MRS. BARNABY TAKES POSSESSION OF HER LODGINGS, AND SETS ABOUT MAKING
HERSELF COMFORTABLE.--SHE OPENS HER PLANS A LITTLE TO AGNES, AND GIVES
HER SOME EXCELLENT ADVICE.--THE COMFORT OF A MIDSUMMER FIRE.--THE
APARTMENT OF AGNES SET IN ORDER.--A LECTURE ON USEFULNESS.--VIRTUOUS
INDIGNATION.
The following morning Mrs. Peters took care, without being particularly
rude, that a movement of some activity "to speed the parting guest,"
should be perceptible in her household. Mr. Peters took a very kind
leave of both ladies at breakfast, and expressed a very friendly wish of
being useful to them as long as they should remain at Clifton; but his
judicious lady, who generally knew, without any discourtesy, how to make
him perceive that his first impressions were somewhat less acute than
her own, had pointed out to him a few peculiarities in Mrs. Barnaby,
which he certainly did not approve. The principal of these, perhaps, was
that of her rouging, which for some time he steadfastly refused to
believe, declaring that her complexion was the most beautiful he ever
saw; but when, his examination being sharpened, he could withhold his
belief no longer, he ingenuously confessed he did not like it, and
allowed that, though he thought it would be great folly to lose the fine
fortune she had promised them on that account, he certainly thought he
should feel more comfortable when the rouge pots were all gone into
lodgings, because they were articles he did not wish to put in the way
of his girls.
As soon as Mr. Peters had taken his leave, the footman was very audibly
instructed to order a porter to come for Mrs. Barnaby's luggage; "And
let it be before the hall dinner, Stephen, that William may be able to
walk beside the things, and see that none of them are dropped by the
way."
And then Mrs. Barnaby was very kindly asked if she would not like to
send her maid to see that a fire was lighted in the drawing-room, and
that anything she wanted for dinner might be ordered in?... And then the
thoughtful Mrs. Peters proposed, after Betty Jacks had been gone about
an hour, that James should go to the lodgings, and that they should not
set off themselves till he came back and gave notice that everything was
ready and comfortable.
In short, Mrs. Barnaby, her niece, her maid, and all their travelling
baggage, were safely deposited at No. 1, Sion Row, before the clock
struck three.
The widow looked about her when she first got into her own drawing-room
very much as if she did not know how she got there. She was puzzled and
mystified by the tactics of Mrs. Peters. Delighted beyond all bounds of
moderation in finding the family so infinitely higher in station than
she had anticipated, her first idea, on perceiving what a land of milk
and honey she had fallen into, was to exert all her fascinating talents
to enable her to stay there as long as possible. But the conviction
that this scheme would not take, came upon her, she hardly knew how. She
had not the slightest inclination to persuade herself that the "dear
Margaret" was otherwise than civil to her, yet she felt as if she was to
be kept in order, and neither go, nor stay, except as she might receive
permission; but, finally, she contrived to heal the wound her vanity had
thus received by believing that Mrs. Peters's high fashion, and superior
knowledge of life, naturally rendered her manners unlike any she had
hitherto been acquainted with, and consequently that she might
occasionally mistake her meaning.
Upon the whole, however, she began her Clifton campaign in very good
spirits. The Peterses must be extremely useful acquaintance, and might
be safely boasted of anywhere as dear and near relations. This was very
different from arriving, as she had done, at Exeter, without a chance of
making a single acquaintance besides her dress-maker. Moreover, she had
got through the difficulty of throwing off her weeds admirably; she had
managed matters so that the dress of Agnes should be perfectly
respectable, and yet cost her nothing for a twelvemonth; she had just
received a quarter's income without any deduction, and, to crown all,
"she never was in better looks in her life."
Short, then, was the interval of discomfort that kept her inactive on
first entering her lodgings. "It was not quite such a drawing-room as
that of Mrs. Peters, to be sure, but it was the most fashionable part of
Clifton; and with her management, and admirable ways of contriving
things, she should soon make it extremely _lady-like_."
"Well, now then we must set to work, Agnes," she said, drawing off her
gloves. "Come, Jerningham, you must not stand looking out of the window,
child; there is an immense deal to do before we can be comfortable. And
the first thing will be to get all the trunks up, those that came by the
waggon, and those that came with us."
"Then I'm sure, ma'am," replied the waiting-maid, "I don't know where
you'll find room to put 'em."
"They must all be brought in here, Jerningham, to begin; and when I have
got all my own things unpacked, we must see how we shall be off about
drawers, and closets, and pegs, and all that; and then the empty trunks
and boxes must be carried into your garret, Jerningham, or into that
little room inside mine, that I mean to give up to Agnes."
"To me, aunt?... How very kind!" exclaimed her niece, delighted beyond
measure at the idea of some place, no matter what, where she might be
alone.
"Yes, my dear.... You have not seen the rooms yet; come with me, Agnes,
while Jerningham goes down about the trunks, and I will shew you our
apartments."
"But what am I to do then, ma'am, about the trunks?" said Betty Jacks in
a fit of despair; "I'm sure I can't carry 'em up any how."
"Then ask the people of the house to help you."
"Why, there's only the old lady and one maid, ma'am, and I'm sure they
can't and they won't."
Mrs. Barnaby meditated for a moment, and then drew out her purse. "Here
is sixpence, Jerningham: go to the next public-house, and hire a man to
bring up my boxes. It is immensely expensive, Agnes, this moving about,
and we really must be very careful!... Of course, my dear, you do not
want any dinner after the Rodney Place luncheon? I took care to take a
couple of glasses of wine on purpose; and you should remember, my dear,
that I have every earthly thing to pay for you, and never neglect an
opportunity of sparing me when you can. After we have done our unpacking
we can dress, and go out to the pastry-cook's--there is hardly anything
I like better than cakes--and you can have a biscuit, you know, if you
should want anything before tea."
The majestic lady then led the way to their "apartments," which
consisted of a small bed-room behind the drawing-room, and a very small
closet, with a little camp-bed behind that.
"Here, my dear, is the room I intend for you. It is, I believe,
generally used for a servant, but I have been at the expense of hiring a
garret for Jerningham on purpose that you might have the comfort of
this. In fact, that bed of mine is not larger than I like for myself,
and the drawers, and all that, are not at all more than I shall want; so
remember, if you please, not to let any single article of yours, great
or small, be ever seen in my room; I shall be puzzled enough, I am sure,
as it is, to find room for my own things. You have a great advantage
over me there, Agnes; ... that fancy of yours for keeping yourself in
deep mourning makes it so easy for you to find space enough for
everything."
"Oh yes!" replied Agnes joyfully, "everything shall be put into the
closet. What very pleasant lodgings these are, aunt ... so much better
than those at Exeter! It is such a nice closet this, and I am so much
obliged to you for giving it up to me!"
"I shall be always ready to make sacrifices for you, Agnes, so long as
you continue to behave well. Here come some of the boxes ... now then,
you must kneel down and help to unpack them."
It was a long and a wearisome task that unpacking, and often did Agnes,
as the sun shone in upon them while they performed it, think of her
pleasant walks with her new friends, and long to breathe again the air
that blew upon her as she stood on the top of St. Vincent's rocks.
Mrs. Barnaby, on the contrary, was wholly present to the work before
her; and though she waxed weary and warm before it was completed, her
spirits never flagged, but appeared to revive within her at every fresh
deposit of finery that she came upon, and again and again did she call
upon Agnes and Jerningham to admire the skill with which she had stowed
them.
At length the work was done, and every disposable corner of her room
filled; under the bed, over the bed, in the drawers, and upon the
drawers, not an inch remained unoccupied by some of the widow's
personalities.
It was by this time so late that the cake scheme was given up, and the
drawing-room being restored to order, the two ladies sat down to tea. It
was then that Mrs. Barnaby's genius displayed itself in sketching plan's
for the future: she had learned from Mrs. Peters and the simple-minded
Elizabeth, during their drive to and from Bristol, all particulars
respecting the Clifton balls, and moreover that the Peters family seldom
failed to attend them.
"This will be quite enough to set us going respectably: people that come
in their own carriage, must have influence. I trust that those stupid
humdrums, the Wilmots, gave you some dancing lessons, Agnes?"
"Yes, aunt."
"You are always so short in your answers, you never tell me anything. Do
you think you could get through a quadrille without blundering?"
"Yes, I hope so, aunt."
"Remember, if you can't, I shall be most dreadfully angry, for it would
destroy all my plans entirely.--I mean, Agnes, that you shall dance as
much as possible;--nothing extends one's acquaintance among young men so
much. I am not quite sure myself about dancing. I don't think I shall do
it here, on account of dear Margaret ... perhaps she might think it too
soon. I shall probably take to cards; that's not a bad way of making
acquaintance either; but in all things remember that you play into my
hands, and whenever you have a new partner remember that you always say
to him, 'You must give me leave to introduce you to my aunt'.... Do you
hear me, Agnes?"
"Yes, aunt," replied the poor girl with an involuntary sigh.
"What a poor, stupid creature you are, to be sure!" returned Mrs.
Barnaby in a tone of much displeasure. "What in the world can you sigh
for now, just at the very moment that I am talking to you of balls and
dancing? I wish to Heaven you were a little more like what I was at your
age, Agnes! Be so good as to tell me what you are sighing for?"
"I don't know, aunt; I believe I am tired."
"Tired?... and of what, I should like to know? Come, come, let us have
no fine lady airs, if you please; and don't look as if you were going to
cry, whatever you do. There is nothing on earth I dislike so much as
gloom. I am of a very cheerful, happy temper myself, and it's perfect
misery to me to see anybody look melancholy.... I declare, Agnes, I am
as hungry as a hound!... I don't like to ring for Jerningham again, she
looked so horridly cross; and I wish, my dear, you would just toast this
round of bread for me. Mrs. Peters was quite right about the fire ... it
is such a comfort! and coals are so cheap here.... Let me stir it up a
little ... there, now its as bright as a furnace; you can just kneel
down in the middle here upon the rug."
Agnes obeyed, and after some minutes' assiduous application to the
labour imposed, she presented the toasted bread, her own fair face
scarcely less changed in tint by the operation.
"Gracious me, child! what a fright you have made of yourself!... you
should have held the other hand up before your face.... You are but a
clumsy person, I am afraid, at most things, as well as at satin-stitch.
Will you have some more tea, my dear?..." draining, as was her habit,
the last drop into her own cup before she asked the question, and then
extending her hand to that genial source of hospitality, the tepid urn.
"No more, thank you, aunt.... I will go now, if you please, and take all
my things out of your way ... and I shall make my closet so
comfortable!..."
"I dare say you will. But stay a moment, Agnes: if you find you have
more room than you want, do put my two best bonnet-boxes somewhere or
other among your things, so that I can get at them ... so that
Jerningham can get at them, I mean, easily."
"I will, if I can, aunt, but I am afraid there will hardly be room for
my chair. However, you shall come and see, if you please, yourself, and
then you will be the best judge; but I will go first, and get everything
in order."
"Very well, then, Agnes, you may tell Jerningham to separate everything
like mourning from my things, and give it all to you. And you must
contrive, my dear, to cut and make up everything to fit yourself, for I
really can be at no expense about it. It is perfectly incredible how
money goes in this part of the country, so different from our dear
Silverton!... However, I will not grumble about it, for I consider it
quite my duty to bring you out into the world, and I knew well enough
before I set out, that it could not be done for nothing. But it is a
sort of self-devotion I shall never complain of, if you do but turn out
well."
Agnes was standing while this affectionate speech was spoken, and having
quietly waited for its conclusion, again uttered her gentle "thank you,
aunt," and retired to arrange the longed-for paradise of her little
closet.
Darkness overtook her before she had fully completed her task; but,
perhaps, she wilfully lingered over it, for it kept her alone, and
permitted her bright and innocent spirit to indulge itself by recalling
all the delight she had felt in looking down upon the bold and beautiful
scenery of the Avon, and she blessed Heaven for the fund of happiness
she was now conscious existed within her, since the power of looking out
upon Nature seemed sufficient to produce a joy great enough to make her
forget aunt Barnaby, and everything else that gave her pain. A part,
too, of her hours of light, was spent in opening more than one of her
dear little volumes to seek for some remembered description of scenery
which she thought would be more intelligible to her now than heretofore;
and as Spencer happened to fall into her hands, it was no great wonder
if his flowery meads and forests drear, tempted her onwards till she
almost lost herself among them.
At length, however, she had done all that she thought she could do
towards giving a closet the appearance of a room; and having stowed her
tiny looking-glass out of the way, and placed pens, ink, and a book or
two, on the rickety little table in its stead, she looked round in the
dusky twilight with infinite satisfaction, and thought, that were she
quite sure of taking a long country walk about three times a week with
the Peterses, she should be very, very happy, let everything else go on
as it might.
Having come to this satisfactory conclusion, (for a walk three times a
week was an indulgence she might reasonably hope for,) she cast one fond
look round upon her dark but dear solitude, and then went to rejoin her
aunt in the drawing-room, and announce its state of perfection to her.
She found her seated at the open window.
"What have you been about, Agnes, all this time?" she said. "It is lucky
that my cheerful, happy temper, does not make solitude as dreadful to me
as it is to most people, or I should be badly off, living with you. You
are but a stupid, moping sort of a body, my dear, I must say, or you
would have guessed that there was more to see at the front of the house
than at the back of it. I declare I never saw such a delightful window
as this in my life. You would never believe what a mall there has been
here from the moment I took my place till just now, that it's got almost
dark; ... and even now, Agnes, if you will come here," ... she added in
a whisper, ... "but don't speak ... you may see one couple left, and
lovers they are, I'll be bound for them.... Here, stand here by me."
"No, thank you, aunt," said Agnes, retreating; "I don't want to see
them, and I think it is more comfortable by the fire."
"You don't choose to spoil sport, I suppose; ... but don't be such a
fool, and pretend to be wiser than your betters. Come here, I say; you
shall take one peep, I am determined."
And as this determination was enforced by a tolerably strong pull, Agnes
yielded, and found herself, greatly against her inclination, standing at
the open window, with her head obligingly thrust out of it by her
resolute aunt.
The lamps were by this time lighted, and at that moment a remarkably
tall, gentleman-like looking personage passed beneath one that stood
almost immediately below the window, receiving its full glare upon his
features. Beside him was a lady, and a young one, slight, tall, and
elegant-looking, who more than leaned upon his arm, for her head almost
reclined upon his shoulder; and, as they passed, Agnes saw his hand
raised to her face, and he seemed to be playing with her ringlets.
Agnes forcibly withdrew her head, while Mrs. Barnaby threw herself half
out of the window for a minute, then drew back, laughing heartily, and
shut down the sash.
"That's capital!..." she cried; "they fancied themselves so very snug.
But wasn't he a fine figure of a man, Agnes? I never saw a finer fellow
in my life. He's taller than Tate by half a head, I am sure. But you're
right about the fire too, for the wind comes over that down uncommonly
cold. I shall go to work for an hour, and then have a little bread and
cheese and a pint of beer."
Mrs. Barnaby suited the action to the word, and unlocked her work-box,
in which she found ready to her hand good store of work prepared for her
beloved needle.
"Now, only see, Agnes, what a thing it would have been for you, if you
had learned to work satin-stitch!" she said, "Here am I, happy and
amused, and before I go to bed I dare say I shall have done a good inch
of this beautiful collar.... And only look at yourself! What earthly use
are you of to anybody?... I wonder you are not ashamed to sit idle in
that way, while you see me hard at work."
"May I get a book, aunt?"
"Books, books, books!... If there is one thing more completely full of
idleness than another, it is reading,--just spelling along one line
after another.... And what comes of it? Now, here's a leaf done already,
and wait a minute and you'll see a whole bunch of grapes done in
spotting. There is some sense in that: but poring over a lot of
rubbishly words is an absolute sin, for it is wasting the time that
Heaven gives us, and doing no good to our fellow-creatures."
"And the grapes!" thought Agnes, but she said nothing.
"Why don't you answer when I speak to you, child?... Did that stupid
Mrs. Wilmot never tell you to speak when you were spoken to?... What a
different creature you would have been if I had had the placing you,
instead of that crooked, frumpish old maid!... But I am sadly afraid it
is too late now to hope that you will ever be good for much."
"I should be very glad to try to make myself competent for the situation
of a governess, aunt, as you once mentioned to me," replied Agnes.
"Oh! by the by, I want to speak to you about that. You are not to say
one word on that subject here, remember, nor indeed anywhere, till at
such time as I shall give you leave. It will be cruelly hard for me to
have the monstrous expense of maintaining you, exactly as if you were my
own child, and not have the credit of it. And, besides I don't feel
quite sure that I shall send you out as a governess ... it must depend
upon circumstances. Perhaps I shall get you married, and that might suit
me just as well. All you have to do is to keep yourself always ready to
go out at a minute's warning, if I say the word; but you need mention it
to nobody, and particularly not to my relations here."
"Very well, aunt.... I will say nothing about it. But in order to be
ready when you say the word, I think I ought to study a good deal, and I
am willing to do it if you will give me leave."
"How you do plague me, child, about your learning! Push the candles this
way, can't you, and snuff them, when you see me straining my poor eyes
with this fine work.... And do you know, miss, I think it's very likely
those books you are so mighty fond of are nothing in the world but
trumpery story-books, for I don't believe you'd hanker after them so, if
they were really in the teaching line. For, after all, Agnes, if I must
speak the truth, I don't believe you ever did pay attention to any
single thing that could be really useful in the way of governessing.
Now, music, for instance, nobody ever heard you say a word about that;
and you ought to sing too, if you wer'n't more stupid than anything ever
was, for both your father and mother sang like angels."
"I can sing a little, aunt," said Agnes.
"There, now, ... isn't it as plain as possible that you take no
pleasure in it?... though everybody said your poor dear mother could
have made her fortune by singing. But you care for nothing but books,
books, books!... and what profit, I should like to know, will ever come
of that?"
"But I do care very much indeed for music, aunt," said Agnes eagerly,
"only I did not talk about it, because I thought it might not be
convenient for you to have an instrument for me. But I believe I could
learn to get my bread by music, if I had a pianoforte to study with."
"Grant me patience!... And you really want me to go and get you a
pianoforte, which is just the most expensive thing in the world?... And
that after I had so kindly opened my heart to you about my fears of not
having money enough!... I do think that passes anything I ever heard in
my life!"
"Indeed, aunt, I never would have said a word about it if...."
"If?... if what, I should like to know? Heaven knows it is seldom I
lose my temper about anything, but it is almost too much to hear you
ask me to my face to ruin myself in that way, ... and you without a
chance of ever having a penny to repay me!"
"Pray forget it, aunt!... Indeed I do not wish to be an expense to you,
and will very gladly try to labour for my own living, if you will let
me."
"Mighty fine, to be sure!... Much you're good for, ar'n't you?... I wish
you'd get along to bed. My temper is too good to bear malice, and I
shall forget all about it to-morrow, perhaps; but I can't abide to look
at you to-night after such a speech as that ... there's the truth; ...
so get to bed, that's a good girl, as fast as you can.... There are some
things too much even for an angel to bear!"
Agnes crept to her little bed, and soon cried herself to sleep.