THE WIDOW.
'Whose grand groom is that, half afraid to ride through the yard?' asked
Mr Prothero, as he and his son Owen were standing by the big wheat-mow,
awaiting the arrival of a load of corn.
'I'll go and see what he wants,' said Owen, and off he went.
He returned, bearing a note for his father.
'He says he is Mr Griffith Jenkins's groom, and waits for an answer.
Howel doesn't do the thing by halves anyhow.'
'Mr Griffith Jackanapes!' said the farmer, breaking the seal of the note
hastily, and reading it.
Owen watched his countenance assume an angry expression, and then heard
him utter a very broad Welsh oath.
'Tell that feller there's no answer,' said Mr Prothero.
'What is it about father? you had better let mother see it first.'
'The impudent young ass! does he think I am to be taken in by all that
gold and plush? He shall never have my consent, and you may tell him so,
Owen.'
'Come into the house a minute, father, and let us see the note.'
They went into the house, the farmer giving an indignant grunt at the
groom as he passed.
'Mother, come here!' he roared as he entered the parlour, followed by
Owen.
The obedient wife left her kitchen and went to her husband.
'Read you it out loud, Owen.'
Owen read.
'SIR,--Being in a position to marry, and to marry any lady in the
county, I think you need not be surprised at my now aspiring to the
hand of your daughter, to whom I have been many years attached. I
beg, therefore, to say that my object in writing to you is, to ask
your permission to pay my addresses to her, and to make her my
wife. My attorney will see to any arrangements you may require as
regards settlements, which are matters of no importance to me,--I
remain, sir, your obedient servant,
'HOWEL GRIFFITH JENKINS.'
'The impudent scoundrel!' said Mr Prothero.
'Well, father, I don't see--' began Owen.
'You don't see, sir, I daresay you don't. Wasn't he as near ruining you
as possible! Didn't he teach you to gamble, and fleece you, and lead
you into all kinds of mischief? Didn't I forbid him the house for it?
Didn't he rob his own father, and make his mother miserable? Didn't he
drink and keep company with the worst profligates of the country? Didn't
he as good as rob me, sir, out of a ten-pound note when he was a bit of
a boy, and when I found it out, called it a lark? Do you think a great
fortune will all of a sudden change such a chap as that into an honest
man? No, what's ill got is ill spent, and old Giffrey Jenkins's money
'ill never turn to good account. He that grinds the poor, and goes
against scripture as a usurer, 'ill never find his son do well. Howel
shall never have my consent to marry Netta, and there's an end of it.'
'But suppose they are determined,' said Mrs Prothero.
'Then I'll wash my hands of 'em for ever, and vow Netta's no girl of
mine. Go you, Owen, and send off that fine yellar-band, sent to astonish
me, and tell him I'll have nothing to do with his master nor him.'
'But, father, you must write!'
'Write! not I: but stop, I'll write. Bring the paper. Haven't you got
any with a fine gloss, and coloured?'
'Now, David, bach, if you would only consider a little. I am really
afraid of the consequences.'
'Now, mother, my mind's made up, and you won't wheedle me in this
matter. So, here's the pen and ink,'
Mr Prothero sat down and wrote the following reply to Howel's note:--
'HOWEL,--You have had my answer before now, and you may have it
again. When I know you're out-and-out a changed man, I may think
differently; but I don't know it yet, so you shall not have my
consent to marry Netta. One hundred pounds of steadiness and
honesty is worth a hundred thousand pounds of gold. I wish you
well, but if you was king of England you shouldn't have my girl as
you are now.'--Yours to command, 'DAVID PROTHERO,'
'There, mother, there's my mind,' said Mr Prothero, giving the note to
his wife.
'Well, David, I believe you are right, only Netta is so determined!'
'Determined, is she! Then I'll lock her up. Take that to yon
yellar-band, Owen.'
Owen took the note to the servant
'Tell your master that I am coming to see him this evening,' he said,
and soliloquised thus when the man was gone. 'Howel is a good fellow, I
believe, only a little extravagant and gay. I must tell him not to be
down-hearted about Netta. Why, the girl isn't worth such a bother? I
never saw one that was yet. It would take a great deal of time and
trouble to work me up into that kind of thing--and at least a dozen
girls. Netta's very pretty, to be sure, but she has a will of her own,
and so has Howel. I am sure they would soon fight. As to father, he is
as obstinate as a mule. And Howel with such a mint of money! But I like
father's pride, and I must say I reel proud of him for it. I would never
give in just because a man has suddenly got a fortune.'
When Owen had arrived at this conclusion, he perceived Netta coming
towards him.
'What did that servant want, Owen?' she asked when she came quite near?
'and what were those two notes about?'
'I dare say you know, Miss Netta. It is all over with you for this
present. Howel has popped the question, and father has refused him.'
If Owen had ever been really in love, he would have spoken less abruptly
on such a delicate subject, as he found, when he saw Netta turn pale,
then red, then burst into tears and run away from him into the house.
He followed her, somewhat distressed, to the door of her bedroom. He
knocked gently, but received no answer.
'Netta, let me in, I have something to say to you,'
No reply, but a passionate sobbing audible.
'Netta, dear Netta, I am so sorry for you. Let me in.'
He tried the door, but it was locked.
'Netta, if you don't let me in I'll go and fetch mother directly. One,
two, three, and, now, open the door, I'm going. One, two, three, and
away!'
He walked down the passage, and heard the door opened behind him.
'Owen, come here, I will let you in,'
'There's a good little sister.'
'Don't palaver me, sir,' burst forth Netta, as soon as her door was
closed. 'You are all unfeeling, unnatural, cruel, selfish, hard-hearted
heathens! You don't care for me or Howel any more than as if we were
strangers. Father don't mind what he drives me to, and mother cares more
for that Irish beggar than for me--I know she does. I did think you
would be our friend, and now you are as stiff and unfeeling as Rowland.
Seure you are,'
'Why, if I was a parson like Rowland, I'd marry you to-morrow.'
'Then, why don't you try to bring father round. You know he thinks more
of you than of anybody else.'
'It's no use trying; nobody but mother has any influence with father,
and she is not sure that 'tis right or good for you and Howel to marry.'
'She is cruel and unkind,' sobbed Netta; 'I don't believe any one really
loves me but Howel,'
'Stick to that, Netta; 'I for one haven't a spark of affection for you.
All father wants is to get rid of you, and that is why he is in such a
hurry for you to make such a grand match!'
'Oh! indeed! he and all the rest of you are as jealous of Howel's good
fortune as you can be,--you know you are. And you wouldn't like to see
me a grand lady, grander than Miss Rice or Miss Nugent even. Won't I let
them know I'm somebody, and not to be looked down upon any more, that's
all!'
Hereupon Netta wiped her eyes, and walked up and down the room grandly,
whilst Owen burst out laughing,
'I beg you to go out of, my room, Owen!' said Netta, stamping her foot
and getting into a passion. 'One can't expect manners or sympathy from
seafaring porcupines like you. Go away directly. Why, John James, the
carter, is genteeler than a great coarse sailor such as you. Go you
away, I say.'
'You ought to have said a seafaring dolphin or whale; they don't pay
twopence a week to learn manners, like you land-lubbers. When you want
me you may send for me.'
Owen went off very much offended, leaving Netta to cogitate upon the
cruelty of her relations.
In the course of that afternoon, a very well-dressed woman, in the
deepest of sables, was seen going down the road to the farm. She went
round through the garden to the glass-door, disdaining the yard, knocked
a great many times, to the great astonishment, of Shanno, and was at
last admitted, as Mrs Griffith Jenkins. Shanno, all reverence at sight
of the crape bonnet, crape veil, and widow's cap, ushered her into the
parlour, feeling that a chasm now lay between her and the dame she had
last seen in a high-crowned Welsh hat, striped flannel gown, and checked
apron. Having duly dusted a chair with her skirts, Shanno glanced at Mrs
Jenkins, and was about to leave the room, when Mrs Jenkins said,--
'Tell you your missus that I am coming on particular business and wish
to speak with her in private. Here, stop you, Shanno, where is Miss
Netta? I 'ouldn't mind giving you a shilling to tell her I was wanting
to see her before I am seeing her mother.'
The shilling was offered, and received with much satisfaction and an
intelligent grin, and in less than five minutes Netta was with Mrs
Jenkins.
'Deet to goodness, and you do look very poorly, Netta, fach!' said that
worthy, 'Howel was telling me to see you, and to be giving you this
note. Give you another to Shanno before I will be going away, and I will
give it to my Howel. Annwyl! you shall be seeing my Howel, now; how he
do look a horseback. Beauty seure! he do say you will have a horse, too.
There, go you? tell Shanno to tell your mother that I do be glad to see
her, let her tak' care how she do refuse you again.'
Netta escaped with her note, and was soon succeeded by Mrs Prothero, who
shook hands in a trembling, frightened way with Mrs Jenkins, who, on the
contrary, strong in the consciousness of fortune and new apparel, was
perfectly self-possessed. She began at once.
'I am coming about my Howel and your Netta, Mrs Prothero Howel is in a
fine temper, keeping noise enough, I can tell you; and I should like to
be knowing why he isn't good enough for your doater, Mrs Prothero; him
as is worth hundreds of thousands, and is as like to be coming a member,
and to be riding in his own carriage, and to be dining with the Queen
for that much! and seurely, he don't be good enough for Miss Prothero
Glanyravon Farm! Ach a fi! some peoples do be setting themselves up! my
Howel, too! So handsome, and genteel, so full of learning! Name o'
goodness what would you have, Mrs Prothero, Glanyravon Farm?'
Mrs Jenkins paused with a long emphasis on the farm.
'I am very sorry, Mrs Jenkins,' began trembling Mrs Prothero rubbing one
hand nervously over the other, 'but my husband is afraid that Howel is
not quite steady enough for such a giddy young thing as Netta.'
'Study! why, tak' your time and you'll be seeing how study and pretty he
do behave. On my deet, and I 'ouldn't say that, if I wasn't as seure as
I'm alive, he haven't took a drop too much, nor said a wicked word, nor
keep no low company since his poor dear father was dying. Ah, Mrs
Prothero! you was being very good to us when I was losing my poor
Griffey. Who'd be thinking what a heap of money he'd be leaving, and
Howel'll be building a good house for me? and seure, I must be dressing
in my best, and having servants to wait on me? and, bless you, nothing
as my son Howel's can be getting is too good for his poor old mother!'
'I am very glad to hear he is so kind,' said Mrs Prothero.
'Then what do you say about Netta, Mrs Prothero, fach?' sharply asked
Mrs Jenkins.
'To tell you the truth, I have very little power; my husband made up his
mind and wrote the note without consulting me.'
'Then maybe I could be seeing Mr Prothero?'
'I am afraid it would only lead to something unpleasant between you.'
'Oh, you needn't be taking the trouble to be afraid, ma'am! I am calling
my Howel as good or better as your Netta. There was a time when you
might been looking higher, but now I conceit it, it will be us as do
condescend. There's Miss Rice Rice, and the Miss Jamms's, Plas Newydd,
and Miss Lawis, Pontammon, and Miss Colonel Rees, and Miss Jones the
'Torney, and Miss Captain Thomas, and I 'ouldn't say but Miss Gwynne,
Glanyravon, do be all speaking, and talking, and walking, and dancing
with my Howels! There's for you: and yet he do like his cousin Netta
best he do say.'
'If you wish to see David, Mrs Griffey, I will call him,' said timid Mrs
Prothero, at her wits' end for anything to say or do.
'Seurely I am wishing to see him,' said Mrs Jenkins majestically.
David had not come in from his farm, so there was nothing for it but to
ask Mrs Jenkins to take off her bonnet and have some tea, to which that
lady graciously consented. When the crape shawl and black kid gloves
were removed Mrs Prothero perceived a large mourning brooch, containing
a gloomy picture of a tomb, set in pearls and diamonds, and surrounded
by the age, death, etc., of the lamented deceased; and a handsome
mourning ring, displaying a portion of iron-grey hair, also set in
pearls and diamonds, and surrounded with an appropriate epithalamium.
Mrs Prothero sat 'washing her hands in invisible soap,' whilst she saw
these ensigns of grandeur in the once mean, ill-dressed Mrs Jenkins, and
heard of all that 'her Howels' was about to effect.
Owen came in, and with due gravity admired the mourning insignia, and
examined the dates, age, etc., of the defunct Griffey. He went so far as
to venture upon a distant allusion to the future.
'I never thought those caps so becoming before, Aunt Jenkins,' he said,
eyeing her from head to foot, and wondering that he had never previously
been aware of what a good-looking woman his Welsh aunt was.
A Welsh aunt, be it understood, is your father or mother's cousin, and
Mrs Jenkins and Mr Prothero were first cousins.
'Isn't Davies, Pennycoed, that you used to tell us was once a lover of
yours, a widower?' continued Owen.
'Well, Owen,' said Mrs Jenkins, not displeased, 'you are always for
jokes, but I do mean never to marry again.'
'Don't make any rash vows; a young woman like you!'
Here Netta having dried her eyes, joined the party, and shortly after
Mr Prothero's voice was heard.
'After tea!' whispered Mrs Prothero to Mrs Jenkins, as she went out to
meet her husband. 'Here's Elizabeth Jenkins, David, come over to see us,
and she is going to stay to tea. I think she wants to speak to you
afterwards.'
'Very glad to see her; but Howel sha'n't have Netta a bit the more for
that.'
Mr Prothero put on a smart coat, brushed his hair, and came into the
parlour, as became one about to meet a grand lady.
'How d'ye do, cousin 'Lizabeth? Glad to see you looking so well; welcome
to Glanyravon.'
They shook hands, and as Mrs Jenkins made rather a grand attempt at a
curtsey, Owen looked at Netta, and showed his white teeth; but Netta was
as grave as a judge.
Mr Prothero was as much struck with the improvement in the widow's
appearance as his son.
'Why, I declare, cousin 'Lizabeth, you look ten years younger than you
did when I saw you last. Do you mind when we two used to go nutting
together? If 'twasn't for my good 'ooman there--'
'I was just saying so, father,' interrupted Owen; 'don't you think
Davies, Pennycoed--'
'I am not having no intentions of marrying again,' simpered the widow;
'wanst is enough. My poor Griffey.'
'Quite right, cousin 'Lizabeth, wan Griffey is enough, in all
conscience.'
The best tea things were duly arranged; cakes hot from the oven
buttered; the best green tea put into the best teapot, and all proper
honour done to Mrs Jenkins, from which she augured well for her Howels.
As Shanno was very busy and very dirty, Mrs Prothero, during her
preparations in the kitchen, was at a loss to know who was to wait if
anything was wanted. Gladys chanced to be there, and said modestly,--
'If I could do, ma'am, I would soon make myself neat in Miss Prothero's
gown; and if I might just take in the tray instead of you.'
'Thank you, Gladys, I am sure you will do,' and Gladys was installed.
'There is nothing that girl cannot do,' thought Mrs Prothero, as she
arranged everything on the tea-table as neatly and properly as Mrs
Prothero could have done herself.
'What a tidy girl you have!' said Mrs Jenkins. 'Do she mean to be
staying over Hollantide? I am wanting a servant.'
All eyes were turned on Gladys as she came into the room again, but as
hers were always fixed on what she was carrying, or on her mistress, she
was not aware of the sudden attention she excited.
'Irish beggars!' muttered Netta.
'One of mother's godsends,' said Mr Prothero.
'What a beautiful piece of snow,' thought Owen.
After tea Mr Prothero invited Mrs Jenkins to go and see his fine fat
cattle. The pair went together, leaving an anxious trio behind them.
Farmer Prothero was a man of few words when his mind was made up, and
was not long in beginning the subject each had at heart.
'I'm sorry, cousin 'Lizabeth, that I can't let Netta marry just now.
She's too young, and Howel isn't the lad to study her.'
'Oh! but you can't be knowing, David Prothero, how study he is since his
poor father's death.'
'Then let him wait two years, and if he is downright well-conducted,
then he may have Netta.'
'Upon my deet! he as can be marrying Miss Rice Rice or any young lady in
the country! Mighty condescent, Mr Prothero!'
'Let him marry 'em all, I don't want him.'
'Then you won't let Netta marry my Howels?'
'If he's study in two years, and they are both in the same mind, they
may marry, and be hanged to 'em! I never was so bothered in my life.
But, between ourselves, I think it's just as likely your son Howel 'ould
be study in two years as my son Owen.'
'Oh, name o' goodness, we don't want Miss Netta! No 'casion to be
waiting!'
'Then don't wait, 'ooman! Who wants you to wait?'
Mrs Jenkins hurried back into the house, and left Mr Prothero with his
cattle.
'I must be going now, Mrs Prothero--my son Howels too! Thousands and
thousands of pounds. Netta, come you upstairs, my dear, whilst I am
putting on my bonnet.'
Mrs Prothero was not duenna enough to accompany them upstairs, and
consequently Netta gave a note to Mrs Jenkins, cried a little, and
helped her to abuse her parents.
'Never you mind, Netta, fach,' were the last words, 'Howels don't be
meaning to give you up.'
'Good evening, ma'am; good evening, Mr Owen,' said Mrs Jenkins, as she
made the attempt at a curtsey, that caused Owen to show his white teeth
again.
'Oh dear, dear! what will be the end of it?' said Mrs Prothero to Owen
as Netta sulked upstairs. 'I wish Rowland was at home.'
'Very complimentary to your eldest son!' said Owen, laughing.