Volume Iii Part 2 (1/2)
The expedition, however, fatiguing and disagreeable as it proved, was achieved without any very disastrous results. Mrs. Barnaby, indeed, was twice very nearly knocked down by a cab, while staring too eagerly about her when crossing the streets; and friendly as was the old black c.r.a.pe veil of poor Agnes, it could not wholly save her from some tolerably obvious efforts to find out whether the face it sheltered was worthy the graceful symmetry of the person who wore it; ... but they nevertheless reached their Half-moon Street without any positive injury to life or limb.
At eight o'clock in the evening, while Mrs. Barnaby and her weary companion were taking tea, the drawing-room door opened, and Mr. Magnus Morrison was announced, and most cordially welcomed by the widow, who not only saw in him the lawyer from whom she hoped to learn how to replenish her waning finances, but also the brother of her dear Miss Morrison, and the only acquaintance she could hope at this trying moment to find or make in London.
But now, as heretofore, the presence of Agnes was inconvenient, which she took care to signify by saying to the lawyer, ”I am greatly indebted to you, Mr. Morrison, for your early attention to my note; and I shall be very glad to talk with you on the business that brings me to London ... but not quite yet ... we really must be quite by ourselves, for it will be necessary that I should have your whole attention. Will you, in the mean time, permit me to offer you tea?”
Before Mr. Morrison could reply Agnes was on her feet, and asking her aunt in a whisper if she would give her leave to go to bed. ”Yes, if you like it, my darling!...” replied Mrs. Barnaby, whose tenderness for her niece was always awakened by the presence of strangers. ”I am sure you look tired to death.... But bring down first, my dear, my writing-desk; and remember, my love, to take care that I have warm water when I come up; ... and don't forget, Agnes, to put my bonnet and shawl, and all that, nicely away ... and see that I have paper for curling my hair ready on the dressing-table; ... and don't go to bed till you have put out my lilac silk for to-morrow; and just put a st.i.tch in the blonde of my bonnet-cap, for I pulled it almost off.”
All this was said by the widow in a coaxing sort of half whisper, with an arm round her victim's waist, and a smile of the most fascinating kindness on her own lips.
The desk was brought, and the consulting parties left alone; while Agnes, as she performed the different tasks imposed on her, and which her great fatigue rendered heavy, could not for an instant banish from her mind the question that had incessantly haunted her from the hour she left the drawing-room of Lady Elizabeth.... ”Will she go abroad?...
Shall I be obliged to return to Cheltenham without her?... Shall I be obliged to go to the house where he is living?”
Mr. Magnus Morrison was by no means an ill-looking man, and though a bachelor of thirty-five, had as little of quizzical peculiarity about him as a careful attorney of that age, unpolished by a wife, can be expected to have. Mrs. Barnaby, though a little his senior, was still, as we know, a lady _a pretention_, and never permitted any gentleman to approach her without making an experiment upon him with her fine eyes.
Their success in the present instance was neither so violent as in the case of Major Allen, nor so instantaneous as in that of the false-hearted peer; nevertheless enough was achieved to throw an agreeable sort of extraneous interest into the business before them, and the widow disdained not as it proceeded to decorate her narrative and herself with such graces as none but a Mrs. Barnaby can display.
Having given her own version, and with such flourishes as her nature loved, of Lord Mucklebury's violent pa.s.sion for her, she asked her attentive and somewhat captivated auditor what species of testimony was required to prove a promise of marriage in such a manner as to secure large damages, ”for without being quite certain of obtaining such, you must be aware, my dear sir, that a woman of my station, connexions, and fortune, could not think of appearing in court.”
”a.s.suredly not,” replied Mr. Magnus Morrison fervently. ”Such a measure is never to be resorted to unless the evidence is of a nature that no cross-examination can set aside. My sister tells me, madam, that you have letters....”
”Yes, Mr. Morrison, I have many ... though I am sorry to say that many more have been destroyed. (This was a figure of poetry, and of a kind that the widow often adopted to give strength to the narrative portion of her conversation.)
”That is greatly to be regretted, Mrs. Barnaby ... though we must hope that among those which remain sufficient proof of this very atrocious case will be found to answer the purposes of justice. Was there any principle of selection in the manner in which some were preserved and others destroyed?”
”I can hardly say,” replied the lady, ”that it was done on any principle, unless the feeling can be so called which leads a woman of delicacy to blush and shrink from preserving the effusions of a pa.s.sion so vehement as that expressed in some of the letters of Lord Mucklebury.”
”They were, then, the most ardent declarations of his attachment that you destroyed, Mrs. Barnaby?”
”Most certainly,” said the widow, throwing her eyes upon the carpet.
”It is unfortunate, very unfortunate,” observed the lawyer, ”though it shews a delicacy of mind that it is impossible not to admire. Will you give me leave, madam, to peruse such of the letters as you have preserved?”
”Undoubtedly,” replied Mrs. Barnaby, unlocking her writing-desk, ”and though I know not how to regret the existence of such feelings, Mr.
Morrison, I will not deny that, for the sake of honour and justice, I am sorry now that what I have to shew you is so much the least explicit part of the correspondence.”
She then drew forth the packet which contained (be it spoken in confidence) every syllable ever addressed to her by the laughter-loving Viscount; and greatly as Mr. Magnus Morrison began to feel interested in the case, and much as he would have liked to bring so charming a client into court, he very soon perceived that there was nothing in these highly-scented, but diminutive _feuilles volantes_, at all likely to produce any effect on a jury approaching to that elicited by the evidence of the learned and celebrated Sergeant Buzfuz on an occasion somewhat similar. He continued to read them all, however, and they were numerous, with the most earnest attention and unwearied industry, permitting little or no emotion of any kind to appear on his countenance as he proceeded, and determined to utter no word approaching to an opinion till he had carefully perused them all. Important as Mrs.
Barnaby flattered herself these little letters might eventually prove, and interesting as her lawyer found every word of them, the whole collection might perhaps be considered as somewhat wearisome, full of repet.i.tion, and even trifling, by the general reader, for which reason a few only shall be selected as specimens, taken at hazard, and without any attention either to their dates or the particular events which led to them.
No. 1.
”PRIMA DONNA DEL MUNDO![1]
”Walk you to-day?... At three be it ... at which hour my station will be the library.
”M.”
[Footnote 1: Lord Mucklebury had been a.s.sured, on the authority of Mrs.
Barnaby herself, that her favourite language was the Italian.]