The Semi-detached House/Chapter 13
CHAPTER XIII.
The Sampson picnic did not end with any coup de théâtre, but upon the whole, it might be called successful. No rain, no spoiled bonnets, the young ladies constantly dancing on deck, the old gentlemen constantly eating below, the Baroness treated as the great lady of the party—and to crown all, Willis and Miss Monteneros were much together; and considering his usual taciturnity, and her habits of disdainful mockery, the Baroness was surprised to see them occasionally engaged in earnest eager conversation. She thought it augured well, and took occasion to observe to her niece the following morning, that Willis improved very much on acquaintance, and was a thorough gentleman. To which Miss Monteneros made the obvious Shakespearian reply that "T'was never merry world since gentlemen came up," and that she thought the general merriment of the world would not be increased by this particular gentleman.
"At all events," said the Baroness, with a sweet smile which was slightly forced, "he shows good taste in one respect, I shan't say what. I should like to show some civility to his relations, Rachel; but owing to one or two little contretemps, little mistakes that I made in my giddy way, I hardly know what to do."
"Or to undo," said Rachel, "for the interview with Mrs. Hopkinson and the note that followed are des faits accomplis. But, Aunt, as you don't want to have the Hopkinsons at your parties, and they don't want to come, why not let things remain as they are?"
"For a thousand reasons," said the Baroness, pettishly. "It would be a great advantage to those girls to appear at my parties, and I like to do a good-natured thing." Rachel raised her glass and took a steady view of her Aunt, it seemed as if she wished to study her in an entirely new character. "And if they really sing well, they might make themselves of great use to me." Rachel's glass dropped, there was nothing new in the Baroness as she was now revealing herself. "Then if the Duchess and Lady Chester have really taken up these Hopkinsons, there would be nothing derogatory in my doing the same."
"Nothing whatever," said Rachel emphatically, "even putting the Duchess and Lady Chester aside."
"Very true, Rachel. Of course, in my position, I can choose my own society. It would be a good thing for those girls to have the entrée of my house, and if through them I am drawn into an acquaintance with their fine friends, their patronesses I ought to say, it really would make little difference to me to have to extend my visiting list. The Chesters I look upon as neighbours, I ought to ask them; and I should not mind asking the Duchess if—"
"She would but come," said Rachel, "but to begin at the beginning, how are the Hopkinsons to be propitiated? What do you mean to do?"
"Propitiated, indeed! when I am offering them the greatest possible civility. Why, who are they? the wife and daughter of an East Indian Captain who have somehow crept into society quite out of their line. However, the Baron heard yesterday that Captain Hopkinson has made a large sum of money in the China trade, and if he comes safe home (I, for one, expect every ship to be wrecked) the Baron wants to make his acquaintance."
Rachel seemed to be in a fit of absence and murmured to herself. "'If one should be a prey, how much better to fall before the lion than the wolf.' Well, as you say, Aunt, I believe Shakespeare gets too much into my head, I am always quoting him without rhyme or reason."
"That you certainly are," said the Baroness sharply. "However, I adore Shakespeare myself, and only wish I had time to read him. Indeed, I went once to see his School for Scandal; but revenons à nos moutons, I was thinking that you, perhaps, could go and call on the Hopkinsons and ask them to our second déjeuner on the 23rd, and tell them that my list is full for the 16th; that would put everything straight."
"No," said Rachel, "I do not know them; I do not want to bring them into this house, and I had rather not call on them."
"Oh! very well, take your own way; and perhaps, all things considered, I had better go myself. Ring, and order the carriage;" and the Baroness departed, rather ashamed of herself at heart, but still convinced she was doing the Hopkinsons great honour.
Her arrival disturbed a very good looking young man, who was sitting talking to Mrs. Hopkinson, and was making himself very agreeable, to judge from the sounds of laughter that met the Baroness on the stairs. He jumped up the instant she was announced, and said that he was obliged to be on hard domestic duty the first day of his return, so he could not stay another minute. "But I could not put off coming to thank you for all your attention to my wife; and I want to know when my friend Hopkinson will be at home? Ah! he abused the poor old 'Alert', but the 'Alacrity' seems to be the slowest tub of the two."
"Oh! you must not call the Alacrity names; John says it's the best voyage he has ever made; and that he is so rich now, he shall buy a place somewhere near Portsmouth, or Plymouth, and settle down into a country house; but, bless your heart, till there's a dry deluge," (a new invention of Mrs. Hopkinson's, which she had to explain), "and the world is all land and no water, John will never be happy ashore."
"John will be happy any where, with the individuals whom he irreverently mentions ten times a-day at sea as his old woman and his kids; and now I must bid the old woman good morning, and request the kids to attend to the summons they have received, or my little lady will suppose I have forgotten to give her note;" and amidst a fresh burst of merriment Lord Chester departed.
Again the Baroness was surprised, and wondered who the distinguished looking young man was, who was on such easy terms with the family; and she became more than ever anxious to put her acquaintance with the Hopkinsons on a better footing; admired their room, looked at their work, and commented on the school feast. "It was quite an event in our expedition. And, by the bye, I wish you had been with us, we had a charming picnic, and I scolded that naughty Willis for not asking you. To be sure I ought to have done it myself, but somehow I took it into my head that you were serious," (there was no doubt of the fact in its literal sense at that moment: Janet and Rose were in a frozen state of dignity) "and that you would object to our frivolous amusements. But I am so glad to hear from Willis that you do go out. I have brought a card for my déjeuner on the 16th."
"Thank you," said Mrs. Hopkinson, "my girls are engaged."
"Oh! you dissipated creatures"; the Baroness glanced at the looking-glass; there was no card paraded there, and she began to doubt the St. Maur concert. "But if it is a dinner engagement you can still come to me for the afternoon."
The girls were determined not to gratify her curiosity, and merely said they were engaged for the day.
"Well, I hope I shall be more fortunate on the 23rd. I will leave a card to remind; and as young ladies always have some young gentlemen to whom they like to show a little civility, I will leave another card or two. Ah! I am very discreet, I shan't mention any names you may choose to add; but when I see a charming young man sitting with two charming young ladies, I know what to think. Now I must run away; my dear Rachel will miss me. I hope Captain Hopkinson will soon return. The Baron has heard a great deal about him, and will make a point of calling directly. Adieu, au revoir, on the 23rd."
"Thank you," again said Mrs. Hopkinson; but no acceptance of the invitation was given, and when the Baroness was again seated in her carriage, she had an unpleasant impression that "poor, dear, vulgar Mrs. Hop," as she habitually called her, had, in her simplicity and plainness, baffled all the flattery so adroitly offered; and if it were possible to admit such a monstrous thought, that she somehow looked down on herself, Baroness Sampson, of Lowndes Square and Marble Hall. She was rather glad Rachel had not been present. And then she had an unpleasant surprise with respect to her when she reached home; she found her sitting with a grey-haired, astucious looking man, who was tying up a bundle of parchments and taking his leave, assuring Miss Monteneros that she should soon hear from him.
"Who upon earth is that, Rachel?"
"Mr. Bolland, my solicitor," she said carelessly, "but have you secured the Hopkinsons, Aunt Rebecca?"
"Of course, but what is this new fancy about a solicitor?"
"Just what you call it, a new fancy. I found, on looking on my fortune, that it was unpleasantly large, and that it would give me a world of trouble if I undertook to manage it myself, so I have put it into Mr. Bolland's hands."
"I am sure your uncle would have been glad to save you all trouble about it," said the Baroness in a faltering voice.
"I am sure of it, too," answered Rachel firmly. She looked at her Aunt, whose extreme paleness seemed to touch her, for she added more gently, "My uncle has so much business on his hands, I do not wish to trouble him with mine, and money matters are always better transacted with strangers. Besides," she added, trying to laugh, "there is something grand in the sound of a man of business—heiresses always talk of their man of business, as a part of the property; and as you are always telling me what a great heiress I am, I may as well have all the proper distinctions of the position. You look tired, Aunt, won't you have some tea?"
"No, I thank you, I have got a headache; I will go and lie down, for we have company at dinner, and I must rest." She almost tottered as she left the room. Rachel, too, could hardly stand. "Poor thing," she said to herself, "she knows it all—all what? Oh! these horrible suspicions! why were they ever put into my head? and why have they become almost certainties? Is money worth all the misery, the struggles it brings? Those Pauls, and Strahans, and Redpaths, have more to answer for than the pecuniary ruin they have wrought. They have ruined all confidence, all trust; they have made dishonesty the rule, and not the exception. Why did my Aunt ever marry that cold sanctimonious man? His mere look always gave me a chill. Well, I must try to think I have done right; Mr. Bolland was my father's friend, and his warning was well meant; there are others, too, to be saved as well as me, else I think I would rather let my fortune go. It is not worth this wretchedness."
She heard the sound of the Baron's horses in the court-yard; and he came so seldom into her drawing-room that his immediate appearance there this afternoon took her by surprise. He looked harassed and heated, but greeted her with the fawning courtesy that always disgusted her.
"What, all alone, my fair niece? taking a little time, I have no doubt, for wise reflection. That is well, we men of business have too little time for thought, though I trust I neglect none of the opportunities that are given me. My happiest hours are those I spend in my library, where I can shut out all my earthly cares, and forget the world. Who is it calls it the workey day world? Sad! sad! that so it is to most men. I was not meant to live in all this money-making turmoil. It distracts me. By the bye, that reminds me that one of my distractions was forgetting to ask you to sign a paper that I ought to have given you with the others; quite a form, but a very necessary form. Perhaps I have it about me; ah, yes; here it is," picking it out from a bundle of tracts, receipts of hospitals, &c. "It ought to be witnessed; I will ring for two of the servants."
"Stay, let me look at it first, Uncle."
"That's right, always look at a paper before you sign it; though whether my fashionable niece, Miss Monteneros, will be much the wiser for looking at a power of attorney I cannot say." He put it into her hand and again laid hold of the bell-rope.
"Do not ring, Uncle; I cannot sign it to-day," and she put it into her pocket.
"Ah, not to-day! Well, any day will do, but I should like to have the business settled."
"I have promised Mr. Bolland that I would not sign any paper till he had seen it," said Rachel, and she went to the window that she might not see the consternation with which she supposed the Baron would be overwhelmed; but after a few moments' pause she heard him say in his usual bland voice:
"Ah! Bolland the solicitor—a clever man—so you have consulted him?"
"He was a great friend of my father's," said Rachel hurriedly, and still not looking round, "and you are always so busy, Uncle; so I have put all my affairs into his hands."
"Indeed! Well, you could not have done better," and still the voice sounded bland. "Then you may as well give me back that paper; he can be one of your witnesses when he has seen it."
Rachel was half inclined to keep it, but she reflected that, unsigned, it could do her no harm, whatever it could do to her Uncle, so she returned it to him. He seemed in no hurry to take it, and kept turning over the other papers that had been in his pocket; but impassive as were his looks, she observed that his hands trembled.
"Here is the paper, Uncle."
"What paper, my dear? Oh! I beg your pardon, I had forgotten all about it. I was looking out a most interesting report on the Church Missions to Central Africa, to which you may like to subscribe. Ah, here it is; my name and subscription are made a little too prominent; I wished to have been put down merely as a 'friend,' but the Committee attached more weight to my name than it deserves. So here is one paper for another. Exchange is no robbery, Miss Rachel," and he sauntered carefully out of the room.
"Oh! what is truth? and where is it?" thought Rachel; "could he really be so calm if he were attempting to rob me? I will think no more," and she went up to dress for a large party.