MR. BARNABY PAYS A VISIT TO COMPTON BASETT, AND RECEIVES FROM THE
HEIRESS A FORMAL CONGE.--AGNES IS SENT BACK TO SCHOOL, AND REMAINS THERE
TILL CALLED HOME BY THE NEWS OF HIS DEATH.
Some surprise and great indignation were expressed by Mrs. Barnaby on
hearing that Miss Compton had departed without the civility of taking
leave. She resented greatly the rudeness to herself, but, as she justly
said, the meaning of it was much more important to Agnes than to her.
"What is to become of her, Mr. Barnaby, I should like to know?..." said
the angry lady. "Agnes says that Mrs. Wilmot expects her back directly,
and who is to pay the expense of sending her, I wonder?"
Mr. Barnaby assured her in reply that there would be no difficulty about
that, adding, that they should doubtless hear from Miss Compton as soon
as she had recovered the painful effect of the scenes at which she had
so lately been present.
Days passed away, however, the funeral was over, and everything in the
family of Mr. Barnaby restored to its usual routine, yet still they
heard nothing of Miss Compton.
"I see clearly how it is," said the shrewd lady of the mansion. "Aunt
Betsy means to throw the whole burden of poor dear little Agnes upon
us, ... and what in the world are we to do with her, Barnaby?"
"I cannot think she has any such intention, Martha. After the excellent
education she has been giving her for the last three or four years, it
is hardly likely that she would suddenly give her up, when it is
impossible but she must have been delighted with her. But, at any rate,
make yourself easy, my dear Martha; if she abandons her, we will not; we
have no children of our own, and I think the best thing we can do is to
adopt this dear girl.... She is really the sweetest little creature I
ever saw in my life. I can assure you, that when her education is
finished, I, for one, should be delighted to have her live with us....
What say you to it, Martha?"
"I am sure you are goodness itself, my dear Barnaby; and if the crabbed,
crooked old maid would just promise at once to leave her the little she
may have left after all her ostentatious charities, I should make no
objection whatever to our adopting Agnes. She is just like poor Sophy,
and it certainly is a pleasure to look at her."
"Well, then, don't fret yourself any more about aunt Betsy. I will call
upon her one of these days when I happen to be going Compton Basett way,
and find out, if I can, what she means to do about sending her back to
Mrs. Wilmot. It would be a pity not to finish her education, for it is
easy to see that she has had great justice done her."
It was not, however, till some word from Agnes gave him to understand
that she was herself very anxious about going on with her studies, and
desirous of letting Mrs. Wilmot know what was become of her, that he
made or met an opportunity of conversing with Miss Compton. He found her
reading a novel in her chimney corner, and dressed in deep, but very
homely mourning. She received him civilly, nay, there was even something
of kindness in her manner when she reverted to the time she had passed
in his house, and thanked him for the hospitality he had shewn her. He
soon perceived, however, that the name of Agnes produced no feeling of
interest; but that, on the contrary, when he mentioned her, the
expression of the old lady's face changed from very pleasing serenity to
peevish discomfort; so he wisely determined to make what he had to say a
matter of business, and immediately entered upon it accordingly.
"My principal reason, Miss Compton, for troubling you with a visit,"
said he, "is to learn what are your wishes and intentions respecting
Miss Willoughby. Is it your purpose to send her back to Mrs. Wilmot?"
"I have already been at a great and very inconvenient expense, Mr.
Barnaby, for the education of Agnes Willoughby; but as I have no
intention whatever of straitening my poor little income any further by
incurring cost on her account, I am glad that what I _have_ done has
been of the nature most likely to make her independent of me and of you
too, Mr. Barnaby, in future. When I first placed her with Mrs. Wilmot I
agreed to keep her there for five years, seventeen months of which are
still unexpired. To this engagement I am willing to adhere; and though I
can't say I think her a very bright girl, but rather perhaps a little
inclining towards the contrary, yet still I imagine that when she knows
she has her own bread to get, she may be induced to exert herself
sufficiently during the next year and five months to enable her to take
the place of governess to very young children, or perhaps that of
teacher in a second or third rate school. That's my notion about her,
Mr. Barnaby; and now, if you please, I never wish to hear any more upon
the subject."
Greatly displeased by the manner in which Miss Compton spoke of his
young favourite, Mr. Barnaby rose, and very drily wished her good
morning; adding, however, that no farther delay should take place in
sending Miss Willoughby back to resume her studies.
He was then bowing off, but the little lady stopped him, saying, "As I
have been the means of sending the child to such a distance from her
nearest relation, I mean your wife, sir, it is but just that I should
pay such travelling expenses as are consequent upon it. Here, sir, is a
ten-pound-note that I have carefully set apart for this purpose; have
the kindness to dispense it for her as may seem most convenient. And
now, sir, farewell! I wish not again to have my humble retreat disturbed
by any persons so much above me in all worldly advantages as you and
your elegant wife, and having performed what I thought to be my duty by
the little Willoughby, I beg to have nothing farther to do with her. I
dare say your lady will grow exceedingly fond of her, for it seems to me
that they are vastly alike, and if that happens; there will be no
danger of the young girl's wanting anything that a poor little sickly
and deformed old body like me could do for her. Good morning, Mr.
Barnaby."
Mr. Barnaby silently received the ten pounds, which he thought he had no
right to refuse; and having patiently waited till Miss Compton had
concluded her speech, he returned her "good morning," and took his
leave.
The worthy apothecary's account of his visit produced considerable
sensation. Agnes indeed received it in silence, but the offensive
brightness of her eyes was dimmed for a moment or two by a few
involuntary tears. Her young heart was disappointed; for not only had
the strong liking conceived by the Wilmot family for her aunt Betsy led
her to believe that she must unquestionably like her too, but she
gratefully remembered her former gentle, quiet kindness to herself; and
(worse still), on being brought back amongst her relatives, she had,
contrary to what is usual in such cases, conceived the greatest
predilection for the only one among them who did not like her at all.
But it was not in silence that Mrs. Barnaby received her husband's
statement of the capricious old lady's firmly pronounced resolve of
never having anything more to do with Agnes Willoughby. All the old
familiar epithets of abuse came forth again as fresh and vigorous as if
but newly coined; and though these were mixed up with language which it
was by no means agreeable to hear, her judicious husband suffered her to
run on without opposition till she was fairly out of breath, and then
closed the conversation by putting a bed-candle into her hand, and
saying,
"Now let us all go to bed, my dear, ... and I dare say you will have
much pleasure in proving to your peevish relative that, as long as you
live, Agnes will want no other aunt to take care of her."
The good seed sown with these words brought forth fruit abundantly. Mrs.
Barnaby could not do enough in her own estimation to prove to the whole
town of Silverton the contrast between Miss Compton and herself--the
difference between a bad aunt and a good one.
Fortunately for the well-being of Agnes at this important period of her
existence, she had inspired a strong feeling of affectionate interest in
a more rational being than Mrs. Barnaby; her well-judging husband
thought they should do better service to the young girl by sending her
back to Mrs. Wilmot with as little delay as possible, than by keeping
her with them for the purpose of proving to all the world that they were
the fondest and most generous uncle and aunt that ever a dependant niece
was blest with, and she was sent back to Empton accordingly.
In order to do justice to the kindness of Mr. Barnaby's adoption of the
desolate girl, it must be remembered that neither he nor his wife had
any knowledge of the scene which passed between Miss Compton and her
brother before his death, neither had they the least idea that the old
lady possessed anything beyond her original moiety of the Compton Basett
estate; and they both believed her to be so capricious as to render it
very probable (although it was remembered she had once talked of leaving
it to those who had claims on her) that some of the poor of her parish
might eventually become her heirs,--an idea which the unaccountable
dislike she appeared to have taken to Agnes greatly tended to confirm.
Once during the time that remained for her continuance with the Wilmots,
Agnes paid a fortnight's visit to the abode she was now taught to
consider as her home: the next time she entered it, (a few weeks only
before the period fixed for the termination of her studies,) she was
summoned thither by the very sudden death of her excellent and valuable
friend Mr. Barnaby. This event produced an entire and even violent
change in her prospects and manner of life, as well as in those of her
aunt; and it is from this epoch that the narrative promised by the
title of "The Widow Barnaby" actually commences, the foregoing pages
being only a necessary prologue to the appearance of my heroine in that
character.