Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  The evening was as mild as a January evening could well be, but nevertheless she fancied that she should like the path in the kitchen-garden, which was sheltered by the east side of the house, to her usual favourite walk round the lawn. Having reached this sheltered path, she began to meditate on the strange position in which she found herself.

  “If any living woman could have been justified in thinking herself safe from adventures I might have been so, one short, year ago,-’ thought she, mournfully enough, “yet what is my condition now? I am frightened, I scarcely know why; yet frightened I most certainly am, and so is poor Janet too; and the vagueness of our fears, though it ought to suggest the probability that they are unfounded, only renders our condition more painful! — And my poor silly husband, too! I feel sure that he is under the same influence, though he affects, poor soul, to look so particularly light-hearted and gay. “Who is this monster-man that has come down upon us? — and why should that usually audacious boy appear so greatly cowed by his presence?”

  Addle asking herself these unanswerable questions, Mrs. Mathews passed more than once under the window of Stephen Cornington’s room.

  When she first passed, she forgot her vicinity to it; but when she passed again, she trod lightly, — for Sally Spicer had told her, upon her return from the Manor-house, that Mr. Stephen and his strange companion had been shut up together in that room all the morning. But when she passed the third time no such precaution seemed necessary, for the deep-toned voice of the stranger was suddenly raised to so passionate a key as to render it pretty nearly impossible that any sound from without could have arrested the attention of those within the room.

  And again, poor lady, she felt the painful influence of fear, though still without any rational reason for supposing that clanger threatened her. It was tolerably certain, indeed, that her husband’s usually audacious grandson was at that moment under the discipline of angry language from his companion, but there was nothing in this likely to affect her nerves very painfully; yet still the sounds frightened her, and, though with no intention whatever of listening, she stood as immovably still beneath the window as if the rough tones had fascination in them, and kept her chained there.

  She could not, however, distinguish a single word; if she could have done so, she would have certainly moved on, for it would have required that a much more positive danger should threaten her before she would have been tempted to play the part of eavesdropper.

  But at length, however, having stood trembling within reach of these angry but inarticulate sounds for some minutes, she distinctly heard the words, “Stephen, it must he done!” for they were pronounced not only in a loud key, but slowly and distinctly.

  And then she very literally “started like a guilty thing,” and walked off; but not so swiftly, however, as to escape hearing the cautious opening of the window under which she had been standing.

  Her hasty and incautious step in retreating had undoubtedly been heard, and her figure had as undoubtedly been recognised; for though the twilight had faded into darkness, there was a bright crescent high in the heavens which gave quite sufficient light for this purpose.

  Poor Mrs. Mathews was exceedingly annoyed by this. In the first place she greatly disliked the imputation which must evidently rest upon her, of creeping about the house in the darkness of night for the purpose of listening to the conversation of her guests, which it was particularly evident, from the scene they had chosen, it was not intended for her to hear.

  And moreover the words she had thus unintentionally heard, as well as the tone in which they were spoken, conveyed the idea of a threat too distinctly for her, in the present excited state of her imagination, to listen to them without alarm.

  She was, however, very considerably comforted by remembering that Mr. Cuthbridge was to dine with her. And had it been otherwise, she would have been tempted to commit the further imprudence of absenting herself from table; for she could not conceal from her own heart the disagreeable fact that the sort of steady passive courage which had hitherto seemed to make a very essential part of her character, had utterly forsaken her now; and had Janet been with her at that moment, she would have shown herself by far the greater heroine of the two.

  The poor lady had by this time had quite walking enough in the cool moonshine, and she re-entered the house with as little delay as possible, but feeling much less like its mistress than like a culprit, who might be turned out again at very short notice, if it pleased her guests so to dispose of her.

  But it was not the unexpected arrival, or the strange appearance, or the uncouth manners of Mr. William White which could so suddenly have subdued her courage, had not the previous conduct of Stephen Cornington prepared the way for this alarm.

  Prom the time of her father’s death, the young man had so completely assumed the tone of a master, and her poor husband so completely that of a subdued and brow-beaten old man, that this sudden appearance on the scene of such an individual as Mr William White, in the character of Mr. Stephen Cornington’s particular friend, might reasonably have alarmed any one who had no stouter protectors than Sally Spicer, Janet Anderson, and poor old pale-looking Mr. Mathews himself.

  But now, though greatly annoyed, she remembered with exceeding satisfaction that Mr. Cuthbridge was waiting for her in the “Den;” and notwithstanding his tonsure and cassock, there was perhaps no man of her acquaintance that she would have accepted as her champion in his place.

  As she entered the house, she met the footman in the act of carrying the soup into the dining-room, and she lost not a moment in mounting to her “Den,” giving the expected signal, and hastening down-stairs again to the dressing-room, accompanied by the priest.

  The only person they found in the room was Mr. Mathews; and never in his life had he evinced so much satisfaction at the sight of this reverend gentleman. Mrs. Mathews had felt considerable doubts as to his being cordially welcomed. She had fancied that her husband might have felt painfully ashamed of the appearance and manners of the ruffian-like giant who was his guest, when presenting him to a person so highly distinguished for his polished demeanour as was the learned ecclesiastic; but nothing could be less like this than was now the expression of his countenance. It was impossible to mistake the feeling with which he now welcomed the librarian of Proctor Castle. It was joyous, it was thankful, it was the manner of a man relieved from great anxiety: yet after this first emotion had been felt and enjoyed, some less agreeable sensations evidently succeeded to it. For then he looked anxiously in the face of his wife, as if to consult with her how to proceed.

  Greatly comforted, however, on her side, by perceiving that the presence of a gentleman and a friend was welcome to her husband, she answered his appealing look by saying, “I know that dinner is ready, Mr. Mathews, because I saw the soup carried in. You had better send to Mr. Stephen’s room, I think, and let the gentlemen know that we are waiting for them.”

  This proposal was immediately acted upon; and a servant was sent up-stairs, who performed his errand by stoutly thumping at Stephen’s door, and pronouncing aloud the words, “Dinner’s ready!”

  There was no civility in the accent, or the manner of the summons, which was only a small testimony to the unquestionable fact, that no class is more speedily and more vehemently disgusted by the marked absence of gentle bearing in any who assume the rank of gentlemen than the hirelings who wait upon them. It should seem as if the aversion to such was altogether instinctive, and dictated by some compulsive law of nature.

  No spoken answer was heard to this summons; but after the interval of a minute or two, the heavy tread of the stranger was heard upon the stairs, — and he presently entered the drawing-room, followed by Stephen.

  The room was not well lighted, one solitary lamp having been placed upon the centre table; and at first catching sight of a masculine addition to the party, Mr. William White very perceptibly started.

  Mr. Mathews made no movement demonstrative of any intention of intro
ducing the strangers to each other; but Stephen instantly took the office upon himself, — and after bowing with an air of the most profound deference to the priest, pronounced the name of “Mr. William White,” adding, “He is a dear friend of mine, reverend father.”

  But not even this conciliatory appellation of “reverend father” produced any very cordial salutation in return on the part of the priest: he stiffly, and in the least possible degree, inclined his head in recognition of Stephen, but without appearing to have been aware that the stranger had been presented to him.

  The party sat down in very perfect silence, Mrs. Mathews indicating to Mr. Cuthbridge, by a slight movement of her hand, that he was to place himself beside her on the right, which he did; upon which, Mr. William White seated himself on the same side of the table, and Stephen opposite to him. Whereupon Mr. Cuthbridge, observing that he wished to avoid the fire, got up, and placed himself on the left of Mrs. Mathews, by which manoeuvre he was opposite to Mr. William White, which was where he intended to be.

  That bulky individual was obviously not quite at his ease; for though Mr. Mathews made sundry small attempts at conversation with him, his reply rarely exceeded a monosyllable. As to Stephen, he spoke not a word to anyone; and the man who waited told Sally Spicer that he did not know what win come over “the grandson — which was the appellation constantly host owed upon him in the kitchen — for that he was turning sometimes red, and sometimes pale like a girl; that ho spoke not a word, and hardly oat a morsel.

  Mrs, Mathews and the priest, meanwhile, continued to converse a little, but by no means after their usual fashion; for nothing’ could be much more unmeaning than the little speeches they made to each other.

  Mr. Cuthbridge, however, eat a very good dinner, — but he was the only one of the party who did; for Mr. Mathews, instead of eating, looked very much like a man in a dream, who had the disagreeable habit of sleeping with his eyes open. That he was ill at ease, however, was made evident by an occasional deep sigh: this was breathed at pretty regular intervals, and seemed to be the result of the cogitations which had occupied him while the said intervals lasted.

  It was not likely that a party so constituted should sit unnecessarily long at table; and Mrs Mathews rose very soon after the cloth was removed, saying to the priest, as she did so, “You shall find coffee ready for you, Mr Cuthbridge, whenever you like to join me in the drawing-room.”

  CHAPTER LIX.

  THIS invitation was very soon accepted by the individual to whom it was specially addressed; but the other gentlemen did not follow her immediately. The port-wine of Mr. Mathews was very good port-wine; and it is probable that Mr. William White thought that it was likely to do him good.

  Mrs. Mathews and her father confessor, as she often called the friendly ecclesiastic, were therefore left at perfect liberty to discuss the very singular situation of the household. She began by describing to him her adventure in the garden, and he made her repeat the words she had hoard, desiring her, as nearly as possible to describe the tone and accent with which they were spoken.

  “Stephen, it must he done!” — though uttered very slowly, and even very solemnly, might certainly be addressed to the young man by an old friend, without justifying any suspicion that the parties between whom they passed were laying a plot to rob the house, or murder the inhabitants.

  “Besides,” observed Mr. Cuthbridge, very reasonably, “even presuming that this very vulgar individual were the most accomplished rogue in existence, he would scarcely choose to make the home of his young, and evidently very intimate friend, the scene of his nefarious operations; nor is it at all likely that Stephen would risk leaving his present home, and the valuable inheritance of his devoted grandfather, in order to accommodate his old acquaintance by assisting him in such a scheme.”

  “True, O priest!” returned Mrs. Mathews, with renovated courage, “ nor have I ever been, I think, so very wild in my speculations, as to imagine such an adventure probable. My alarm has arisen, I believe, solely from the strangeness of the circumstances by which we are surrounded. If this Mr. White had been somewhat less unlike the people we are accustomed to associate with, this effect would not have been produced, and I should not now be gravely asking your opinion as to the propriety of sleeping to-night in my own house, or of running away and sleeping somewhere else. But there is something so startling in the brutal roughness of his appearance, and the vulgarity of his intonation and manner, that I have perhaps mistaken astonishment for terror, and it may be that I was only bewildered when I fancied that I was frightened.”

  “Likely enough, my good friend,” replied Mr. Cuthbridge; “and now let us talk a little reasonably. While you have been amusing your poetical imagination by sketching a fine scene of murder and robbery, I have been meditating on the very miserable prospect that seems opening before you and your dear little Janet, from the unlimited freedom with which Mr. Mathews’ illegitimate progeny can invite such guests as the present to your house; and the result of my visit to you to-day, is a strong conviction that this house is no longer a fitting home for either of you. It is not that I think you in the least danger of being murdered; Mr. Mathews’ adored grandson is a vast deal too well off in his grandpapa’s house, to render his joining in such a plot at all probable. It is infinitely more likely that the words you heard referred to the introducing some nearly related ladies to your acquaintance. But let it mean what it will, the obvious fact is, that laws promulgated by Mr.

  William White, and brought into execution by Mr. Stephen Cornington, are not laws to which you ought to be subjected, Depend upon it, I should not give you such advice lightly, but my decided opinion is, that you must leave Mr. Mathews and his progeny. Your happily independent live hundred a year will enable you to do this; and so important do I think this advantage now, that I am almost reconciled to the preposterous terms you gave to obtain it.”

  Mrs. Mathews listened to all this with the deepest attention and it would have been difficult to find any theme more likely? to calm the agitation of her spirits.

  “Your eloquence is irresistible,” she replied; “I will no longer be afraid of murder by night, or MRS. GRUNDY by day Let people abuse me if they will, I must bear it, — and it will be easier to bear that than the society of — —”

  But here a movement was heard at the dining-room door and in the next moment Mr. Mathews, his grandson, and his grandson’s guest entered the drawing-room.

  Scarcely had the party seated themselves, when a loud ringing was heard at the door of the house, — whereupon Mr William White was very near letting his coffee-cup fall to the ground.

  “Surely the carriage cannot have returned with Janet already?” said Mrs. Mathews, addressing the priest.

  “Certainly not,” he replied, ‘“for I heard it drive from the stable-yard about ten minutes ago.”

  But in the next moment all conjecture was ended, by Sir Herbert Otterborne entering the room.

  “Where is Janet! — Nothing is the matter, is there?” said Mrs. Mathews, looking terrified.

  But the smiling countenance of her visitor reassured her even before he could reply.

  “Janet!” he exclaimed; “you don’t suppose that I trot about the country by moonlight with Janet, do you? No! I have done nothing that should prevent your indulging me with a cup of your excellent coffee. The fact is, that Janet, and my mother, and Dame Morris too, I believe, had got deeply engaged in a discussion upon the best mode of setting flies and moths, and such small deer, at defiance; and as the moon was shining gloriously through the window, I thought I would leave them at peace, and come and torment you a little.”

  Having said this with an air of very playful gaiety, he shook hands with Mr. Mathews and the priest, bowed slightly to Stephen, and sat down without appearing to have seen Mr. William White at all.

  Nevertheless, Mr. Cuthbridge very soon perceived that it was not his young friend’s intention to leave the room without seeing him; for preserving his air of
gay vivacity, he seated himself upon a footstool, for the purpose, as he said, of comparing Janet’s worsted-work, which was stretched upon a large frame, with that of his mother, who had been declaring that she got on a great deal more rapidly with hers.

  With this footstool, which he continued to push about with great facility, he contrived so to place himself as to obtain a very distinct view of the features of the stranger, without its being very easy for this mysterious personage to perceive that he was looking at him at all.

  This lasted for a minute or two; and then Sir Herbert sprung up, received his cup of coffee standing, and addressed two or three neighbourly bits of gossip to poor Mr. Mathews, who, though looking kindly at him, as if comforted by seeing him there, seemed too nervous to’ understand very clearly what he said, or to be at all able to answer him.

  Mrs. Mathews and Mr. Cuthbridge meanwhile continued to converse about nothing; while, with every appearance of suffering from the awkwardness of their position, Mr. William White and his friend Stephen did not converse at all.

  Had Stephen Cornington’s recent conduct to Mrs. Mathews been a little less pronounced in the insolence of its tone, a feeling of common civility would have led her to address some trifling word either to him or his friend; but the terms they had been upon since the death of her father had gradually led to such a degree of estrangement as to make it no easy matter for her now to speak to him at all.

  But this very disagreeable state of things did not continue long; for the welcome sound of the carriage-wheels upon the gravel, announcing the return of Miss Anderson, seemed to bring some species of relief to everybody.

  She cast rather an anxious glance towards her adopted mother as she entered; but on seeing Mr. Cuthbridge near her, she looked perfectly satisfied, — and her next emotion was that of astonishment at seeing Sir Herbert arise from his lowly seat upon the footstool, and stand before her.