MRS. PETERS BECOMES UNEASY, BUT CONTRIVES TO ATTAIN HER OBJECT.--A
PLEASANT WALK DISCOVERED TO BE A GOOD MEANS OF MAKING A PARTY OF YOUNG
PEOPLE ACQUAINTED WITH EACH OTHER.--MRS. PETERS SHEWS MUCH PROMPTITUDE
AND EXPERIENCE IN TAKING LODGINGS.--SHE ALSO DISCOVERS THE BEST MODE OF
LIONIZING A LADY WHO IS TOO BEAUTIFUL.--ANOTHER COUNTRY WALK IMPROVES
THE INTIMACY BETWEEN THE YOUNG LADIES.
The impressions mutually received overnight, were not greatly changed
when the parties met again on the following morning; excepting, indeed,
that Mr. Peters was rather surprised at seeing the widow looking so very
smart, and so very much handsomer.
The young people could hardly admire Agnes more than they had done
before, though they confessed that they were not fully aware of the
particular beauty of her hair, or of the perfect symmetry of her person,
till they had seen her by daylight; but Mrs. Peters pleaded guilty to
disliking her affectionate sister quite as much on Tuesday morning as
she had done on Monday night; and as the sun shone brightly she took
advantage of this to introduce the subject that was decidedly next her
heart.
"You must take care to put this beautiful day to profit, Mrs. Barnaby,"
said she. "Of course you have heard of our rocks, and our downs, Miss
Willoughby? and you could not look at them through a more favourable
atmosphere.... We shall have time to take you to our famous windmill,
and to shew you some lodgings too, Mrs. Barnaby, for we Bristol people
never sacrifice business to pleasure. I thought of you yesterday morning
when I saw a bill up at Sion Row ... some of the prettiest lodgings in
Clifton, and it will be dangerous to put off looking at them, they are
so very likely to be taken."
The good-natured Mr. Peters felt a great inclination to say that there
could be no need of hurry in looking out for lodgings, as he should be
so very glad to keep the ladies where they were; but, though the most
perfect harmony (real harmony) and good feeling existed between Mr.
Peters and his wife, a very salutary understanding also existed, that
whenever she said anything that he did not quite comprehend, which not
unfrequently happened, he was neither to contradict nor observe upon it
till the matter had been inquired into between them when they were
_tete-a-tete_, upon which occasions he always found her as ready to hear
as to render reasons, and it was rare indeed that the conference broke
up without their being of the same mind.
In conformity to this excellent rule, the good man suffered this
lodging-hunting expedition to be arranged without offering any
objection, and set off on his daily walk to the Bristol exchange, with
no other observation than that he should leave James to escort them, as
he did not think he should find him a very gay companion if he took him
away.
The ladies then immediately dispersed to bonnet and cloak themselves,
and in a few minutes the whole party, amounting to seven, all turned out
upon the broad flagstones of Rodney Place, and dividing into three
couples, with James hanging on upon that of which Agnes was one,
proceeded, headed by Mrs. Barnaby and Mrs. Peters, towards Sion Row.
Before they reached it, however, James called a council with his eldest
sister and Miss Willoughby, upon the necessity of so very large a party
all going to look for lodgings.
"Would it not be better, Mary," said the young man, "for us to take Miss
Willoughby to the down? The others can follow if they like it, you know,
and we shall be sure to meet them coming back."
"Very well, then, tell mamma so, will you?" replied the young lady,
turning off in the direction indicated.
The message caused the elder ladies to stop; Mrs. Peters looked very
much as if she did not like her share in the division, but, after a
moment's hesitation, she good-humouredly nodded assent, and walked on,
Elizabeth, (who in her heart believed Mrs. Barnaby was the kindest
person in the world, because she said so,) joining the elder ladies, and
the four others striking off towards the beautiful rising ground on the
right.
There is a sort of free-masonry among young people which is never
brought into action till the elders are out of the way, and it was
probably for this reason that Agnes felt better acquainted with her
companions, before they had pursued their walk for half an hour, than
all the talk of the preceding evening, or that of the breakfast-table,
had enabled her to become. Something, too, might have been effected in
the way of familiarity by an accident arising from the nature of the
scenery upon which they paused to gaze. On reaching the windmill, and
looking down upon the course of the Avon, winding its snake-like path at
their feet, with the woods of Leigh, rich in their midsummer foliage,
feathering down on one side, and rocks of limestone, bright in their
veins of red and grey, freshly opened by the quarrying, rising
beautifully bold on the other, Agnes stood wrapt in ecstasy. All she
had yet seen of Nature had been the flowery meads and blooming apple
orchards of the least romantic part of Devonshire; and though there was
beauty enough in this to awaken that love of landscape which is always
one of the strongest feelings in a finely-organized mind, she was quite
unprepared for the sort of emotion the scene she now beheld occasioned
her. She pressed forward before her companions, and, utterly unmindful
of danger, leaned over the verge of the giddy precipice, till young
Peters, really alarmed, seized her by the arm and drew her back again.
Tears were in her eyes, and her face was as pale as marble.
"My dear Miss Willoughby!" said Mary, kindly, "the precipice has made
you giddy, ... I do believe, if James had not seized you, that you would
have fallen!"
"Oh! no, no," replied Agnes, shaking her head, while a bright flush
instantly chased the paleness, "I do assure you I was not in any danger
at all ... only I never saw anything so beautiful before."
"Let us sit down," said Lucy. "There is no dampness whatever. It is
almost the first day of real summer, and the air is delicious. Is it not
beautiful here, Agnes?"
A look of gratitude, and almost of affection, was the answer; and as the
little party sat together, inhaling that most delicious of essences
which the sun draws forth when herbs and flowers are what he shines
upon, with a lovely landscape around, and each other's fair young faces
and blithe voices beside them, was it wonderful that the recent date of
their acquaintance should be forgotten, or that they laughed, and
chatted, and looked about, and enjoyed themselves, with as much gaiety
and as little restraint as if they had known each other for years.
They were all very happy, and a full hour passed unheeded as they amused
themselves, sometimes with idle talk, sometimes with listening to the
reverberating thunder that arose from the blasting of the rocks below
them, and sometimes by sitting silent for a whole minute together,
pulling up handfuls of the fragrant thyme with which their couch was
strewed. They were all very happy, but none of the party had any notion
of the happiness of Agnes. It was the first moment of real positive
enjoyment she had tasted since she left Empton, and a feeling like
renewed life seemed to seize upon her senses. Without reasoning about
it, she had felt, during the last few months, as if it were her fate to
be unhappy, and that all she had to do was to submit; but, to her equal
delight and astonishment, she now found that nobody ever was so much
mistaken, for that she was one of the most particularly happy people in
the world, wanting nothing but sun, sweet air, and a lovely landscape,
to make her forget that such a thing as sorrow existed; and the only
thought that threw a shadow upon the brightness of her spirit, was that
which suggested that she must have been very wicked to have doubted for
a moment the goodness of God, who had formed this beautiful world on
purpose to make people happy.
But, though every moment of such an hour as this seems to leave its own
sweet and lasting impression on the memory, the whole is soon gone; and
when Mary, with the wisdom called for by being the eldest of the party,
jumped up, exclaiming that they had quite forgotten their appointment to
meet her mother on the down, Agnes roused herself with a sigh, as if she
had passed through a momentary trance.
They met the rest of their party, however, though the order of the
meeting was changed, for it was our young set who encountered the others
on their return, after a ramble of half a mile or so towards the
turnpike, which it is probable had not been enlivened by any such
raptures as those felt by Agnes.
The two parties now joined, and the conversation was general, not very
lively perhaps, but by no means devoid of interest to Agnes, who had
fallen so heartily in love with St. Vincent's rocks, as to make her hear
of being fixed for some time in their neighbourhood with the greatest
delight.
"Well, ma'am, have you seen any lodgings that you liked?" said the
eldest Miss Peters to Mrs. Barnaby.
"Yes, my dear Mary, I have, indeed," replied the widow; "thanks to your
dear kind mamma, who has really been indefatigable. Clifton seems
exceedingly full, I think, and I am not sorry for it, for my poor dear
Agnes really wants a little change to rouse her spirits.... That
mourning habit that she so delights in, is, I am sorry to say, but too
just a type of her disposition."
The brother and sisters, who had so lately shared in the gay hilarity of
Agnes's laughter, exchanged glances, but said nothing, while she herself
blushing, and half laughing again at the same recollection, changed the
subject by saying.--
"And have you taken lodgings, aunt?"
"Yes, my dear, I have ... small but very delightful lodgings in Sion
Row ... the very Row, Agnes, that you heard my dear sister mention this
morning as so desirable!... and which we quite despaired of getting at
first, for there appeared to be all sorts of difficulties. But,"
turning to Mrs. Peters, "you seem to understand all these things,
Margaret, so admirably well! You made the good woman do exactly what
you pleased.... So clever,... and so like your poor dear brother!..."
"My poor dear brother must have been wonderfully changed if he ever
shewed himself half so self-willed!" thought the conscious Mrs. Peters,
who had certainly used something like bribery and corruption to remove
all difficulties in procuring for her sister-in-law apartments, which
must by agreement be entered upon the following day.
"But you have got them, aunt, at last?... I am so glad of it!... for I
think Clifton the most beautiful place I ever saw in my life."
"Falling in love with the young man, that is quite clear," thought the
active-minded widow.
A fresh return of happiness awaited Agnes on re-entering the house. Lucy
threw her wraps aside and sat down to the pianoforte: she played
prettily, and sang, too, well enough to delight the thirsty ears of
Agnes, who had never heard a note, excepting at the cathedral at Exeter,
since she had left her school. The evident pleasure which her
performance gave to her young auditor, encouraged the good-natured Lucy
to proceed, and, excepting during an interval occupied by eating
sandwiches for luncheon, she continued to play and sing till three
o'clock.
Though by no means one of those performers who like to keep the
instrument wholly to themselves, it never occurred to her to ask Agnes
to play. There was something so childishly eager in the delight with
which she listened, that Lucy fancied it was the novelty of the thing
that so captivated her attention; and with something of that feeling,
perhaps, against which her father had warned them all, and which leads
young ladies at Clifton to fancy that young ladies in Devonshire must be
greatly behind-hand in all things, she somehow or other took it for
granted that it was very unlikely Agnes Willoughby should have learned
to play or sing.
When the time-piece on the chimney struck three, there seemed to be a
general movement among the Peters family, indicative of another
_sortie_.
"I suppose you walk again, mother?" said the young man.
"I suppose so, James. I dare say Mrs. Barnaby will like to go to the
library and put her name down at the rooms."
"Oh yes!... I shall, indeed, ... for poor Agnes's sake!..."
"Very well; that is all quite right.... You and I are smart enough, Mrs.
Barnaby, but I suppose the girls will choose to change their walking
bonnets for bonnets for the walk, and we must wait for them. Here are
all the annuals, I believe, ... and I am deep in this review."
So saying, Mrs. Peters threw aside her shawl, seated herself in a low
bee-hive that just fitted her little person, and "happified" herself
with a biting article in the Quarterly.
Mrs. Barnaby smilingly turned to the piles of pretty books that
decorated the loo-table; but hardly had the young ladies disappeared,
and Mrs. Peters occupied herself, than she rose, and silently glided out
of the room.
Agnes had no better bonnet to put on than the one she had already
displayed, but she ran up stairs with the other girls, because one of
them had put out a hand inviting her to do so, and it was therefore to
one of their rooms she went, instead of her own: another step this, and
a very considerable one too, towards intimacy between young ladies; for
few things produce a more genial flow of talk than the being surrounded
by a variety of objects in which all parties take a common interest.
Had Mrs. Barnaby been upon this occasion a little less humble-minded in
her estimate of her own charms, it would have been better for her; but,
unfortunately, a restless spirit within whispered to her that she was
not quite beautiful enough for the "walk," and the "library," and the
"rooms," and it was to refresh her rouge a little, that she followed the
young ladies up stairs.
Now her rouge had been decidedly sufficient before, and moreover, after
she had touched up her bloom to the point she deemed to be the most
advantageous, it struck her that her lavender and black bonnet and
plumes looked sombre, and would be rendered infinitely more becoming by
introducing among the blonde beneath a few bright blossoms of various
colours; so that, when she re-entered the drawing-room, she looked
precisely like a clever caricature of what she had been when she left
it,--the likeness not lost, but all that touched upon the ridiculous or
_outre_ brought out and exaggerated.
Mrs. Peters looked up as she entered, and gave her one steady glance,
then rose from her chair and rang the bell.
The young people were all seated in array, waiting for the widow's
re-appearance as a signal to depart, and all rose together as she
entered; but they had yet longer to wait, for Mrs. Peters, after ringing
the bell, quietly reseated herself, and prepared to resume her book,
saying,--
"Upon second thoughts, dear friends, I think we shall do better if we
order the carriage, and take Mrs. Barnaby and Miss Willoughby to
Bristol. The library and all that will be within five minutes' walk of
their lodgings, and as they leave us to-morrow, it will be making
better use of our time to go to Bristol to-day." At this moment a
servant entered, and the determined little lady, without waiting to hear
any opinions on her proposal, desired to know if the coachman was in the
house.
"Yes, ma'am," was the reply.
"Then tell him to bring the carriage round as quickly as he can.... You
may give Miss Willoughby another song, Lucy, in the interval. I want
you, Mary, in my room for a moment."... And Mrs. Peters left the room,
followed by her eldest daughter.
"Have I puzzled you, Mary?" said she, laughing, and closing the door of
the dressing-room as soon as they had entered it.... "Don't think me
whimsical, child, but upon my word I cannot undertake to parade that
painted and plumaged giantess through Clifton. I will sacrifice myself
for a two hours' purgatory, and listen with the patience of a martyr to
the record of her graces, her virtues, and her dignity, but it must be
in the close carriage. I always prefer performing my penances in
private. Elizabeth evidently believes in her, and I really think
admires her beauty into the bargain; so she had better go with us, for I
presume, Mary, you have no wish to be of the party?"
"Oh yes, I will certainly go, if Agnes does.... But, mamma, I hope you
won't take a fancy against our being a great deal with Miss Willoughby.
I will agree in all you may choose to say against this overwhelming aunt
Barnaby, but it would grieve me to be rude to her charming niece. She
is, I do assure you, the very sweetest creature I ever made acquaintance
with."
"It is evident that you have taken a great fancy _for_ her, ... and,
upon the whole, it is a fancy that does you honour, for it clearly
proves you to be exempt from the littleness of fearing a rival.... There
is not a single girl in the neighbourhood that can be compared to her in
beauty--I am quite ready to acknowledge that; ... but you must excuse
me, Mary, if I doubt the possibility of my sympathizing with you in
your general and unqualified admiration of a young lady brought up by my
portentous sister Barnaby."
"But Agnes Willoughby was not brought up by her, mamma ... quite the
contrary.... You laugh, mamma, but I do assure you...."
"I laugh at your '_quite the contrary_,' which means, I suppose, that
she has been brought _down_ by her; and you will be brought down too, my
dear, if you suffer yourself to be identified with her and her rouge in
public."
"Identified with Mrs. Barnaby?... I am quite sure that I do not like her
at all better than you do; and I will make myself into a porcupine, and
set up my quills at her whenever she comes near me, if you wish it; but
then, on your side, you must promise" ... and the young lady took her
mother's hand very coaxingly ... "you must promise to take the trouble
of talking a little to Agnes ... will you?"
"Yes, I will, if I have an opportunity; ... and I am sure, if she is
good for anything, I pity her.... Now, then, let us go down again, and
you shall see how well I will behave."
Before they reached the drawing-room, however, Mary Peters had conceived
a project of her own. She knew what sort of a drive it would be when her
mother was "behaving well" to a person she disliked, and she instantly
addressed a whispered request to Agnes that she would stay at home, and
chat, instead of going to Bristol.
"If I may!..." replied Agnes, colouring with pleasure at the proposal;
but the yoke upon her young neck was far from being as easy a one as
that by which Mrs. Peters guided her daughters, and she felt so much
doubt of obtaining permission if she asked it herself, that she added,
"Will you ask for me?"
"Mrs. Barnaby," said her courageous friend, "you must do without your
niece during your drive, if you please, for she is going to look over my
portfolios."
"You are excessively kind, my dear Mary!" replied the benign Mrs.
Barnaby, too well satisfied at displaying herself in her beloved
sister's carriage to care three straws what became of her niece the
while. "I am sure Agnes can never be sufficiently grateful for all your
kindness."
The delighted Agnes instantly disembarrassed herself of all out-of-door
appurtenances, and Lucy, without saying a word about it, quietly did the
same. The carriage was announced, the radiant widow stalked forth, Mrs.
Peters took Elizabeth by the arm, and followed her, shaking her head
reproachfully at Lucy as she passed her, and the young man escorted them
down stairs; but having placed them in the carriage, he declined
following them, saying,--
"I dare say my father will be glad of the drive home, for it is quite
hot to-day.--You will be sure to find him at the Exchange Coffee-house
if you get there by half-past four.... A pleasant ride!... Good
morning!" and the next moment he joined the happy trio in the
drawing-room.
"And what shall we do with ourselves?" said he. "Would Miss Willoughby
like to promenade among the beaux and belles? Or will she let us keep
her all to ourselves, and take another delightful country walk with us?
Which do you vote for, Miss Willoughby."
"For the country walk, decidedly," she replied.
"Then let us go down by the zig-zag, and walk under the rocks," said
Lucy; and in another minute they were _en route_ for that singular and
(despite the vile colour of the water) most beautiful river-path.
The enjoyment of this second ramble was not less to Agnes than that of
the first, for, if the newness of the scenery was past, the newness of
her companions was past too; and she suffered herself to talk, with all
the open freedom of youth and innocence, of her past life, upon which
Mary, with very friendly skill, contrived to question her; for she was
greatly bent upon discovering the source and cause of the widely
different tone of mind which her acuteness had discovered between Mrs.
Barnaby and her protegee. This walk fully sufficed to explain it; for
though Agnes would have shrunk into impenetrable reserve had she been
questioned about her aunt Barnaby, she opened her heart joyfully to all
inquiries respecting Empton, and the beloved Wilmots; nor was she
averse, when asked if Mrs. Barnaby had placed her with these very
delightful people, to expatiate upon the eccentric character of her
half-known aunt Betsy. On the contrary, this was a subject upon which
she loved to dwell, because it puzzled her. The one single visit she had
made to Miss Compton in her bower, with the simple but delicious repast
which followed it ... the old lady's marked kindness to herself, her
mysteriously rude manner to her aunt Martha, ... the beauty of her
bower, the prettiness of her little parlour, had all left a sort of
vague and romantic impression upon her mind, which no subsequent
interviews had tended to render more intelligible. And all this she
told, and with it the fact that it was this same dear, strange, variable
aunt Compton, who had placed her in the care of Mrs. Wilmot.
"Miss Compton of Compton Basett," repeated Mary; "that is a mighty
pretty aristocratic designation. Your aunt Betsy is an old spinster of
large fortune, I presume?"
"Why, no, I don't believe she is; indeed, my aunt Barnaby says she is
very poor, but that she might have been a great deal richer had she not
given so much of her property to the poor; ... but I wish I knew
something more of her.... I cannot help thinking that, with all her
oddities, I should like her very much. There is one thing very strange
about her," she added musingly, "she is quite deformed, quite crooked,
and yet I think she is one of the most agreeable-looking persons I ever
saw in my life."
"She has a handsome face, perhaps?" said Lucy.
"No, I believe not. She is very pale, and her face is small, and there
is nothing very particular in her features; but yet, somehow or other, I
love dearly to look at her."
"The force of contrast, perhaps?" whispered James to his eldest sister.
"No doubt of it," she replied.
And thus they walked and talked, till it was quite time to turn back,
and though their pace was somewhat accelerated, it was as much as they
could do to get home in time to dress for their six o'clock dinner.
But the walk was not only agreeable, but profitable to Agnes, for at the
end of it Miss Peters felt fully prepared to give a reason for her
confidence relative to the cause of the dissimilarity between Mrs.
Barnaby and her niece.