The Widow Barnaby Volume Iii Part 4

It is certain, however, that up to this time no serious idea of marrying Mr. Magnus Morrison had entered the widow's head; on the contrary, she was fully determined that, as soon as she had seen London "well," she would see Paris too, and was not without a vague notion that there might be something very elegant and desirable in becoming the wife of a French grandee. But these ruminations interfered not at all with the amiable amenity of her demeanour to her a.s.siduous attendant.... Agnes was as little in their way as it was possible she could be ... the weather was remarkably fine ... and, on the whole, it may be doubted if any lady of thirty-seven ever made her first debut in the metropolis of the united kingdoms with more perfect satisfaction to herself.

Mrs. Barnaby reached London on a Thursday evening; the first Sunday shewed her the Foundling, all the little children, and a popular preacher, which together const.i.tuted one of Mr. Morrison's favourite lions. The Sunday following, being the last, according to her own secret determination, that she would pa.s.s in England, she was left during the early part of the day to her own devices, Mr. Morrison having a deed to draw, which could no longer be safely postponed; and she therefore obligingly asked Agnes if she should not like to go to church with her.

Agnes willingly a.s.sented, and they went to the morning service at St.

James's. In returning thence our gaily-dressed widow, full of animation, and the hope of finding Mr. Morrison ready to take luncheon with her previous to their projected walk in Kensington Gardens, remarked, as she gracefully paced along the crowded pavement, that one individual among the many who eyed her appeared to follow her movements with particular attention. Mrs. Barnaby was never stared at without feeling delighted by the compliment she thought it implied, and simpered and frolicked with her parasol in her best manner, till at length, having no one else to whom she could point out the flattering circ.u.mstance, she said to Agnes, as they turned down Half-moon Street ... into which the admiring individual turned too.... "Do look at that man, Agnes.... He has never ceased to follow and stare at me since we left the church.... There, now, he is going to pa.s.s us again.... Is he not an impudent fellow?"

"Perhaps he knows you, aunt," said Agnes, raising her eyes as the man pa.s.sed them.... "I think I have seen him at Cheltenham."

This suggestion heightened Mrs. Barnaby's colour so considerably that it was perceptible through all her rouge.

"You have seen him at Cheltenham?... Where, pray?"

"I do not well remember; in a shop, I think."

Mrs. Barnaby asked no more questions, but knocked rather hastily at the door of her lodgings; but though the person had crossed the street, and in doing so pa.s.sed close to her, he made no attempt to speak to her, but pa.s.sed on his way, not, however, before he had so refreshed her memory respecting her Cheltenham debts as to make her suddenly decide upon leaving London on the morrow.

She found Mr. Magnus Morrison waiting for her, as well-looking and as devoted as ever; so she did all but quite forget her recent alarm, its only effect being, when Agnes, as usual, declined her invitation to go out with them, to say in a whisper to her in the window recess farthest removed from her waiting gentleman, "I think I shall leave London to-morrow night, so you may employ yourself in getting everything ready for packing, Agnes...." She then turned gaily to her escort, and they set off together.

During the whole of this tedious week Agnes had used every means within her very limited power to ascertain what her aunt's plans were for the future; and this not only to satisfy her own natural curiosity on the subject, but also that she might have sufficient information to justify her writing another letter to Lady Stephenson. But all her inquiries had been so vaguely answered, that she was quite as ignorant of what her next movement might be as when she arrived, and was living in a very torturing sort of suspense, between hope that fate by some means or other would oblige her to return to Cheltenham, and fear lest the mystery that veiled the future might only be elucidated when too late for her to obey the command which, _in case of the worst_, was to send her there.

So weary was she both of her present position and of the doubt which concealed the termination of it, that she joyfully set herself to obey the parting injunction of her aunt; and having rapidly gone through this task, began her second letter to her Cheltenham friends, stating exactly all she knew, and all she did not know, and at length leaving her letter unfinished, that her postscript, as she said, might contain, according to the imputed custom of all ladies, the essential part of her letter.

The fine bonnets and smart waistcoats of Kensington Gardens, together with a bag-ful of queen-cakes, with which she had provided herself for her own refreshment and that of her companion during a promised hour of repose in one of the alcoves, so pleasantly beguiled the hours, that it was near seven before they returned to dinner; when the widow confessed herself too tired for anything more that day; and at an hour much earlier than usual Mr. Morrison took his departure, well informed, as it seemed, of the lady's intentions for the morrow, for Agnes heard him say,--

"Well, then, Mrs. Barnaby ... one more delightful excursion to-morrow--the Surrey Gardens will delight you!... and at two o'clock I will be here.... Sorry am I to think for the last time ... at least for the present." A cordial hand-shaking followed, and the door closed after him.

"I have done what you bid me, aunt," said Agnes; "all your things are got ready for you to place them as you like, and one of the boxes half filled, just as you did before.... Shall I write the directions, aunt?"

"We can do that to-morrow.... I am tired to death. Ring the bell....

No--run down yourself, for the girl looks as cross as two sticks ... run down, Agnes, and tell her to get my porter directly; and I think you must bring it to me in bed, for I can't keep my eyes open."

"Will you tell me, aunt, where we are going?" said Agnes timidly, as she took up one of the candles to light her steps down two flights of stairs.

"Don't plague me now, Agnes," was the reply; "I have told you that I am tired to death, and n.o.body but you would think of teazing one with such a question now. You know well enough, though you have not had the grace to thank me for it, that I never take you anywhere that it is not most delightful to go to.... What other country-girl in the world is there at your age that has had the advantages you have.... Exeter.... Clifton....

Cheltenham.... London; and if you don't provoke me too much, and make me turn you out of house and home, I'll take you now ... but it's no matter where--you'll know soon enough to be grateful, if there's such a thing as grat.i.tude in your heart.... But I am a fool to expect it, and see you standing there when I've begged, as if my life depended upon it, that you would _please_ to order me a little beer."

Agnes said no more; but went to bed that night with her fears most reasonably strengthened that she should not learn Mrs. Barnaby's destination till it was too late to avoid sharing it, let it be in what direction it might.

CHAPTER IV.

AN ADVENTURE.--ANOTHER LETTER FROM MISS MORRISON PRODUCTIVE OF A POWERFUL EFFECT UPON HER BROTHER.--HE FORSAKES HIS CLIENT AND HIS FRIEND.--AGNES IS LEFT ALONE, AND EMPLOYS SOME OF HER LEISURE IN WRITING A LETTER TO MISS COMPTON.

The following day was an eventful one. For the first time since they had been in London, Agnes, on seeing her aunt preparing to go out, asked permission to go with her, and "You may go if you will," was the answer; but before her bonnet was tied on, Mrs. Barnaby changed her mind, saying, "Put down your bonnet, Agnes ... upon second thoughts I don't choose to take you.... Look at all these things of mine lying about here!... I have told you that it is likely enough we may set off by a night coach, and I have got, as you know, to go out with Mr. Morrison; so I should be much obliged if you would please to tell me how all my packing is to get done?"

"If you would let me go with you now, aunt, I shall have plenty of time to do all that remains while you are out with Mr. Morrison," replied Agnes.

"Agnes, you are, without exception, the most impertinent and the most plaguing girl that ever a widowed aunt half ruined herself to provide for.... But I won't be bullied in this way either.... Stay at home, if you please, and do what I bid you, or before this time to-morrow you may be crying in the streets of London for a breakfast.... I should like to know who there is besides me in the wide world who would undertake the charge of you?... Do you happen to know any such people, miss?... If you do, be off to them if you please--the sooner the better; ... but if not, stay at home for once without grumbling, and do what you're bid."

There was just sufficient truth mixed with the injustice of these harsh words to go to the heart of poor Agnes. Her aunt Compton, in reply to a letter of Mrs. Barnaby, written in a spirit of wanton impertinence, and in which she made a formal demand of one hundred pounds a-year for the expenses of Agnes, answered in great wrath, that she and Agnes both had better take care not to change their residence so often as to lose a parish settlement, for they might live to find _that_ a much better dependence than anything they would obtain from her. This pettish epistle, received the day before they left Silverton, was carefully treasured by Mrs. Barnaby, and often referred to when she was anxious to impress on her niece a sense of her forlorn condition and helpless dependence. So all hope from that quarter seemed to be for ever shut out.... And could she forget that even at the moment when the dangers of her situation had so forcibly struck Lady Elizabeth Norris, as to make her approve what she had before declared to be worse than _any home_,--that even at that moment she had explicitly declared that neither herself nor her niece could _take charge of her_?

These were mournful thoughts; and it was no great proof of Agnes's wisdom, perhaps, that, instead of immediately proceeding to the performance of her prescribed task, she sat down expressly to ruminate upon them. But the meditation was not permitted to be long; for hardly had she rested her elbow upon the table, and her cheek upon her hand, in the manner which ladies under such circ.u.mstances always do, than she was startled by a violent knocking and simultaneous ringing at the street-door, followed, as soon as it was opened, by a mixture of two or three loud and angry voices, amidst which she clearly distinguished that of her aunt; and the moment after she burst into the room, accompanied by the gentleman who had appeared to admire her so greatly in the street the day before, together with two other much less well-looking personages, who stuck close upon the heels of Mrs. Barnaby, with more appearance of authority than respect.

"You shall live to repent this treatment of a lady," cried Mrs. Barnaby, addressing the hero of her yesterday's adventure, who was no other than the keeper of the livery-stable from whom she had hired the carriage and horses which had dignified her existence for the last month. "You shall be taught to know what is due from a trumpery country tradesman like you, to a person of my fortune and station. What put it into your head, you vile fellow, instead of waiting my return to Cheltenham, to follow me to London in this abominable manner, and to arrest me in the public streets?"

"It is no difficult matter to tell you that, Mrs. Barnaby, if that's your name," replied the man; "and you'll find that I am not the only vile fellow holding himself ready to pay you the same compliment; though I, knowing the old saying 'first come, first served,' took some trouble to be the first."

"And do you really pretend to fancy, you pitiful creature," cried Mrs.

Barnaby, in a voice in which terror and rage were struggling,--"do you really pretend to believe that I am not able to pay your twopenny-halfpenny bill a thousand times over?"

"Can't say indeed, ma'am," replied the man; "I shall not stand upon sending you to prison if you will discharge the account as here we stand, paying fees and expenses of course, as is fitting... Here are the items, neither many nor high.--

. s. d.

Carriage and horses one month, twenty-five} shillings per diem } 37 0 0 Coachman's livery, board, and wages 20 0 0 Footman's ditto, hired to order 25 0 0 -------- 82 0 0 -------- Deduct liveries, if returned 12 0 0 -------- Remains 70 0 0 --------

And all our expenses and fees added won't make it above 77_l._ or 78_l._ altogether; so, ma'am, if you are the great lady you say, you won't find no great difficulty in giving me a write-off for the sum, and my good friends here shall stay while I run and get it cashed, after which I will be ready to make you my bow, and say good morning."

The anger of Mrs. Barnaby was not the less excited because what Mr.

Simmons, the livery-stable keeper, said was true; and she seized with considerable quickness the feature of the case which appeared the most against him.

"Your vulgar mode of proceeding at Cheltenham, Mr. Simmons, is, I am happy to say, quite peculiar to yourselves; for though, for my age, I have lived a good deal in the world, I certainly never saw anything like it. Here have I, like a woman of fortune as I am, paid n.o.bly, since I have been in your trumpery town, for every single thing for which it is customary to pay ready money; and when a job like yours, which never since the creation of the world was paid except from quarter to quarter, has run up for one month, down comes the stable-man post haste after me with a writ and arrest. I wonder you are not ashamed of yourself."

"I dare say I should, ma'am, you talking so fine as you do, if I hadn't nothing to put forward in return. I don't believe, Mrs. Barnaby, but what you, or any other rich-seeming lady like you,... I don't believe but what any such might have come to Cheltenham, and have run up debts to the tune of a thousand pounds, and not one of us taken fright at it, provided the lady had stayed quiet and steady in the town, where one had one's eyes upon her, and was able to see what she was about. But just do now look at the difference. 'The season's pretty fullish,' says one, 'and trade's brisk!...' 'That's true,' says another, 'only some's going off, and that's never a good sign, specially if they go without paying....' 'And who's after that shabby trick?' says another:...

'Neither more nor less than the gay widow Barnaby!' is the answer....

'The devil she is!' says one; 'she owes me twenty pounds....'--'I hope you are out there neighbour,' says another, 'for she owes me thirty....

'And me ten'--'and me fifty'--'and me nineteen'--'and me forty,' and so on for more than I'll number. And what, pray, is the wisest among them likely to do in such a case? Why, just what your humble servant has done, neither more nor less."

"And what right have you, audacious man! to suppose that I have any intention of not returning, and paying all I owe, as I have ever and always done before?"

"Nothing particular, except your just saying, ma'am, that you should be back in two days, and nevertheless not making yourself be heard of in ten, and your rooms kept, and your poor maid kept in 'em all the time too."

"This man talks like one who knows not what a lady is," said Mrs.

Barnaby, her eyes flashing, and her face crimson; "but I must beg to ask of you, sir," turning to one of the Bow-street officials, "whether I am not to have time allowed for sending to my lawyer, and giving him instructions to settle with this fellow here?"

"Why, by rights, ma'am, you should go to a sponging-house without loss of time, that we might get the committal made out, and all regular; but if you be so inclined as to make it worth while to my companion and me, I don't think we shall object to keeping guard over you here instead, while you send off for any friends you choose to let into the secret."

"The friends I shall send to are my men of business, fellow!" replied Mrs. Barnaby, with the strongest expression of disdain that she could throw into her countenance. "You don't, I hope, presume to imagine that I would send for any one of rank to affront them with the presence of such as you?"

"Fair words b.u.t.ter no parsnips, is a good saying and a true one;... but I'll add to it, that saucy ones unlock no bolts; and if you expect to get out of this sc.r.a.pe by talking big, it's likely you may find yourself mistaken."

"A bill must be a good deal longer than this is, man, before the paying it will be much of a sc.r.a.pe to me," said the widow, affecting to laugh.

"What a fool you are, Agnes," she continued, turning to the corner of the room into which the terrified girl had crept, "what a prodigious fool, to be sure, you must be, to sit there looking as white as a sheet, because an insolent tradesman chooses to bring in a bill of a month's standing, with a posse of thief-takers to back it.... Get up, pray, and bring my desk here... I wish to write to my attorney."

In obedience to this command, Agnes rose from her chair, and attempted to cross the room to fetch the desk, which was at the other extremity of it; but not all her efforts to arouse her strength sufficed to overcome the sick faintness which oppressed her. "Do, for G.o.d's sake, move a little faster, child," said Mrs. Barnaby; but Agnes failed in her habitual and meek obedience, not by falling into a chair, but by sitting down in one, conscious that her fainting at such a moment must greatly increase her aunt's embarra.s.sment.