THE WIDOW BARNABY ENTERS ACTIVELY ON HER NEW EXISTENCE.--HER
WEALTH.--HER HAPPY PROSPECTS.--MRS. WILMOT VISITS MISS COMPTON, AND
OBTAINS LEAVE TO INTRODUCE AGNES WILLOUGHBY.
Mrs. Barnaby was really very sorry for the death of her husband, and
wept, with little or no effort, several times during the dismal week
that preceded his interment; but she was not a woman to indulge long in
so very unprofitable a weakness; and accordingly, as soon as the funeral
was over, and the will read, by which he left her sole executrix and
sole legatee of all he possessed, she very rationally began to meditate
upon her position, and upon the best mode of enjoying the many good
things which had fallen to her share.
She certainly felt both proud and happy as she thought of her
independence and her wealth. Of the first she unquestionably had as much
as it was possible for woman to possess, for no human being existed who
had any right whatever to control her. Of the second, her judgment would
have been more correct had she better understood the value of money.
Though it is hardly possible any day should pass without adding
something to the knowledge of all civilized beings on this subject, it
is nevertheless certain that there are two modes of education which lead
the mind in after life into very erroneous estimates respecting it. The
one is being brought up to spend exactly as much money as you please,
and the other having it deeply impressed on your mind that you are to
spend none at all. In the first case, it is long before the most
complete reverse of fortune can make the _ci-devant_ rich man understand
how a little money can be eked out, so as to perform the office of a
great deal; and in the last, the change from having no money to having
some will often, if it come suddenly, so puzzle all foregone
conclusions, as to leave the possessor wonderfully little power to
manage it discreetly.
The latter case was pretty nearly that of Mrs. Barnaby: when she learned
that her dear lost husband had left her uncontrolled mistress of
property to the amount of three hundred and seventy-two pounds per
annum, besides the house and furniture, the shop and all it contained,
she really felt as if her power in this life were colossal, and that she
might roam the world either for conquest or amusement, or sustain in
Silverton the style of a retired duchess, as might suit her fancy best.
Never yet had this lady's temper been so amiably placid, or so
caressingly kind, as during the first month of her widowhood. She gave
Agnes to understand that she wished to be considered as her mother, and
trusted that they should find in each other all the happiness and
affection which that tenderest of ties was so well calculated to
produce.
"It will not be my fault, Agnes," she said, "if such be not the case.
Thanks be to heaven, and my dear lost Barnaby, I have wealth enough to
consult both your pleasure and advantage in my future mode of life; and
be assured, my dear, that however much my own widowed feelings might
lead me to prefer the tranquil consolations of retirement, I shall
consider it my duty to live more for you than for myself; and I will
indeed hasten, in spite of my feelings, to lay aside these sad weeds,
that I may be able, with as little delay as possible, to give you such
an introduction to the world as my niece has a right to expect."
Agnes was at a loss what to reply; she had still all the frank
straight-forwardness of a child who has been educated by unaffected,
sensible people, and yet she knew that she must not on this occasion say
quite what she thought, which would probably have been,--
"Pray, don't fancy that I want you to throw aside your widow's weeds for
me, aunt.... I don't believe you are one half as sorry for uncle
Barnaby's death as I am".... But fortunately there was no mixture of
_betise_ in her frankness; and though it might have been beyond her
power to express any great satisfaction at being thus addressed, she
had no difficulty in saying,--"You are very kind to me, aunt," for this
was true.
Notwithstanding this youthful frankness of mind, however, Agnes had by
this time lost in a great measure that very childish look which
distinguished her at the time her appearance so little pleased the
fastidious taste of Miss Compton. She was still indeed in very good
health, which was indicated by a colour as fresh, and almost as delicate
too, as that of the wild rose; but her rapid growth during the last two
years had quite destroyed the offensive "roundness," and her tall,
well-made person, gave as hopeful a promise as could be wished for of
womanly grace and beauty. The fair face was already the very perfection
of loveliness; and had the secretly proud Miss Compton seen her as she
walked in her deep heavy mourning beside her wide-spreading aunt to
church, on the Sunday when that lady first restored herself to the
public eye, she might perchance have thought, that not only was she
worthy to inherit Compton Basett and all its accumulated rents, but any
other glory and honour that this little earth of ours could bestow.
* * * * *
A feeling of strong mutual affection between the parties, led both the
Wilmot family and Agnes to petition earnestly that the few weeks which
remained of the stipulated (and already paid for) five years, might be
completed; and Mrs. Barnaby, though it was really somewhat against her
inclination, consented.
But though she had not desired this renewed absence of her niece, the
notable widow determined to put it to profit, and set about a final
arrangement of all her concerns with an activity that proved good Mr.
Barnaby quite right in not having troubled her with any assistant
executor.
She soon contrived to learn who it was who wished to succeed her "dear
Barnaby," and managed matters so admirably well as to make the eager
young man pay for the house, furniture, shop, &c. &c., about half as
much again as they were worth, cleverly contriving, moreover, to retain
possession for three months.
This important business being settled, she set herself earnestly and
deliberately to consider what, when these three months should be
expired, she should do with her freedom, her money, herself, and her
niece. In deciding upon this question, she called none to counsel, for
she had sense enough to avow to herself that she should pay not the
slightest attention to any opinion but her own. In silence and in
solitude, therefore, she pondered upon the future; and, to assist her
speculations, she drew forth from the recesses of an old-fashioned
bureau sundry documents and memoranda relative to the property
bequeathed to her by her husband.
It was evident that her income would now somewhat exceed four hundred
a-year, and this appeared to her amply sufficient to assist the schemes
already working in her head for future aggrandizement, but by no means
equal to what she felt her beauty and her talents gave her a right to
hope for.
"It is, however, a handsome income," thought she, "and such a one as,
with my person, may, and must, if properly made use of, lead to all I
wish!"...
Mrs. Barnaby had once heard it said by a clever man, that human wishes
might oftener be achieved, did mortals better know how to set about
obtaining them.
"First," said the oracle, "let him be sure to find out what his wishes
really are. This ascertained, let him, in the second place, employ all
his acuteness to discover what is required for their fulfilment.
Thirdly, let him examine himself and his position, in order to decide
how much he, or it, can contribute towards this. Fourthly, let him
subtract the sum of the capabilities he possesses from the total of
means required. Fifthly, let him learn by, with, and in his heart of
hearts, what it is that constitutes the remainder; and sixthly, and
lastly, let him gird up the loins of his resolution, and start forth
DETERMINED to acquire them. Whoso doeth this, shall _seldom_ fail."
In the course of her visitings, military friendships and all included,
Mrs. Barnaby, even in the small arena of Silverton, had heard several
wise things in her day; but none of them ever produced such lasting
effect as the words I have just quoted. They touched some chord within
her that vibrated, ... not indeed with such a thrill as they might have
made to ring along the nerves of a fine creature new to life, and
emulous of all things good and great, but with a little sharp twitch,
just at that point of the brain where self-love expands itself into a
mesh of ways and means, instinct with will, to catch all it can that may
be brought home to glut the craving for enjoyment; and so pregnant did
they seem to her of the only wisdom that she wished to master, that her
memory seized upon them with extraordinary energy, nor ever after
relinquished its hold.
Little, however, could it profit her at the time she heard it; but she
kept it, "like an ape in the corner of his jaw, first mouthed, to be
last swallowed."
It was upon these words that she now pondered. Her two elbows set on the
open bureau, her legs stretched under it, her lips resting upon the
knuckles of her clasped hands, and her eyes fixed in deep abstraction on
the row of pigeonholes before her, she entered upon a sort of
self-catechism which ran thus:--
_Q._ What is it that I most wish for on earth?
_A._ A rich and fashionable husband.
_Q._ What is required to obtain this?
_A._ Beauty, fortune, talents, and a free entrance into good society.
_Q._ Do I possess any of these?... and which?
_A._ I possess beauty, fortune, and talents.
_Q._ What remains wanting?
_A._ A free entrance into good society.
"TRUE!" she exclaimed aloud, "it is that I want, and it is that I must
procure."
Notwithstanding her sanguine estimate of herself, the widow, when she
arrived at this point, was fain to confess that she did not exactly know
how this necessary addition to her ways and means was to be acquired.
Beyond the town of Silverton, and a thinly inhabited circuit of a mile
or two round it, she had not a personal acquaintance in the world. This
was a very perplexing consideration for a lady determined upon finding
her way into the first circles, but its effect was rather to strengthen
than relax her energies.
There was, however, one person, and she truly believed one only in the
wide world, who might, at her first setting out upon her progress, be
useful to her. This was a sister of Mr. Barnaby's, married to a
clothier, whose manufactory was at Frome, but whose residence was
happily at Clifton near Bristol. She had never seen this lady, or any of
her family, all intercourse between the brother and sister having of
late years consisted in letters, not very frequent, and the occasional
interchange of presents,--a jar of turtle being now and then forwarded
by mail from Bristol, and dainty quarters of Exmoor mutton, and tin pots
of clouted cream, returned from Silverton.
Nevertheless Mrs. Peters was her sister-in-law just as much as if they
had lived next door to each other for the last five years; and she had,
of course, a right to all the kindness and hospitality so near a
connexion demands.
A clothier's wife, to be sure, was not exactly the sort of person she
would have chosen, had choice been left her; but it was better than
nothing, infinitely better; ... "and besides," as the logical widow's
head went on to reason, "she may introduce me to people above
herself.... At a public place, too, like Clifton, it must be so easy!
And then every new acquaintance I make will serve to lead on to
another.... I am not so shy but I can turn all accidents to account; and
I am not such a fool as to stand at one end of a room, when I ought to
be at the other...."
Mrs. Barnaby never quoted Shakspeare, or she would probably have added
here,--
"Why, then the world's mine oyster, which I with _wit_ will open," for
it was with some such thought that her soliloquy ended.
Day by day the absence of Agnes wore away, and day after day saw some
business preparatory to departure dispatched. Sometimes the hours were
winged by her having to pull about all the finery in her possession,
and dividing it into portions, some to be abandoned for ever, some to be
enveloped with reverend care in cotton and silver paper for her future
use, and some to be given to the favoured Agnes.
While such cares occupied her hands, her thoughts naturally enough
hurried forward to the time when she should lay aside her weeds. This
was a dress so hatefully unbecoming in her estimation, that she firmly
believed the inventor of it must have been actuated by some feeling akin
to that which instituted the horrible Hindoo rite of which she had
heard, whereby living wives were sacrificed to their departed husbands.
"Only!" she cried, bursting out into involuntary thanksgiving, "ours,
thank God! is not for ever!"
To appear for the first time in the fashionable world in this frightful
disguise, was quite out of the question; and consequently she could not
make her purposed visit to Clifton till the time was arrived for
throwing them off, and till ... to use her own words, "lilacs and greys
were possible".... Yet there were other considerations that had weight
with her too.
"His sister, however, shall just see me in my widow's weeds," thought
she; "it may touch her heart perhaps, and must make her feel how very
nearly we are related; ... but before any living soul out of the family
can come near me, I will take care to look ... what I really am!... Six
months!... it must, I suppose, be six months first!... Dreadful bore!"
The first half of this probationary term was to be passed at
Silverton,--that was already wearing fast away,--and for the latter part
of it she determined to take lodgings in Exeter.
"Yes ... it shall be Exeter!" she exclaimed, and then added, with a
perfect quiver of delight, "Oh! what a difference now from what it was
formerly!... How well I remember the time when a journey to Exeter
appeared to me the very gayest thing in the world!... and now I should
no more think of staying there than a queen would think of passing her
life in her bed-room!"
The more she meditated on the future, indeed, the more enamoured did she
become of it, till at length, her affairs being very nearly all brought
to a satisfactory conclusion, a restless sort of impatience seized upon
her; and nearly a fortnight before the time fixed for the return of
Agnes she wrote a very peremptory letter of recall, but altogether
omitted to point out either the mode of conveyance, or the protection
she deemed necessary for her during the journey.
Perhaps Mrs. Wilmot was not sorry for this, as it afforded her an excuse
for remaining herself to the last possible moment with a pupil who had
found the way to create almost a maternal interest in her heart, and
moreover gave her an opportunity of seeking an interview with the
singular but interesting recluse who five years before had placed in her
hands the endearing, though ignorant little girl, whose education had
proved a task so unusually pleasing.
The principal reason, however, for Mrs. Wilmot's wishing to pay Miss
Compton a visit, arose from the description Agnes had given of her
conduct towards her, and of the system of non-intercourse which it was
so evidently the little lady's intention to maintain.
Without having uttered a word resembling fault-finding or complaint,
Agnes had somehow or other made the Wilmots feel that, though aunt Betsy
certainly did not like her, she liked aunt Betsy a great deal better
than she did aunt Barnaby; and this, added to the favourable impression
Miss Compton had herself left upon their minds, made the good Mrs.
Wilmot exceedingly anxious that she should not remain ignorant of the
treasure she possessed in her young relation.
The delay of a few days before Mrs. Wilmot could take her pupil home,
was inevitable; and when they arrived Mrs. Barnaby had bustled her
affairs into such a state of forwardness, that, though she received
them without any great appearance of melancholy or ill-humour, she
hinted pretty plainly that Agnes came too late to be of much use to her
in packing.
Mrs. Wilmot made a very sufficient apology for the delay, and then took
leave, saying that she should remain in Silverton that night, and drive
out the next morning to pay her compliments to Miss Compton. The bare
mention of the spinster's name at once converted the widow's civility
into rudeness; she offered her guest neither refreshment nor
accommodation of any kind; and poor Agnes had the pain of seeing her
dearest friend depart to pass the night at an inn, when she would have
gladly stood by to watch her slumbers all night, might she have offered
her own bed for her use.
On the following morning Mrs. Wilmot paid her purposed visit to Miss
Compton, and found her, in dress, occupation, and mode of life, so
precisely what she has been described before, that not a word need be
added on the subject. Greatly different, however, was the welcome she
accorded that lady to what we have formerly seen her bestow upon her
relatives. She greeted her, indeed, with a smile so cordial, and a tone
of voice so pleasantly expressive of the satisfaction her visit gave,
that it was only when the object of it was brought forward, that Mrs.
Wilmot, too, discovered that Miss Compton could be a very cross little
old lady when she chose it.
"I shall quite long, my dear madam, to hear your opinion of my pupil,"
said Mrs. Wilmot, "for I cannot but flatter myself that you will be
delighted with her."
"Then ask me nothing about her, ma'am, if you please," replied the
recluse.
"But it is near two years, Miss Compton, since you saw her, and she is
wonderfully improved in that time," said Mrs. Wilmot.... "Yet I own I
should have thought that even then, two years ago, when you did see her,
that you must have found her a very charming girl, full of sweetness and
intelligence, and with a face...."
"We had better say no more about her, if you please, Mrs. Wilmot,"
tartly interrupted the recluse.... "I dare say you made the best you
could of her, and it is no fault of yours that old Wisett's great
grand-daughter should be a Wisett; ... but I hate the very sight of her,
as I do, and have done, and ever shall do, that of all their kin and
kind ... so it is no good to talk of it...."
"The sight of her!..." reiterated the astonished Mrs. Wilmot. "Why, my
dear Miss Compton, she is reckoned by every one that sees her to be one
of the loveliest creatures that nature ever formed.... If her timid,
artless manners, do not please you, it is unfortunate; but that you
should not think her beautiful, is impossible."
"I beg your pardon, ma'am ... I should not care a straw for the manners
of a child, for I know that time and care might change them, ... but it
is her person that I can't endure; ... there is no disputing about
taste, you know. I should not have thought, indeed, that she was quite
the style for you to admire so violently; ... but, of course, that is
nothing to me.... I know that the look of her eyes, and the colour of
her cheeks, is exactly what I think the most detestable; ... there is no
right or wrong in the matter ... it is all fancy, and the sight of her
makes me sick.... Pray, ma'am, say no more about her."
There was but one way in which Mrs. Wilmot could comprehend this
extraordinary antipathy to what was so little calculated to inspire it,
and this was by supposing that Miss Compton's personal deformity
rendered the sight of beauty painful to her; an interpretation, indeed,
as far as possible from the truth, for the little spinster was
peculiarly sensible to beauty of form and expression wherever she found
it; but it was the only explanation that suggested itself; and with
mingled feelings of pity and contempt, Mrs. Wilmot replied,--"There may
be no right or wrong, Miss Compton, in a judgment passed on external
appearance only, for it may, as you observe, be purely a matter of
taste; but surely it must be otherwise of an aversion conceived against
a near relative whose amiable disposition, faultless conduct, and
brilliant talents, justly entitle her to the love, esteem, and
admiration of the whole world.... This is not merely a matter of taste,
and in this there may be much wrong."
Miss Compton appeared struck by these words, but after pondering a
moment upon them, replied,--"And how can I tell, Mrs. Wilmot, but that
your judgment of this child's character and disposition may be as much
distorted by unreasonable partiality, as your opinion of her
vulgar-looking person?"
A new light here broke in upon the mind of Mrs. Wilmot; she remembered
the remarkable plumpness of the little Agnes before she made that sudden
start in her growth which, in the course of two important years, had
converted a clumsy-looking child into a tall, slight, elegantly made
girl; and with greatly increased earnestness of manner she answered,--
"I only ask you to see her once, Miss Compton.... I have no wish
whatever that your judgment should be influenced by mine with respect
either to the person or the mind of Agnes Willoughby; but I greatly
wish that your own opinion of her should be formed upon what she now is,
and not upon what she has been. I am sure you must feel that this is
reasonable.... Will you then promise me that you will see her?"
"I will," ... replied Miss Compton. "The request is reasonable, and I
promise to comply with it. Yet it can only be on one condition, Mrs.
Wilmot."
"And what is that, Miss Compton?"
"That I may see her without her horrid aunt Barnaby."
Mrs. Wilmot smiled involuntarily, but answered gravely, "Of course, Miss
Compton, that must be as you please.... Rather than you should fail to
see my pretty Agnes, I will remain another day from home on purpose to
bring her to you myself. Will you receive us if we come over to you at
this hour to-morrow morning?"
"I will," ... again replied the recluse; "and whatever may be the result
of the interview, I shall hold myself indebted to the kind feelings
which have led you to insist upon it."
"Thank you, thank you!" said Mrs. Wilmot, rising to take her leave.
"To-morrow, then, you will see me again, with my young charge."