AGNES APPEARS LIKELY TO PROFIT BY THE CHANGE OF AUNTS.
The first waking under the consciousness of new, and not yet familiar
happiness, is perhaps one of the most delightful sensations of which we
are susceptible. Agnes had closed her eyes late, and it was late when
she opened them, for Peggy had already drawn her window curtains; and
the gay hangings and large looking-glasses of the apartment met her eyes
at the first glance with such brilliant effect, that she fancied for an
instant she must still be dreaming. But by degrees all the delightful
truth returned upon her mind. Where was the blank, cold isolation of the
heart, with which her days were used to rise and set? Where were the
terrors amidst which she lived, lest her protectress should expose
herself by some monstrous, new absurdity? Where was the hopeless future,
before which she had so often wept and trembled? Was it possible that
she was the same Agnes Willoughby who had awoke with such an aching
heart, but four-and-twenty hours ago?... All these questions were asked,
and gaily answered, before she had resolution to spring from her bed,
and change her delightful speculations for a more delightful reality.
Notwithstanding the various fatigues of the preceding day, Miss Compton
was not only in the drawing-room, but her letter to Lady Elizabeth
Norris was already written on the third side of a sheet of letter paper,
thus giving Agnes an opportunity of explaining everything before her own
lines should meet her ladyship's eye.
The meal which has been slandered as "lazy, lounging, and most
unsocial," was far otherwise on the present occasion. The aunt and niece
sat down together, each regaling the eyes of the other with a
countenance speaking the most heart-felt happiness; and while the old
lady indulged herself with sketching plans for the future, the young one
listened as if her voice were that of fate, declaring that she should
never taste of sorrow more.
"The carriage will be here at twelve, Agnes," said Miss Compton, to
"take us into what our books tell us is called THE CITY, as if it were
the city of cities, and about which I suppose you and I are equally
ignorant, seeing that you never did take that pleasant little walk the
dowager Mrs. Barnaby so considerately sketched out for you. So now we
shall look at it together. But don't fancy, my dear, that any such idle
project as looking at its wonders is what takes me there now.... I have
got a broker, Agnes, as well as the widow, and it is quite as necessary
to my proceedings as to hers that I should see him. But we must not go
till our partnership letter is ready for the post. Here is my share of
it Agnes ... read it to me, and if it meets your approbation, sit down
and let your own precede it."
The lines written by Miss Compton were as follow:--
"MADAM,
"Permit a stranger, closely connected by the ties of blood to
Agnes Willoughby, to return her grateful thanks for kindness
extended to her at a moment when she greatly needed it. That
she should so have needed it, will ever be a cause of
self-reproach to me; nor will it avail me much either in my own
opinion, or in that of others, that the same qualities in our
common kinswoman, Mrs. Barnaby, which produced the distress of
Agnes, produced in me the aversion which kept me too distant to
perceive their effects on her respectability and happiness.
"I am, Madam,
"Your grateful and obedient servant,
"ELIZABETH COMPTON."
Agnes wrote:--
"MY KIND AND GENEROUS FRIENDS!
"Lady Elizabeth!... Lady Stephenson! I write to you, as I never
dared hope to do, from under the eye and the protection of my
dear aunt Compton. It is to her I owe all the education I ever
received, and, I might add, all the happiness too, ... for I
have never known any happy home but that which her liberal
kindness procured for me during five years spent in the family
of my beloved instructress Mrs. Wilmot. For the seven months
that have elapsed since I quitted Mrs. Wilmot, my situation, as
you, my kind friends, know but too well, has been one of very
doubtful respectability, but very certain misery. My aunt
Compton blames herself for this, but you, if I should ever be
so happy as to make you know my aunt Compton, will blame me.
Her former kindness ought to have given me courage to address
her before, even though circumstances had placed me so entirely
in the hands of Mrs. Barnaby as to make the separation between
us fearfully wide. But, thank God! all this unhappiness is now
over. I _did_ apply to her at last, and the result has been the
converting me from a very hopeless, friendless, and miserable
girl (as I was when you first saw me) into one of the very
happiest persons in the whole world. I have passed through some
scenes, from the remembrance of which I shall always shrink
with pain; but there have been others ... there have been
points in my little history, which have left an impression a
thousand times deeper, and dearer too, than could ever have
been produced on any heart unsoftened by calamity. And must it
not ever be accounted among my best sources of happiness, that
the regard which can never cease to be the most precious, as
well as the proudest boast of my life, was expressed under
circumstances which to most persons would have appeared so
strongly against me?
"My generous friends!... May I hope that the affection shewn to
me in sorrow will not be withdrawn now that sorrow is past?...
May I hope that we shall meet again, and that I may have the
great happiness of making my dear aunt known to you? She is all
kindness, and would take me to Cheltenham, that I might thank
you in person for the aid so generously offered in my hour of
need, but I fear poor Mrs. Barnaby's adventures will for some
time be too freshly remembered there for me to wish to revisit
it...."
When Agnes had written thus far, she stopped. "Where shall I tell them,
aunt Betsy, that we are going to remain?" she said.... "If ... if
Colonel Hubert" ... and she stopped again.
"If Colonel Hubert ... and what then, Agnes?"
"Why, if Colonel Hubert _were_ to pay us a visit, aunt Betsy, I cannot
help thinking that he would understand me better now, than when I was so
dreadfully overpowered by the feeling of my desolate condition.... Don't
you think so?"
"I think it very probable he might, my dear; ... and as to your sensible
question, Agnes, of where we are going to be, I think you must decide it
yourself. We have both declared against Cheltenham, and for reasons
good.... Where then should you best like to go?"
"To Clifton, aunt Betsy!... It was there I saw him first, and there,
too, I was most kindly treated by friends who, I believe, pitied me
because ... because I did not seem happy, I suppose.... Oh! I would
rather go to Clifton than any place in the world ... excepting Empton."
"And to Empton we cannot go just at present, Agnes ... it would be too
much like running out of the world again, which I have no wish at all to
do. To Clifton, therefore, we will go, dear child, and so you may tell
your good friends."
Agnes gave no other answer than walking round the table and imprinting a
kiss upon the forehead of her happy aunt.... Then resuming her writing,
she thus concluded her letter:--
"My aunt Compton, as soon as she has concluded some business
which she has to settle in London, will go to Clifton, where, I
believe, we shall stay for some months; and should any of your
family happen again to be there, I may perhaps be happy enough
to see them. With gratitude to all, I remain ever your attached
and devoted
"AGNES WILLOUGHBY."
Poor Agnes!... She was terribly dissatisfied with her letter when she
had written it. Not all her generalizations could suffice to tell him,
THE him, the only mortal him she remembered in the world,--not all her
innocent little devices to make it understood that _he_ was included in
all her gratitude and love, as well as in her invitation to
Clifton,--made it at all clear that she wanted Colonel Hubert to come
and offer to her again.
Yet what could she say more?... She sat with her eye fixed on the paper,
and a face full of meaning, though what that meaning was, it might not
be very easy to decide.
"What is my girl thinking of?" said Miss Compton.
"I am thinking," replied Agnes, and she shook her head, "I am thinking
that Colonel Hubert will never understand from this letter, aunt Betsy,
how very much I want to see him again."
"That is very true, my dear."
"Is there anything else I could say to make him know how greatly he
mistook me when he fancied I said NO from my want of love?"
"Oh yes! my dear, certainly."
"Tell me then, my dear, dear, aunt!... I feel as if I had no power to
find a word.... Tell me what I shall say to him."
"You may say many things ... for instance, ... you may say, Tell my
beloved Colonel Hubert...."
"Oh! aunt Betsy!... aunt Betsy! you are laughing at me," cried Agnes,
looking at her very gravely, and with an air of melancholy reproach.
"So I am, my dear: an old spinster of three score is but a poor
confidant in matters of this sort.... But if you seriously ask for my
advice, I will give it, such as it is. Let our letter go just as it is,
without any addition or alteration whatever. If Colonel Hubert sees this
letter, as you seem to expect, and if he loves you as you deserve to be
loved, he will find food enough for hope therein to carry him further
than from one end of Gloucestershire to the other.... If he does _not_
see it, put what you will in it, he would learn nothing thereby.... But
if, seeing it, he determines to sit quietly down under your refusal ...
then let him; I, for one, should feel no wish to become better
acquainted with the gentleman."
Agnes said no more, but folded the letter, and directed it to Lady
Elizabeth Norris, Cheltenham.
"Now, aunt, I have folded up Colonel Hubert, and put him out of sight
till he shall choose to bring himself forward again.... I will tease you
no more about him.... Shall I put my bonnet on?... The carriage has
been waiting for some time."
"My darling Agnes!..." said the old lady, looking fondly at her, "how
little I deserve to find you so exactly what I wished you should be!...
You are right; we will talk no more of this Colonel Hubert till he has
himself declared what part he means to play in the drama before us. We
shall be at no loss for subjects.... Remember how much we have to settle
between us!... our establishment, our equipage, our wardrobes, all to
be decided upon, modelled, and provided. Get ready, dearest; the sooner
we get through our business, the earlier we shall be at Clifton; ... and
who knows which part of our _dramatis personae_ may arrive there first?"
A happy smile dimpled the cheek of Agnes as she ran out of the room to
equip herself, and in a few minutes the two ladies were _en route_
towards the city.
"What makes you wear such very deep mourning, my dear?" said Miss
Compton, fixing her eyes on the perennial black crape bonnet of her
companion. "Is it all for the worthy apothecary of Silverton?... But
that can't be either, for now I think of it, his charming widow had half
the colours of the rainbow about her.... What does it mean, Agnes?"
Agnes looked out of the window to conceal a smile, but recovering her
composure answered,... "I have never been out of mourning, aunt, since
Mr. Barnaby died.... There was a great deal of black not worn out, ...
and as it made no difference to me...."
"Oh! monstrous!..." interrupted Miss Compton. "I see it all: ... while
she wantons about like a painted butterfly, she has thrown her
chrysalis-case upon you, my pretty Agnes, in the hope of making you look
like a grub beside her.... Is it not so?"
"Oh no!... my aunt Barnaby loves dress certainly, ... and greatly
dislikes black, and so...."
"And so you are to wear it for her?... Well, Agnes, you shan't abuse
her, if you think it a sin.... God forbid!... But do not refuse to let
me into a few of her ways.... Did she ever ask you to put on her
widow's cap, my dear? It might have saved the expense of night-caps at
least."
* * * * *
It was almost a cruelty in Agnes to conceal the many characteristic
traits of selfish littleness which she had witnessed in her widowed
aunt, from the caustic contemplation of her spinster one, for she would
have enjoyed it. But it was so much in her nature to do so, that dearly
as she would have loved to amuse aunt Betsy, and give scope to her
biting humour on any other theme, she gave her no encouragement on this;
so, by degrees, all allusion to Mrs. Barnaby dropped out of their
discourse; and if, from time to time, some little sample of her
peculiarities peeped forth involuntarily in speaking of the past, the
well-schooled old lady learned to enjoy them in silence, and certainly
did not love her niece the less for the restraint thus put upon her.
* * * * *
Considering how complete a novice our spinster practically was as to
everything concerning the vast Babylon called London, she contrived to
go where she wished and where she willed with wonderfully few blunders.
It was all managed between William and herself, and Agnes marvelled at
the ease with which much seemingly important business was transacted.
The carriage was stopped before a very dusky-looking mansion at no great
distance from the Exchange, within the dark passage of which William
disappeared for some moments, and then returning, opened the carriage
door, and, without uttering a word, gave his arm to assist Miss Compton
to descend.
"I will not keep you waiting long, my dear," she said, and, without
further explanation, followed her confidential attendant into the house.
In about half an hour she returned, accompanied by a bald-headed,
yellow-faced personage, who, somewhat to the surprise of Agnes, mounted
the carriage after her, and placed himself as _bodkin_ between them. "To
the Bank," was the word of command then given, and in a moment they
again stopped, and Agnes was once more left alone.
The interval during which she was thus left was this time considerably
longer than the last, and she had long been tired of watching the goers
and comers, all bearing, however varied their physiognomy, the same
general stamp of busy, anxious interest upon their brows, before the
active old lady and her bald-headed acquaintance re-appeared.
The old gentleman handed her into the carriage, and then took his leave
amidst a multitude of obsequious bows, and assurances that her commands
should always be obeyed at the shortest notice, _et cetera, et
cetera, et cetera_.
"Agnes!..." said the old lady, as soon as she had exchanged a few words
with William as to where she next wished to go, "Agnes! I look to you to
supply the place of my bees and my flowers, and I do not much fear that
I shall lament the exchange; but you must not continue to be dight in
this grim fashion; it might be soothing to the feelings of Mr. Barnaby's
fond widow, but to me it is very sad and disagreeable.... And so, my
dear, here is wherewithal to change it."
During the whole of this speech Miss Compton had been employed in
extracting a pocket-book of very masculine dimensions from her pocket;
and having at length succeeded, she opened it, drew forth two
bank-notes of twenty-five pounds each, and laid them in the lap of her
niece.
Agnes took them up, and looked at them with unfeigned astonishment. "My
dear aunt," she said, "I am afraid you will find me a much younger and
more ignorant sort of girl than you expected.... I shall no more know
what to do with all this money than a child of five years old. You
forget, aunt Betsy, that I never have had any money of my own since I
was born, and I really do not understand anything about it."
"This is a trouble of a new and peculiar kind, my dear, and I really
don't remember, in all my reading, to have found a precedent for it....
What shall we do, Agnes?... Must you always wear this rusty-looking
black gown, because you don't know how to buy another?"
"Why, no, aunt.... I don't think that will be necessary either; but
don't you think it would be better for you to buy what you like for
me?... It won't be the first time, aunt Betsy. I have not forgotten when
my pretty trunk was opened by Mrs. Wilmot, ... or how very nicely
everything was provided for the poor ragged little girl who never
before, as long as she could remember, had possessed anything beside
thread-bare relics, cobbled up to suit her dimensions.... It was you who
thought of everything for me then ... and I'm quite sure you love me a
great deal better now;" and Agnes placed the notes in Miss Compton's
hands as she spoke.
"I had prepared myself for a variety of new occupations," replied the
spinster, "but choosing the wardrobe of an elegant young lady was
certainly not one of them.... However, my dear, I have no objection to
shew you that my studies have prepared me for this too.... Nothing like
novel-reading, depend upon it, for teaching a solitary recluse the ways
of the world. You shall see how ably I will expend this money, Agnes;
but do not turn your head away, and be thinking of something else all
the time, because it is absolutely necessary, I do assure you, that a
young lady in possession of fifteen hundred a year should know how to
buy herself a new bonnet and gown."
The value of Miss Compton's literary researches was by no means lowered
in the estimation of Agnes by the results of the three hours which
followed; for though there were moments in which her thoughts would
spring away, in spite of all she could do to prevent it, from
discussions on silks and satins to a meditation on her next interview
with Colonel Hubert, she was nevertheless sufficiently present to what
was passing before her eyes to be aware that an old lady, who has
herself lived in a "grogram gown" for half a century, may be capable of
making a mighty pretty collection of finery for her niece, provided that
she has paid proper attention to fashionable novels, and knows how to
ask counsel, as to what _artistes_ to drive to, from so intelligent an
aide-de-camp as William.
In short, by the united power of the money and the erudition she had
hoarded, Miss Compton contrived, in the course of a fortnight, to make
as complete a change in the equipments of Agnes as that performed of
yore upon Cinderella by her godmother. Nor was her own wardrobe
neglected; she had no intention that the rusticity of her spinster aunt
should draw as many eyes on Agnes as the gaudiness of her widowed one,
and proved herself as judicious in the selection of sable satins and
velvets for herself, as in the choice of all that was most becoming and
elegant for the decoration of her lovely niece.
Never, certainly, was an old lady more completely happy than the
eccentric, proud, warm-hearted aunt Betsy, as, with a well-filled purse,
she drove about London, and found everything she deemed suitable to the
proper setting forth of her heiress ready to her hand or her order. She
could not, indeed, have a carriage built for her ... she could not
afford time for it; ... but William, the indefatigable William,
ransacked Long Acre from one end to the other, till he had discovered an
equipage as perfect in all its points as any order could have made it;
and on this the well-instructed Miss Compton, whose heraldic lore was
quite sufficient to enable her with perfect accuracy to blazon her own
arms, had her lozenge painted in miniature; which being all that was
required to render the neat equipage complete, this portion of their
preparation did not cause any delay.
To Miss Peters Agnes wrote of all the unexpected good which had befallen
her, with much freer confidence than she could indulge in when
addressing the relations of Colonel Hubert. Her friend Mary already knew
the name of "Miss Compton, of Compton Basett," and no fear of appearing
boastful rendered it necessary for her to conceal how strangely the
aspect of her worldly affairs was changed.
To her, and her good-natured mother, was confided the task of choosing
lodgings for them; and so ably was this performed, that exactly in one
fortnight and three days from the time Colonel Hubert had left Agnes so
miserably alone in Mrs. Barnaby's melancholy lodgings in Half-Moon
Street, she was established in airy and handsome apartments in the Mall
of Clifton, with every comfort and elegance about her that thoughtful
and ingenious affection could suggest to make the contrast more
striking.
The happiness of this meeting with the kind friends who had conceived so
warm an affection for her, even when presented by Mrs. Barnaby, was in
just proportion to the hopeless sadness with which she had bid them
farewell; and the reception of her munificent aunt among them, with the
cordial good understanding which mutually ensued, did all that fate and
fortune could do to atone for the suffering endured since they had
parted.