had any intention of leaving her property to her, it would be probably supposed that, having no children, her estate was to go to some male relative.

  Every one knew that Mr. King’s property was in land; and therefore as she often consoled herself by thinking, every one would thus interpret her having nothing to leave.

  But now this terrible settlement suddenly appeared to her to be one of the very best and most fortunate that had ever been devised. Had she permitted herself to be ruled by her poor dear father, she would now, certainly, have been in a position that would have enabled her to bequeath about two thousand a year to the daughter of John Anderson; but, in that case, the bequest would not, in all human probability, have come to her till long after the hoped-for redemption of Sir Herbert Otterborne’s property had been accomplished; but now! —

  She could scarcely believe in the reality of her own happiness; but neither could she very easily forgive herself for not having remembered it before. Now she might immediately make over to her the five hundred a year which her very imprudent settlement had put in her power.

  “Would five hundred a year render it possible for them to marry immediately, Lady, Otterborne?” said Mrs. Mathews, abruptly, and fixing her eyes eagerly on those of her companion.

  “But where is five hundred a year to come from?” replied the anxious mother, looking a little vexed at the seeming futility of the inquiry.

  “I know perfectly well where it would come from,” replied Mrs. Mathews, “provided you and Herbert think it would be enough to justify an immediate marriage. You have not answered that question, dear lady!”

  “The question has taken me so completely by surprise,” was the reply, “that I really do not know how I ought to answer it. But, as far as I am able to judge, I own it appears to me that it might obviate all difficulties; that is, provided our young couple would be contented for a year or two to live rather quietly.”

  “I am sure I can answer for Janet,” returned the happy Mrs. Mathews.

  “And I certainly think I can answer for Herbert,” rejoined Lady Otterborne, with a delighted smile; for she felt, notwithstanding the mystery which hung upon the proposal, that there must be hope in it, or else that her friend had unequivocally lost her senses.

  “Now, then, I will leave you, my dear friend,” said Mrs. Mathews; “and will leave the question as to the adequate amount of the supplies to be settled by you and Herbert. If you both agree that they may venture to marry upon it, there is no reason whatever why preparations should not begin tomorrow.”

  “The idea is very delightful, but so startling that I feel as if I were dreaming!” said Lady Otterborne.

  “No! — it is I who have been dreaming! But, thank Heaven, I am awake at last; and not too late either! Herbert shall not look fifty years old upon his wedding-day!”

  And, having said this, Mrs. Mathews disappeared; and certainly enjoyed the happiest walk through the park that had ever fallen to her lot, even though she had more than once traversed it with John Anderson.

  CHAPTER LII.

  It will be easily believed that no very long time was permitted to elapse, after Herbert’s return from Hertford, before his mother had made him acquainted with the foregoing conversation; nor will it be more difficult to believe that his happiness very greatly exceeded his power of expressing it; nor was it for a full hour after he had heard it, that his heart left his head sufficiently at leisure to feel puzzled as to the source from whence this blessed five hundred a year was to come.

  But on this point his mother could give him no satisfaction; she thought about it, however, a good deal, and at length she suggested that it probably would come from the Indian trustees, who had been appointed by Mr. Anderson to look after the affairs of his daughter.

  “It may be so, mother,” replied Sir Herbert; “but in that case it appears to me doubtful whether our dear Mrs. Mathews can be quite certain that these said trustees will approve of the match for her. They must be made to understand the state of the case exactly Neither you nor I, mother, should choose to receive their five hundred a year without their being made acquainted with everything about us. — But alas! alas! — what then becomes of the immediate marriage which you say the dear soul talked about?”

  “I know nothing, — I can guess nothing!” replied his mother. “But of one thing you may be assured, and that is, that you may safely trust Mrs. Mathews.”

  “Ho not think I doubt her!” cried Herbert eagerly. “I have known her longer than you have done; and I would trust her, mother, as I would trust you.”

  Just as they arrived at this point of the dialogue, a note from the Grange was put into the hands of Lady Otterborne. It only contained these words: “I must know Sir Herbert’s answer before I sleep. My dear father complains of gouty symptoms, and has ordered water-gruel and the warming-pan to be ready for him at eight o’clock; so I have ordered the carriage to be ready for me, and, unless you say no! Janet and I will take our tea with you, instead of at home.

  “Ever yours, Mary Mathews.”

  “N.B. Do not say anything to Janet about the five hundred a year, for there is nothing in the world that makes her so melancholy, poor dear, as talking to her about business.”

  The value of this postscript was quite in accordance to the value usually assigned to that portion of feminine correspondence, which is as much as to say, that it contained the matter of principal importance in the dispatch. And so it did; — for Janet herself was the only human being except the parties themselves, and their lawyers, who knew anything about this remarkable settlement; and to her Mrs. Mathews had related the whole transaction, — both for the sake of making her understand, poor child, that dearly as she was beloved, she could inherit nothing from her at her death, and that during her life the power she possessed over this said five hundred a year was perfectly independent of her husband. And this communication once made, no allusion had ever been made to it afterwards. But it was not likely that Janet had forgotten it; and were she to be questioned on the subject, her simple statement of the case might, as Mrs. Mathews very justly feared, render Sir Herbert somewhat unwilling to accept the terms proposed.

  But, unfortunately for the success of this scheme, this precaution was useless; for Sir Herbert was not in the room when the note was given to his mother; and the most important part of it being the promised coming of these welcome guests, the postscript was utterly forgotten when this very agreeable fact was announced to him.

  Though Sir Herbert had not returned very early, and though the visitors did not arrive very late, there was time enough for Lady Otterborne to communicate to her son all that had passed in the morning.

  That five hundred a year would enable them to marry immediately, without committing any very terrible imprudence, was very decidedly the opinion of both; and the only doubt about it that remained with either of them was respecting the fund from which this income was to be derived.

  But it was so thoroughly the opinion of Lady Otterborne that Mrs. Mathews alone could be the judge as to the propriety of making this liberal allowance to her young ward, that it would be impossible, in her judgment, to challenge the propriety of it without betraying a greater propensity to doubt her discretion than it would be reasonable to feel, or to express.

  Sir Herbert nodded his assent.

  Could he do otherwise, when at that moment the door opened, and Mrs. Mathews and Janet entered?

&nb
sp; “Well, does he think they could live?” said Mrs. Mathews, in a whisper, as Lady Otterborne took her hand to welcome her.

  A smile, a nod in the affirmative, and an affectionate pressure of her mysterious neighbour’s hand was the answer; and it seemed to be perfectly satisfactory, — for never was a happier creature seen than Mrs. Mathews at that moment.

  The tea-table, which the maid-of-all-work had laid out with as much care as if it had been a banquet prepared for half the county, appeared to the four happy creatures who sat round it as the only spot on earth where real happiness could be found. But when this lounging, lingering, and most sociable repast was over, Herbert made Janet regale him with one of her genuine Scotch songs, which, though she had never seen the land of cakes, she sang as only a Scotch lassie could sing it. And while she sang, and he listened, the two maternal ladies continued to converse together in whispers on the sofa: but even this very distinct aside did not appear to satisfy their longing for private consultation; for after a short time Lady Otterborne rose, and lighting a side candle, led off Mrs. Mathews into her bed-room.

  The Scotch songs did not go on much longer, for Herbert, too, had many things that he wished to say confidentially to his companion.

  All that Janet knew concerning the delightful change which had taken place in the aspect of their affairs was, that for some reason or other, it had been decided in privy-council, that it would not be necessary to wait quite seven years before they were married.

  But Herbert knew considerably more than this; for he knew that the funds which were to render this possible were to be furnished by Mrs. Mathews, and this puzzled him.

  Had he been told that at the death of her adopted mother his Janet was to inherit her property, or a part of her property, he would not have thought it at all extraordinary, for it was well known that there was no entail on her estate; but how this contingent inheritance was to enable them to marry now, he could not comprehend.

  If Lady Otterborne had not led Mrs. Mathews out of the room, the curiosity of her son on this subject would probably have remained dormant till he had found himself tête-à-tête with her; but the present opportunity was too tempting to be resisted, and having heard nothing of Mrs. Mathews’ postscript, desiring that Janet might not be troubled on the subject, he said to her, without the slightest idea that he was committing any indiscretion, —

  “Do tell me, dearest, all you know about this most delightful change in the schedule of our ways and means. Who has discovered the possibility of it now? And, why was it never discovered before?”

  Instead of answering this question, Janet very eagerly addressed another to him, —

  “Is it possible, Herbert,” said she, “that you are also ignorant of the why and the how in this matter? There is, indeed, nothing very extraordinary in my knowing nothing about it, for my mother Mathews told me long ago that I never should hear anything about my own money-concerns till everything was settled on the subject at Madras; and she begged me so earnestly not to trouble her with any questions on the subject, that I have most scrupulously obeyed her injunctions, and avoided it altogether.”

  “And really and seriously, my Janet, you know nothing about this five hundred a year, nor where it is to come from?” demanded Herbert, gravely.

  “What is it? How much did you say, Sir Herbert? Did you say five hundred a year?”

  Yes, dear love! — that is the sum which she says shall be paid to us till my estates are sufficiently cleared to enable us to do without it.”

  “Five hundred a year? Oh, yes! I do know a great deal, Herbert, about five hundred a year!” replied Janet, bursting into tears. “And it is so like her! Oh, yes, Herbert, I understand it all now!”

  And in as short a time as it was possible to tell the story, she made him understand it all, too; and no more doubt was left on his mind than on Janet’s, that the five hundred pounds thus offered to him was the independent Nome which she had so rashly given the reversion of her property to obtain.

  “You are right, Janet. It is, indeed, very like her,” said the young man, sighing profoundly; “but it would not be like us, would it, Janet, to accept it? Am I not an unlucky wretch t Look at this ingenious spite in my destiny? Janet is offered to me! — but precisely at the only price which I could refuse to pay!”

  “Let us seek her at once!” said Janet, eagerly. “Let us not suppose for a moment, my dearest friend, that we would consent to purchase our own happiness at the expense of hers. Oh, Herbert, she is as generous as the day; and you can hardly guess the enjoyment she seems to find in spending this independent income for the gratification of her affection, her taste, and her charity! And shall we dry up the source of all this enjoyment F No! not even to be your wife would I do it!”

  “Would you desire better sympathy?” replied poor Herbert, with a melancholy smile. “At any rate there is comfort in that, Janet. Yes, dearest! we will go to her at once, and make her very angry, dear soul! by letting her know that we have found her out.”

  And they did go, and they not only made her very angry, but they very nearly broke her heart. Never was disappointment more unexpected or more overwhelming-. It seemed to gall her to the quick that she could not make them understand the impossibility of her spending the money in any way that would produce for her so much heartfelt happiness.

  “But we do, — we do understand it!” said Janet, with her arms round her neck, endeavouring to pacify her by caresses.

  “You do understand it, and yet you refuse me!” cried poor Mrs. Mathews, lifting her streaming eyes to heaven in witness of their cruelty.

  “One moment’s consideration, my dear, dear friend, would set everything right between us!” cried Sir Herbert, earnestly. “Janet is right when she says we understand you. But am I wrong when I say that you do not understand us? Bethink you for a moment, dear old friend. Be as reasonable as you were wont to be when we used to discuss all things in heaven and earth together, in the ‘Den.’ Let us be logical. You would do all this to make us happy, because you love us. But if the doing this would make us unhappy, the doing it would not be a proof of love. It would soon kill you, Mrs. Mathews, if this matter were to be arranged in your own way; you would die from watching the misery you had brought upon us! Why, I doubt whether my poor mother, my Janet, or myself, would ever be heard to laugh again. Would you wish me to do anything that, when it was done, you would pull down mountains to cover me rather than let Mr. Stephen Cornington know that I had done it? Would you—”

  “Cease, Sir Herbert, cease!” cried the now conquered Mrs. Mathews, covering her face with both her hands: “you have found an argument there, the strength of which shows nothing perhaps, but my own contemptible nature. You are right, Herbert! I yield, and you have your way. But you cannot give me back my happiness any more than I can promote yours.”

  And the little party who, two short hours before, had seemed ready to defy fate to make them sad or sorrowful, now separated with hearts so heavy, that they might all or either of them have very truly declared, that they felt sadness and sorrow to be their specially allotted portion in this vale of tears.

  CHAPTER LIII.

  POOR Mrs. Mathews found nothing very likely to cheer her on returning to her house; for Sally Spicer greeted her with the painful tidings that her father was restless and feverish, and that the gout “did not seem to be coming out kindly.”

  On going to his room, she found this statement was but too correct; and she therefore determined, after seeing her Janet safely in bed, to pass the night with Sally Spicer, in his chamber.

  At first he seemed hardly conscious of her being there, and she flattered herself that he was dozing; but towards the morning, he appeared either more awake, or at any rate less incapable of conversing, for he now saw her, listened to her, and held her hand, though with a very feeble grasp, as he told her that he was better, and that she must not alarm herself.

  But it is not possible to look at an ailing father of fourscore, especially if
loved as dearly as Mr. King was by his daughter, without feeling alarm; and Mrs. Mathews was alarmed, and not without reason, for when the apothecary arrived, which he did as soon as it was light, he told her that there was certainly gout flying about him, but that there was want of strength to do battle with it.

  The result of this state of things might easily be foreseen; and in the course of three days the kind-hearted gentle old man had breathed his last.

  It mast always be a painful moment to the heart when a parent dies who for so many years has been an object of so much love and care as Mr. King had been to his Mary.

  The blank which follows the cessation of such care has something very sad in it, and Mrs. Mathews wept as bitterly as if she had mourned for one less full of years.

  Janet was now, indeed, a comfort to her. Had Mr. Mathews and his grandson been her only comforters, she would not have been well off, — for it was well-nigh impossible not to perceive that Mr. Stephen Cornington was very fully aware of the fact that it was the late master of the house who was dead and buried, and therefore that there must be, and that there was, another master; and now and then there was evidently something like a doubt upon his mind as to whether this master ought to be himself or his grandfather.

  On this occasion, at least, Janet was quicker in perception than her heavy-hearted friend; for several little attempts at power (by no means unsuccessful either) which had grated against the feelings of Janet, had passed unnoticed by her friend.

  It was scarcely, however, possible, that anything could have increased her dislike to him.

  Her perfect conviction, in which Mr. Cuthbridge entirely agreed, that his atrocious confession on the subject of the ci-devant Emily Steyton was utterly false, had given birth to a feeling of such abhorrence towards him, that it required great command over herself to prevent its being visible to his grandfather, as well as to himself.