Volume Iii Part 11 (1/2)
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.