A PARTY.--A MEETING.--GOOD SOMETIMES PRODUCTIVE OF EVIL.
The superintending the toilet of Agnes for the party of that evening was
a new and very delightful page in the history of the spinster of Compton
Basett. The fondest mother dressing a fair daughter for her first
presentation, never watched the operations of the toilet more anxiously;
and in her case there was a sort of personal triumph attending its
success, that combined the joy of the accomplished artist, who sees the
finished loveliness himself has made with the fond approval of
affection.
Partly from her own native good taste, and partly from the wisdom of
listening with a very discriminating judgment to the practical counsels
of an experienced _modiste_, the dress of Agnes was exactly what it
ought to have been; and the proud old lady herself could not have
desired an appearance more _distinguee_ than that of her adopted child
when, turning from Peggy and her mirror, she made her a sportive
courtesy and exclaimed,--
"Have you not made a fine lady of me, aunt Betsy?"
When Miss Compton's carriage stopped at Rodney Place, it was Mrs.
Peters, instead of her daughter, who took a place in it.
"Mary is excessively angry with me," said she, as they drove off, "for
not letting her be your companion; but I think it more _comme il faut_,
Agnes, that I should present you to Mrs. Pemberton myself. She is a
vastly fine lady; ... not one of us humble Bristolian Cliftonites, who
pique ourselves rather upon the elevation of our lime-stone rock above
the level of the stream that laves our merchants' quays, than on any
other species of superiority that we can lay claim to. Mrs. Pemberton is
none of us.... She has a house in London and a park in Buckinghamshire,
and flies over the Continent every now and then with first-rate
aristocratical velocity; but she has one feeling, sometimes shared by
more ordinary mortals, which is a prodigious love of music. This, and a
sort of _besoin_, to which she pleads guilty, of holding a salon every
evening that she is not from home, forces upon her, as I take it, the
necessity of visiting many of us who might elsewhere scarcely be deemed
worthy to approach her foot-stool. We met her at the Parslowes, where
the girls' performances elicited a very gracious degree of approbation.
An introduction followed; she has honoured me by attending a concert at
my own house, and this is the fourth evening we have passed with her.
Now you have the _carte du pays_, and I think you will agree with me,
that it is much better I should make my _entree_ with you on my arm,
than permit you to follow with the damsels in my train."
Agnes confessed that she thought the arrangement much more conducive to
the dignity of her approach, and thanked her companion for her
thoughtful attention.
"Perhaps it is not quite disinterested, Agnes.... I am rather proud of
having such an exotic to produce.... What a delightful aunt Compton it
is!... Carriage perfect ... servants evidently town-made ... white satin
and blonde fit for an incipient duchess! If your little head be not
turned, Agnes, you will deserve to be chronicled as a miracle."
"I have had enough to steady the giddiest craft that ever was launched,
my dear Mrs. Peters," replied Agnes; "and it would be silly, indeed, to
throw my ballast overboard, because I am sailing before the wind."
"Then your head is not turned; ... that is what you mean to say, is it
not?"
"No," replied Agnes, laughing, "my head is not turned,--I feel almost
sure of it.... But why do you make such particular inquiries respecting
the state of my head at present, Mrs. Peters? Shall I be called upon to
give some illustrious proof of its healthy condition to-night?"
"Yes, my dear.... You will assuredly be called upon to sing, and you
must prove to my satisfaction that you are not grown too fine to oblige
your friends."
"Is that all?... Depend upon it I will do whatever you wish me."
Mrs. Pemberton's drawing-room was full of company when they entered it,
but that lady espied them the moment they arrived, and stepped forward
with so much eagerness to receive them, that Agnes thought Mrs. Peters
had, in her account of the acquaintance between them, hardly done
justice to the degree of favour she had risen to. But a few minutes more
convinced her, that even she, unknown as she was, might flatter herself
that some portion of this distinguished reception was intended for her;
for Mrs. Pemberton took her hand and led her to a seat at the upper end
of the room with an air of such marked distinction, as, spite of the
philosophy of which she had just been boasting, brought a very bright
flush to her cheeks, if it did not turn her head. A few words, however,
spoken by that lady to one of those beside whom she placed her,
explained the mystery, and proved that Mrs. Peters had deemed it prudent
to intimate her intention of bringing a young friend with her
beforehand.
"Miss Eversham, you must permit me to introduce this young lady to
you--Miss Willoughby.... Miss Eversham.... From a little word in Mrs.
Peters' note this morning, I flatter myself that I shall have the
gratification of hearing you sing together. This lady's voice is a
contralto, Miss Willoughby, and from what I have heard of your
performance at Mrs. Peters', before I had the pleasure of being
acquainted with her, your voices will be delightful together."
This most unexpected address was not calculated to restore the composure
of Agnes, and it was not without some effort that she summoned courage
enough to answer the numerous questions of Miss Eversham, (an elderly
young lady too much inured to exhibition to have any mercy upon her,)
when, as an excuse for withdrawing her attention for a moment, from the
ceaseless catechism that tormented her, she turned away her eyes to look
upon the company, and beheld the profile of Colonel Hubert, as he bent
to speak to a lady seated on a sofa near which he stood. This was not an
occurrence very likely to restore her composure, but at least it spared
her any farther anxiety respecting the effort necessary for receiving
the attentions of her neighbour properly, for she altogether forgot her
vicinity, and became as completely incapable of hearing her farther
questions, as of answering them.
"Had he seen her?... Did he know she was at Clifton?... Was his
aunt,--was Lady Stephenson there?... How would he address her?... Would
their intercourse begin from the point at which it had broken off, or
would her altered circumstances, by placing each in a new position, lead
to a renewed proposal, and an answer?... Oh how different from her
former one!"
These were the questions that now addressed themselves to her, making
her utterly incapable of hearing the continued string of musical
interrogatories which went on beside her. The short interval during
which Colonel Hubert retained his attitude, and continued his
conversation seemed an age, and expectation was growing sick, and almost
merging in despair, when at last the lady turned to answer a question
from her neighbour, and Colonel Hubert stood upright and cast his eyes
upon the company.
Her emotion was too powerful to permit bashfulness to take any part in
it; she sought his eye, and met it. In a moment all suffering was over,
and all anxiety a thousand fold overpaid, for the look she encountered
was all her heart could wish. At the first glance, indeed, he evidently
did not know her; it was that of a wandering speculative eye that seemed
looking out for occupation, and had she quite understood it aright, she
might have perceived that it was arrested by a sort of sudden suspicion
that it had found something worth pausing upon. But this lasted not
above the tenth part of an instant, and then he darted forward; his fine
proud countenance expressive of uncontrollable agitation, and the
rapidity with which he approached her was such as to show pretty plainly
that he forgot it was a crowded drawing-room he was traversing.
By the time he reached her, however, short as the interval was, the glow
that had lighted up her face when it first arrested his eye had faded
into extreme paleness, and when he spoke to her, she trembled so
violently as to be quite unable to articulate. Colonel Hubert perceived
her agitation, and felt that it approached in some degree to his own.
Had he been twenty-five, this would have probably been all he wished to
see; as it was, he felt a dreadful spasm at the heart, as the hateful
thought occurred that after what had passed there might be two ways in
which it might be interpreted. But it was a passing pang; and longing to
present her to his aunt and sister, and at the same time release her
from the embarrassing curiosity so conspicuous in the manner of her
neighbour, he held the hand she extended to him while he said--
"Let me lead you to Lady Elizabeth, Miss Willoughby; both she and Lady
Stephenson are in the next room, and will be delighted to see you."
Agnes rose, and though really hardly able to stand, replied, with all
the voice she had, that she should be greatly obliged if he would lead
her to them, taking his offered arm as she spoke. At this moment Sir
Edward Stephenson crossed the room with his eyes fixed upon her, and
with evident curiosity to find out who it was his stately brother-in-law
was escorting so obsequiously. The extreme beauty of Agnes, and the
remarkable elegance of her dress and appearance had, in truth, already
drawn all eyes upon her, and the whispered enquiries of many had been
answered by Mrs. Pemberton, with the information that she was an
heiress, and the first amateur singer in England. The foundation of
these assertions had reached her by the note of the judicious Mrs.
Peters, who, while asking permission to bring a young friend, took the
opportunity of hinting the two interesting facts above mentioned, and
the effect of their repetition among her guests doubtless added not a
little to the interest with which Agnes was looked at.
Sir Edward Stephenson was among those who had heard of the heiress-ship
and the voice, but the name had not reached him; and while looking at
the elegant girl in white satin, who lent upon Colonel Hubert's arm, not
the slightest resemblance between her and the fair girl in deep mourning
that he had once or twice seen at Cheltenham occurred to him.
There was a stoppage in the door-way between the two rooms, and it was
at this moment Sir Edward said in the ear of the colonel, "Who is your
fair friend?"
"Do you not know her, Sir Edward?... It is Miss Willoughby."
"What the girl ... the person we saw at.... Nonsense, Montague! Who is
it?"
Colonel Hubert shrugged his shoulders at the incredulity of his
brother-in-law, and quietly replying, "I have told you all I know," took
advantage of a movement among the crowd in the door-way, and led his
fair companion through it.
In the short interval occasioned by this stoppage, Agnes so far
recovered her composure as to become very keenly alive to the importance
of the next few moments to her happiness.... Should Lady Elizabeth look
harshly, or Lady Stephenson coldly upon her, of what avail would be all
the blessings that fate and affection had showered upon her favoured
head?... And then it was that for the first time she felt the full
extent of all she owed to Miss Compton; for the consciousness that she
was no longer a penniless, desolate dependant came to her mind at that
moment with a feeling ten thousand times more welcome than any display
of her aunt's hoarded wealth had ever brought; and the recollection
that, in speaking of her to Mrs. Peters, Miss Compton had almost
pompously called her "my heiress," and "the inheritor of my paternal
acres, and some twenty thousand pounds beside," which at the time had in
some sort been painful for her to listen to, was at that agitating
moment recalled with a degree of satisfaction that might have been
strangely misinterpreted had those around been aware of it.... Some
might have traced the feeling to pride, and some to vain
self-consequence; but, in truth, it arose from a deep-seated sense of
humility that blessed anything likely to lessen the awful distance she
felt between herself and Hubert in the eyes of his relations.
But with all the aid she could draw from such considerations her cheek
was colourless, and her eyes full of tears when she found herself
standing almost like a culprit before the dignified old lady, whose
favour she had once gained in a manner so unhoped for, whom she feared
she had deeply offended since, and on whose present feelings towards
her hung all her hopes of happiness in life.
It was not at the first glance that her timid but enquiring eye could
learn her sentence, for the expressive countenance of the old lady
underwent more than one change before she spoke. At first it very
unequivocally indicated astonishment ... then came a smile that as
plainly told of admiration (at which moment, by the way, her ladyship
became impressed with the firmest conviction that the nose of the
honourable Miss Nivett, and that of Miss Willoughby, were formed on the
same model), and at last, whatever intention of reserve might have
possessed her, it all melted away, and she held out both her hands with
both aspect and words of very cordial welcome.
The heart of Agnes gave a bound as these words reached her; and the look
of animated happiness which succeeded to the pale melancholy that sat
upon her features when she first approached, touched the old lady so
sensibly, that nothing but the presence of the crowd around prevented
her throwing her arms around her in a fond embrace.
Lady Stephenson was from the first instant all affectionate kindness,
and even Sir Edward, who had hitherto never appeared to think it
necessary that his lady's singing favourite should occupy much of his
attention, now put himself forward to claim her acquaintance,
apologizing for not having known her at first by saying,--
"The change of dress, Miss Willoughby, must be my excuse; you have left
off mourning since I saw you last."
Agnes smiled and bowed, and appeared not to have been in the least
degree affronted; in fact, she was at that moment too happy to be
otherwise than pleased with everybody in the world.
Meanwhile, Colonel Hubert stood looking at her with love, admiration,
and astonishment, that fully equalled that of his aunt; but the
contemplation did not bring him happiness. Without settling the balance
very accurately in his own mind, perhaps, he had hitherto felt conscious
that his station and fortune (independent at least, if not large) might
be set against her youth ... that constant stumbling-block of his
felicity ... and her surpassing beauty. But there was something in the
change from simplicity of dress, that almost approached to homeliness,
to the costly elegance of costume that was now before him, which seemed
to indicate a position to which his own no longer presented so very
favourable a contrast. She no longer appeared to be the Agnes to obtain
whom he must make a sacrifice that would prove beyond all doubt the
vastness of his love, and he trembled as he beheld her the principal
object of attention, and the theme of avowed admiration throughout the
room.
Lady Elizabeth very unceremoniously made room for her next herself, by
desiring a gentleman who occupied the seat beside her, which was on a
small sofa filling the recess by the chimney, to leave it.
"I beg a thousand pardons, sir, but I see no other place in the room
where we could hope for space to sit thus _tete-a-tete_ together, and
did you know how near and dear she was to me, you would, I am sure,
excuse me."
The gentleman, though not a young one, assured her with the appearance
of much sincerity that to yield a seat to such a young lady could be
considered only as honour and happiness by every man. Having thus
established her restored favourite at her side, Lady Elizabeth began to
whisper innumerable questions about Miss Compton.
"How came it, my dear," said she, "that when opening your heart to Emily
and me upon the subject of your unfortunate situation with Mrs. Barnaby,
you never referred to the possibility of placing yourself under the
protection of Miss Compton?"
"Because my aunt Compton having quarrelled with my aunt Barnaby had
refused to take any further notice of me,--Mrs. Barnaby at least led me
to believe during the six or seven months I passed with her, that every
application on my part to Miss Compton would be vain, ... and it was
only the dreadful predicament into which Mrs. Barnaby's arrest threw me,
that gave me the desperate courage which I thought necessary for
applying to her. But I have since learned, Lady Elizabeth, that at any
time, one word from me would have sufficed to make her leave her
retirement, as she now has done, and remove me from my dreadful
situation."
"But it appears that she is not only a kind aunt, but a wealthy one, my
dear child.... Excuse the observation, Agnes, ... situated as we now are
together, you cannot deem it impertinent, ... but your dress indicates
as great and as favourable a change in pecuniary matters, as your
letter, and your happy countenance, announces in all others.... Miss
Compton, I presume, is a woman of fortune?"
"Her fortune is larger than I imagined it to be," replied Agnes. "She
lived with great economy before she adopted me."
"And do you know what her intentions are, Agnes?" rejoined the
persevering old lady. "It is only as the aunt of Colonel Hubert ...
remember this, my dear ... it is only as Colonel Hubert's aunt that I
ask the question."
Agnes blushed with most happy consciousness as she replied. "The
interest you so kindly take in me confers both honour and happiness, and
however averse to boast of the kindness bestowed, and promised by my
dear aunt, I can have no wish to hide from you, Lady Elizabeth, all she
has said to me. She knows the honour that has been done me by Colonel
Hubert, and knows too, that nothing but the fear of your displeasure
could have made me hesitate to accept it; ... and she says, that should
no such displeasure interfere, she would bestow a fortune on me."
"Well, my dear, ... I don't believe that any such displeasure is likely
to interfere. When will you introduce us to her?"
"To-morrow, Lady Elizabeth!..." Agnes eagerly replied, "if you will
give us leave to wait upon you."
"Yes, that is right, my dear, quite right.... She must call on me
first, ... and yet I am not quite sure of that either.... I rather
think the friends of the gentleman should wait upon the friends of the
lady, ... and so I will call upon her to-morrow morning, and remember,
when you have introduced us to each other, you may go away; we must talk
on business. What is her address?"
Agnes gave the address very distinctly, which was repeated in the same
manner by Lady Elizabeth, just as Mrs. Pemberton approached to entreat
her permission to lead her to the pianoforte. "You are going to sing, my
dear child! Very good.... I shall be delighted to hear you.... And you
must get me a place where I can both look at, and listen to her, Mrs.
Pemberton," said Lady Elizabeth.
Considerably surprised, but much pleased to find that the acquaintance
she had condescended to make with Mrs. Peters had led to her having the
honour of receiving so intimate a friend and favourite of her most
illustrious guest, Mrs. Pemberton rather ostentatiously performed the
service required of her, and Agnes once more stood up to sing with Lady
Elizabeth's arm-chair almost as near to her as on the happy night when
she first won the old lady's heart at Cheltenham.
But where was Colonel Hubert?... He had stood anxiously watching the
first few words that passed between his aunt and Agnes; and when he saw
her cavalier dismission of her neighbour, and the cordial style of amity
with which she pursued her conversation with the beautiful interloper,
he almost forgot his doubts and fears in the happiness of seeing one
obstacle so decidedly removed, and prudently denying himself the
pleasure of being near them, lest his presence might render the
conversation less confidential, he withdrew to the other room, and only
appeared again before the eyes of Agnes when he took his place beside
her to turn over the pages of her song.
For the first few moments Agnes feared that she was too happy to
sing; ... but she tried, and found that her voice was clear, and was
determined that it should soon be steady, for she wished ... let
youthful ladies judge how ardently ... to renew the impression which she
had made on Colonel Hubert on that never-to-be-forgotten morning when
she first dared to fancy he loved her.
Nor were her wishes vain. She sang as well, and he felt as strongly as
before. Her pleasure as she watched this was perfect, but his was very
far from being so; he saw that she was the centre of attraction, and not
only, as before, the admired of every eye, and the enchanter of every
ear, but also the most distinguished, fashionable, and important young
lady present.
There was not, however, a shadow of the paltry feeling called jealousy
in this; the pang that smote his heart arose from memory, and not from
imagination. Could he, as he now saw this elegant girl the centre of
fashion, and the petted favourite of his own proud aunt, forget the
generous devoted passion of the unfortunate Frederick? Could he forget
that he had used all the influence which the young man's affection to
himself had lent him, to make him abandon an attachment so every way
calculated to ensure his happiness?... Could he forget that Frederick
was now living an exile from his country, the victim of unhappy love,
while he, his trusted confidant, but most pernicious adviser, remained
to profit by the absence he himself had caused, and to drain the cup of
happiness which his hand had dashed from the lips of his wretched
friend?
As long as Mrs. Barnaby continued to hang about her, and in some degree
to overshadow her with the disgrace of her vulgar levity, Agnes could
not be loved without a sacrifice, and the youth and splendid fortune of
Frederick Stephenson, as well as the peculiarly strong feelings of his
family on the subject, might have stood as reasons why another, less
fettered by circumstances, might have married her, though he could not.
But how stood the matter now? Agnes had been snatched from Mrs.
Barnaby, and borne completely beyond the sphere of her influence;
Stephenson's proud brother seemed to bow before her, while his wife
selected her as a chosen friend; and worse, a thousand times worse than
all the rest, he had learnt, while he wandered among the company before
the music commenced, that Agnes was the proclaimed heiress of fifteen
hundred a-year. This last, however, for his comfort, he did not believe;
but there was enough without it, to make him feel that, should he even
be so blessed as to teach her to forget the difference of their age, and
make her young heart his own, he must, by becoming her husband, appear
to the friend who had trusted him, as one of the veriest traitors under
heaven.
Such thoughts were enough to jar the sweetest harmony; and the evening
was altogether productive of more pain than pleasure to the unfortunate
Colonel Hubert, who having staked his happiness on a marriage, only to
be obtained by the consent of his aunt, was now suffering martyrdom from
a plethora of success, and would have gladly changed his condition back
to what it had been when, regardless of consequences, he had laid his
heart at the feet of Agnes by the light of her one tallow-candle in
Half-moon Street, while her sole protectress lay imprisoned in the
Fleet.
When the party broke up, Colonel Hubert, leaving his aunt to the care of
Sir Edward, escorted Mrs. Peters and the four young ladies down stairs,
where another shock awaited him on hearing her servant enquire which
carriage should be called up first, for before answering, Mrs. Peters
turned to Agnes, and said,--
"To which name are your servants accustomed to answer, my dear? Miss
Compton told me you would have your own carriage here, but perhaps this
might only be another mode of saying you would have hers. Shall they
call Miss Compton's carriage, or Miss Willoughby's, Agnes?"
"They will answer to either, I believe," replied Agnes, carelessly, for
she was waiting for Colonel Hubert to finish something he was saying to
her.
"Call Miss Willoughby's carriage, then," said Mrs. Peters to the
servants in waiting.... And "Miss Willoughby's carriage! Miss
Willoughby's carriage!" resounded along the hall, and through the
street.