The Widow Barnaby Volume Ii Part 6

CHAPTER IV.

A TETE-A-TETE IN A DRAWING-ROOM.--AUTOBIOGRAPHY.--A REMARKABLE DISCOVERY CONCERNING THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.

The voices which alarmed Miss Peters were those of Mrs. Barnaby and Major Allen. The acquaintance between them had gone quite far enough on the preceding evening to justify the gentleman's _aimable empress.e.m.e.nt_ to inquire for the lady's health; besides, he was somewhat curious to know if the pretty, skittish young creature he had encountered in his morning's ride, had recounted the adventure to her aunt. It was his private opinion that she had not; and if so, he should know what to think of the sudden appearance and protecting demeanour of her tall friend. It was thus he reasoned as he walked towards Sion Row as soon as he had finished his breakfast; and yet, though he had lost so little time, he did not arrive till at least three minutes after the widow had begun to expect him.

"I need not ask my charming Mrs. Barnaby how she rested after her ball ... eyes do not sparkle thus, unless they have been blessed with sleep;" ... and the lady's hand was taken, bowed upon, and the tips of her fingers kissed, before she had quite recovered the soft embarra.s.sment his entrance had occasioned.

"You are very kind to call upon me, Major Allen.... Do sit down.... I live as yet comparatively in great retirement; for during Mr. Barnaby's lifetime we saw an immense deal of company,--that old-fashioned sort of country visiting, you know, that never leaves one's house empty.... I could not stand it when I was left alone ... and that was the reason I left my beautiful place."

"Siverton or Silverton Park, was it not?... I think I have heard of it."

"Yes, Silverton.... And do you know, Major, that the remembrance of all that racket and gaiety was so oppressive to my nerves during the first months of my widowhood, that I threw off everything that reminded me of it ... sold my carriages and horses, let my place, turned off all my servants; and positively, when I set off for this place in order to see my sister Peters and her family, I knew not if I should ever have strength or spirits to enter into general society again."

"Thank G.o.d, dearest madam, that you have made the effort!... Though the hardened and war-worn nature of man cannot melt with all the softness of yours, there is yet within us a chord that may be made to vibrate in sympathy when words of true feeling reach it! How well I understood your feelings ... and how difficult it is not to envy, even in death, the being who has left such a remembrance behind!... But we must not dwell on this.... Tell me, dear Mrs. Barnaby, tell,--as to a friend who understands and appreciates you,--do you regret the having left your elegant retirement?... or do you feel, as I trust you do, that Providence has not gifted you so singularly for nothing?... do you feel that your fellow-creatures have a claim upon you, and that it ought not to be in secret and in solitude that the hours of such a being should be spent? Tell me, do you feel this?"

"Alas! Major Allen, there is so much weakness in the heart of a woman, that she is hardly sure for many days together how she ought to feel....

We are all impulse, all soul, all sentiment, ... and our destiny must ever depend upon the friends we meet in our pa.s.sage through this th.o.r.n.y world!"

"Beautiful idea!... Where is the poet that has more sweetly painted the female heart?... And what a study it offers when such a heart is thrown open to one! Good G.o.d! to see a creature so formed for enjoyment,--so beaming with innocent cheerfulness,--so rich in the power of conferring happiness wherever she deigns to smile, ... to see such a being turn weeping and alone from her hospitable halls, and from all the pomp and splendour that others cling to ... what a spectacle! Have you no lingering regret, dearest lady, for having left your charming mansion?"

"Perhaps there are moments ... or rather, I should say, perhaps there have been moments, when something of the kind has crossed me. But if I had not disposed of my place, I should never have seen Clifton.... My spirits wanted the change, and I feel already better in this delightful air. But I confess I do regret having sold my beautiful greys, ... I shall never meet any I like so well again."

"A set, were they?"

"Oh yes."

"Four greys ... and all well matched?"

"Perfectly.... Poor Mr. Barnaby took so much pains about it.... It was his delight to please me.... I ought not to have sold them."

"It was a pity," ... said the kind Major with a sigh.

"Don't talk about it, Major Allen!..." and here one of the widow's most curiously embroidered pocket-handkerchiefs, delightfully scented with musk, was lightly and carefully applied to her eyes.

"Nay," said the Major, venturing gently to withdraw it, "you must not yield to this dangerous softness.... I cannot bear to have those eyes concealed!... it produces the chilling sensation of an eclipse at noon-day.... I shall run away from you if you will not look at me."

"No, do not," ... said the widow, making an effort to smile, which was rewarded by a look of grat.i.tude, and a seemingly involuntary kiss bestowed upon the hand that had withdrawn the envious handkerchief.

"And that pretty little girl, your niece, Mrs. Barnaby," ... said the Major, as if considerately changing the conversation; "how is she this morning?"

"Oh! quite well, poor child, and in my dressing-room, going over her Italian and French lessons before she does them with me."

"Good Heaven!... Is it possible that you devote yourself thus?... Take care, charming Mrs. Barnaby ... take care that you do not permit your affectionate nature to form an attachment to that young person which may destroy all your future prospects in life!... At your age, and with your exquisite beauty, you ought to be looking forward to the renewal of the tender tie that has already made your happiness;... And who is there ... pardon me if I speak boldly ... who is there who would venture to give his whole heart, his soul, his entire existence to one who has no heart to give in return? Think you, Mrs. Barnaby, that it can be in the power of any niece in the world to atone to a woman of your exquisite sensibility for the loss of that ardent affection which can only exist between a husband and wife?... Tell me, do you believe this?"

"It is a question," replied the widow, casting her eyes upon the ground, "that I have never asked myself."

"Then neglect it no longer.... For G.o.d's sake--for the sake of your future happiness, which must be so inexpressibly dear to all who know you ... all who appreciate you justly ... for the sake of the young girl herself, do not involve yourself by undertaking the duties of a mother towards one who from her age could never have stood to you in the relation of a child."

"Alas! no," ... said Mrs. Barnaby; "I lost my only babe a few weeks before its father.... Had it lived, it would this spring have been three years old!... You say true ... the age of Agnes must ever prevent my feeling for her as a child of my own.... My poor sister was indeed so much older than myself, that I always rather looked upon her as an aunt, or as a mother, than as my sister."

"Of course you must have done so; and, interesting and inexpressibly touching as it is to witness your beautiful tenderness towards her child, it is impossible not to feel that this tenderness carried too far will inevitably destroy the future happiness of your life. Forgive, I implore you, a frankness that can only proceed from my deep interest in your welfare.... Is this young person entirely dependent upon you?"

"At this moment she is; but she will be provided for at the death of her great-aunt, Mrs. Elizabeth Compton of Compton Basett; ... and to say the truth, Major Allen, as you so kindly interest yourself in what concerns me, I neither do nor ever shall consider myself bound to retain Agnes Willoughby in my family, under any circ.u.mstances that should render her being so inconvenient."

"I delight in receiving such an a.s.surance ... dear, excellent Mrs.

Barnaby!... What a heart!... what an understanding!... what beauty!...

what unequalled sweetness! No wonder the late Mr. Barnaby delighted, as you say, to please you! 'Lives there the man,' as the immortal Byron says--'Lives there the man with soul so dead,' as to be capable of doing otherwise?... But to return to the subject of this poor little girl ...

she might be termed pretty, perhaps, in any society but yours.... Tell me, is this Mrs. Compton, of Compton Basett, wealthy?... Is she also a relation of yours?"

"Yes, she is immensely wealthy.... It is a magnificent estate. She is a maiden sister of my father's."

"Then Miss Willoughby will eventually be a great fortune.... How old is your aunt?"

"My aunt is near sixty, I believe, ... but the provision intended for Agnes is only sufficient to maintain her like a gentlewoman. The bulk of the property is settled on me and my heirs."

"I fear you will think me an unseasonable visitor," said the fully-satisfied Major, rising, "and I will go now, lest you should refuse to admit me again."

"Do not go yet," ... said the gentle widow, playfully refusing the hand extended to take leave. "What in the world now have you got to do, that should prevent your bestowing a little more time on me?"

"It would be difficult, Mrs. Barnaby," said the Major with an eloquent look, "to find any occupation sufficiently attractive to take me from you, so long as I dared flatter myself that it was your wish I should remain."

"Well, then ... sit down again, Major Allen ... for do you know, I want you to tell me all about yourself.... Where have you served?--what dangers have you pa.s.sed through? You have no idea how much interest I should take in listening to the history of your past life."

"My sweet friend!... Never should I have entered upon such a subject unbidden ... yet with such an auditor, how dear will the privilege become of talking of myself!... But you must check me, if I push your gentle patience too far. Tell me when you are weary of me ... or of my little narrative."

"I will, I will ... depend upon it, ... only do not stop till I do, Major."

"Adorable sweetness!... Thus, then, I am to be my own biographer, and to a listener whose opinion would, in my estimation, outweigh that of all the congregated world, if placed in judgment on my actions. It is probable, my charming friend, that my name as Ensign Allen may not be totally unknown to you.... It was while I still held that humble rank, that I was first fortunate enough to distinguish myself. In an affair of some importance in the Peninsula, I turned what might have been a very disastrous defeat into a most complete victory, and was immediately promoted to a company. Shortly after this I chanced to shew the same sort of spirit, which was, I believe, born with me, in a transaction nowise professional, but which, nevertheless, made me favourably mentioned, and certainly contributed to bring me into the rather general notice with which Europe at present honours me.... Yet it was merely an affair with a party of brigands, in which I put seven fellows _hors de combat_, and thereby enabled that celebrated grandee, the Duke d'Almafonte d'Aragona d'Astrada, to escape, together with his beautiful daughter, and all their jewels. The service might have been, I own, of considerable importance to them, but the grat.i.tude it produced in the minds of both father and daughter, greatly exceeded what was called for ... he offered me ... so widely separated as we now are, there can be no indelicacy in my confiding the circ.u.mstance to you, my dear Mrs.

Barnaby, but ... the fact is, he offered me his only daughter in marriage, with an immense fortune. But, alas! how capricious is the human will!... my hour, my dear friend, was not yet come.... I felt, beautiful as Isabella d'Almafonte was accounted by all the world, that I could not give her my heart, and I performed the painful duty of refusing her hand. Nothing, however, could be more n.o.ble than the subsequent conduct of the duke, ... at the first painful moment he only said ... 'Captain Allen, we must submit' ... of course he said it in Spanish, but it would look like affectation, in such a narrative as this, were I not to translate it ... 'Capitano Alleno, bisogno submittajo nos,' were his words.... I am sure I shall never forget them, for they touched me to the very heart.... I could not speak, my feelings choked me, and I left his palace in silence. Five years had elapsed, and I had perhaps too nearly forgotten the lovely but unfortunate Isabella d'Almafonte, when I received a packet from a notary of Madrid, informing me that her ill.u.s.trious father was dead, and had gratefully bequeathed me a legacy, amounting in English money to thirty thousand pounds sterling. I was by that time already in possession of the estates of my ancestors, and such a sum might have appeared a very useless bagatelle, had not an accident rendered it at that time of really important convenience."

"Good heaven! how interesting!" exclaimed Mrs. Barnaby. "And what, dear Major, became of the unfortunate Isabella?"

"She took the veil, Mrs. Barnaby, in the convent de Los Ceurores Dolentes, within a few months of her n.o.ble father's death.... Before this event she had not the power of disposing of herself as she wished; ... but her excellent father never tortured her by the proposal of any other marriage...."

"Admirable man!" cried Mrs. Barnaby, greatly touched. "Dear Major Allen!" she added, in a voice that seemed to deprecate opposition, "you must, indeed you must, do me an immense favour. When Mrs. Peters took me to Bristol in her coach the other day, I bought myself this alb.u.m; it has got nothing in it as yet but my own name; now, if you do not wish to break my heart, you must write the name of Isabella d'Almafonte in this first page ... it will be an autograph inexpressibly interesting!"

The Major took the book and the pen that were offered by the two hands of Mrs. Barnaby, and said with a profound sigh,--

"Break your heart!... I should never have broken the heart of any woman, if what she asked had been seconded by such eyes as those!"

A silence of some moments followed, a part of which was employed by the Major in writing the name of Isabella d'Almafonte, and a part in gazing on the downcast lids of the admired eyes opposite to him; but this too trying interval ended at length by the lady's recovering herself enough to say, "And that accident, Major Allen, that made the duke's little legacy convenient to you?... what was it?... Do not have any reserve with one whom you have honoured by the name of friend!"

"Reserve to you!... never!... While you continue to admit me to your presence, all reserve on my part must be impossible. The accident was this, my friend; and I am not sorry to name it, as it gives me an opportunity of alluding to a subject that I would rather you heard mentioned by me than by any other. After the battle of Waterloo--(concerning which, by the by, I should like to tell you an anecdote)--after the battle of Waterloo, I became, in common with nearly all the officers of the army, an idle man; and like too many others, I was tempted to seek a subst.i.tute for the excitement produced by the military ardour in which I had lived, by indulging in the pernicious agitations of the gaming-table. It is very likely, that if you speak of me in general society, you will be told that I have played high.... My dear Mrs. Barnaby, this is true. My large fortune gave me, as I foolishly imagined, a sort of right to play high if it amused me, and for a little while, I confess, it did amuse me; ... but I soon found that a gentleman was no match for those who made gambling a profession, and I lost largely,--so largely, indeed, that I must have saddled my acres with a mortgage, had not the legacy of the Duke d'Almafonte d'Aragona d'Estrada reached me just in time to prevent the necessity."

"I rejoice to hear it," replied the widow kindly; "and you have never hazarded so largely since, dear Major, have you?"

"Oh! never.... In fact, I never enter a room now where anything like high play is going on.... I cannot bear even to see it, and I believe I have in this way offended many who still permit themselves this hateful indulgence; offended them, indeed, to such a degree, that they perfectly hate me, and utter the most virulent abuse every time they hear my name mentioned; ... but for this I care little: I know I am right, Mrs.

Barnaby, and that what loses their friendship and esteem, may be the means of gaining for me the regard of those, perhaps, on whom my whole happiness may depend during my future life."