The Widow Barnaby Volume Iii Part 11

and as it made no difference to me...."

"Oh! monstrous!..." interrupted Miss Compton. "I see it all: ... while she wantons about like a painted b.u.t.terfly, 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.... G.o.d 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 pa.s.sage of which William disappeared for some moments, and then returning, opened the carriage door, and, without uttering a word, gave his arm to a.s.sist 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 mult.i.tude of obsequious bows, and a.s.surances 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 fas.h.i.+on; 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 a.s.sure 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 pa.s.sing 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 fas.h.i.+onable 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 h.o.a.rded, 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 G.o.dmother. 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.

CHAPTER IX.

BRINGS US BACK, AS IT OUGHT, TO MRS. BARNABY.

It may be thought, perhaps, that the vexed, and, as she thought herself, the persecuted Mrs. Barnaby, had sufficiently tried what a prison was, to prevent her ever desiring to find herself within the walls of such an edifice again; but such an opinion, however likely to be right, was nevertheless wrong; for no sooner had the widow recovered from the fit of rage into which the triumphant exit of Miss Compton had thrown her, and settled herself on her solitary sofa, with no better comforter or companion than a cup of tea modified with sky-blue milk, than the following soliloquy (though she gave it not breath) pa.s.sed through her brain.

"Soh!... Here I am then, after six months' trial of the travelling system, and a mult.i.tude of experiments in fas.h.i.+onable society, just seven hundred pounds poorer than when I set out, and without having advanced a single inch towards a second marriage.... This will never do!... My youth, my beauty, and my fortune will all melt away together before the object is obtained, unless I change my plans, and find out some better mode of proceeding."

Here Mrs. Barnaby sipped her vile tea, opened her work-box that she had been constrained to leave so hastily, ascertained that the exquisite collar she was working had received no injury during her absence, and then resumed her meditations.

"Heigh ho!... It is most horribly dull, sitting in this way all by one's-self ... even that good-for-nothing, stupid, ungrateful Agnes was better to look at than nothing; ... and even in that horrid Fleet there was some pleasure in knowing that there was an elegant, interesting man, to be met in a pa.s.sage now and then ... whose eyes spoke plainly enough what he thought of me.... Poor fellow!... His being in misfortune ought not to produce ill-will to him in a generous mind!... How he looked as he said 'Adieu, then, madam!... With you vanishes the last ray of light that will ever reach my heart!'... And I am sure he said exactly what he felt, and no more.... Poor O'Donagough!... My heart aches for him!"

And here she fell into a very piteous and sentimental mood, indeed. Had her soliloquy been spoken out as loud as words could utter it, n.o.body would have heard a syllable about love, marriage, or any such nonsense; her heart was at this time altogether given up to pity, compa.s.sion, and a deep sense of the duties of a Christian; and before she went to bed she had reasoned herself very satisfactorily into the conviction that, as a tender-hearted woman and a believer, it was her bounden duty, now that she had got out of trouble herself, to return to the Fleet for the purpose of once more seeing Mr. O'Donagough, and inquiring whether it was in her power to do anything to serve him before she left London.

Nothing more surely tends to soothe the spirits and calm the agitated nerves than an amiable and pious resolution, taken, as this was done, during the last waning hours of the day, and just before the languid body lays itself down to rest. Mrs. Barnaby slept like a top after coming to the determination that, let the turnkeys think what they would of it, she would call at the Fleet Prison, and ask to see Mr.

O'Donagough, the following morning.

The following morning came, and found the benevolent widow stedfast in her purpose; and yet, to her honour be it spoken, it was not without some struggles with a feeling which many might have called shame, but which she conscientiously condemned as pride, that she set forth at length upon her adventurous expedition.

"Nothing, I am sure," ... it was thus she reasoned with herself, ...

"nothing in the whole world could induce me to take such a step, but a feeling that it was my duty. Heaven knows I have had many follies in my day--I don't deny it; I am no hardened sinner, and that blessed book that he lent me has not been a pearl thrown to swine. '_The Sinner's Reward!_' ... what a comforting t.i.tle!... I don't hope ever to be the saint that the pious author describes, but I'm sure I shall be a better woman all my life for reading it; ... and the visiting this poor O'Donagough is the first act by which I can prove the good it has done me!"

Then came some doubts and difficulties respecting the style of toilet which she ought to adopt on so peculiar an occasion. "It won't do for a person looking like a woman of fas.h.i.+on to drive up to the Fleet Prison, and ask to see such a man as O'Donagough.... He is too young and handsome to make it respectable.... But, after all, what does it signify what people say?... And as for my bonnet, I'll just put my Brussels lace veil on my black and pink; that will hide my ringlets, and make me look more matronly."

In her deep lace veil then, and with a large silk cloak which concealed the becoming gaiety of her morning dress, Mrs. Barnaby presented herself before the gates she had so lately pa.s.sed, and in a very demure voice said to the keeper of it, "I wish to be permitted to see Mr.

O'Donagough."

The fellow looked at her and smiled. "Well, madam," he replied, "I believe there will be no difficulty about that. Walk on, if you please.... You'll find them as can send you forward."

A few more barriers pa.s.sed, and a few more well-amused turnkeys propitiated, and Mrs. Barnaby stood before a door which she knew as well as any of them opened upon the solitary abode of the broken-hearted but elegant Mr. O'Donagough. The door was thrown open for her to enter; but she paused, desiring her usher to deliver her card first, with an intimation that she wished to speak to the gentleman on business. She was not kept long in suspense, for the voice of the solitary inmate was heard from within, saying in soft and melancholy accents, "It is very heavenly kindness! Beg her to walk in." And in she walked, the room-door being immediately closed behind her.

Mr. O'Donagough was a very handsome man of about thirty years of age, with a physiognomy and cerebral developement which might have puzzled Dr. Combe himself; for impressions left by the past, were so evidently fading away before the active operation of the present, that to say distinctly from the examining eye, or the examining finger, what manner of man he was, would have been exceedingly difficult. But the powers of the historian and biographer are less limited, and their record shall be given.

Mr. Patrick O'Donagough was but a half-breed, and that a mongrel half, of the n.o.ble species which his names announce. He was the natural son of an Englishman of wealth and consequence by a poor Irish girl called Nora O'Donagough; and though his father did what was considered by many as very much for him, he never permitted him to a.s.sume his name. The young O'Donagough was placed as a clerk to one of the police magistrates of the metropolis, and shewed great ability in the readiness with which he soon executed the business that pa.s.sed through his hands. He not only learned to know by sight every rogue and roguess that appeared at the office, but shewed a very uncommon degree of sagacity as to their innocence or guilt upon every new occasion that enforced their appearance there. His n.o.ble father never entirely lost sight of him; and finding his abilities so remarkable, he was induced again to use his interest in those quarters where influence abides, and to get him promoted to a lucrative situation in a custom-house on the coast, where he made money rapidly, while his handsome person and good address gave him access to the society of many people greatly his superiors in station, who most of them were frequenting a fas.h.i.+onable watering-place at no great distance from the station where he was employed.

This lasted for a few years, much to the satisfaction of his ill.u.s.trious parent; and it might have continued till an easy fortune was a.s.sured to him, had he not unluckily formed too great an intimacy with one or two vastly gentleman-like but decidedly sporting characters. From this point his star began to descend, till, step by step, he had lost his money, his appointment, his father's favour, and his own freedom. Having lain in prison for debt during some weeks, he found means again to touch the heart of his father so effectually, as to induce him to pay his debts, and restore him to freedom, upon condition, however, of his immediately setting off for Australia with five hundred pounds in his pocket, and with the understanding that he was never more to return. The promise was given, and the five hundred pounds received; but the young man was not proof against temptation; he met some old acquaintance, lost half his money at _ecarte_, and permitted the vessel in which he was to sail to depart without him. This was a moment of low spirits and great discouragement; but he felt, nevertheless, that a stedfast heart and bold spirit might bring a man out of as bad a sc.r.a.pe even as that into which he had fallen.

Some people told him to apply again to his father, but he thought he had better not, and he applied to a gentleman with whom he had made acquaintance in prison instead. This person had, like himself, been reduced to great distress by the turf; but having fortunately found means of satisfying the creditor at whose suit he was detained, he was now doing exceedingly well as preacher to an independent congregation of ranting fanatics. He bestowed on his old a.s.sociate some excellent advice as to his future principles and conduct, giving him to understand that the turf, even to those who were the most fortunate, never answered so well as the line of business he now followed; and a.s.sured him, moreover, that if he would forthwith commence an a.s.siduous study of the principles and practice of the profession, he would himself lend him a helping hand to turn it to account. O'Donagough loved change, novelty, and excitement, and again manifested great talent in the facility with which he mastered the mysteries of this new business. He was soon seen rapidly advancing towards lasting wealth and independence: one of the wealthiest merchants in London had offered him the place of domestic prayer and preacher at his beautiful residence at Castaway-Saved Park, when an almost forgotten creditor, who had lost sight of him for many years, unluckily recognised him as he was delivering a most awakening evening lecture in a large ware-room, converted into a chapel near Moor Fields. Eager to take advantage of this unexpected piece of good fortune, the tailor (for such was his profession) arrested the inspired orator in the first place, and then asked him if he were able to settle his account in the next. Had the manner of transacting the business been reversed, it is probable that the affair would have been settled without any arrest at all; for Sir Miles Morice, of Castaway-Saved Park, was one of the most pious individuals of the age, and would hardly have permitted his chaplain elect (elect in every sense) to have gone to prison for thirty-seven pounds, nine s.h.i.+llings, and eight pence; but being in prison, O'Donagough was shy of mentioning the circ.u.mstance to his distinguished patron, and was employed, at the time Mrs. Barnaby first made acquaintance with him, in composing discourses "on the preternatural powers over the human mind, accorded to the chosen vessels called upon to pour out the doctrine of the new birth to the people."

There is little doubt that these really eloquent compositions would have sold rapidly, and perfectly have answered the object of their clever author. But accident prevented the trial from being made, for before the projected volume was more than half finished, success of another kind overtook Mr. O'Donagough.

Mrs. Barnaby, on entering, found the poor prisoner she had so charitably come to visit seated at a writing-desk, with many sheets of closely-written ma.n.u.script about it. He rose as she entered, and approached her with a judicious mixture of respectful deference and ardent grat.i.tude.

"May Heaven reward you, madam, for this blessed proof of christian feeling.... How can I suitably speak my grat.i.tude?"