CHAPTER XVI.
Whether it was that the medicine which Mr Primrose had taken possessed extraordinary composing powers, or whether his mind had been quieted by its own outrageous agitations, we cannot say; but to whatever cause it might be owing, it is a fact that, on the following morning he was much more composed, and the medical attendant pronounced that he might without any danger proceed on his journey.
He was not slow in availing himself of this permission, and he also followed the suggestion of his medical attendant in not travelling by the stage-coach. After astonishing the gate-keeper and his wife, and also the doctor, by his liberality for their attention to him, he started in a post-chaise for Smatterton. No accident or interruption impeded his progress, and at a late hour he arrived at Neverden, intending to pay his first visit to Mr Darnley, and designing through him to communicate to Penelope the knowledge of his arrival, and prepare her for the meeting.
It was necessary for Mr Primrose to introduce himself to Mr Darnley. The stately rector of Neverden was in his study. He was not much of a reading man, he never had been; but still it was necessary that he should keep up appearances, and therefore he occasionally shut himself up in that room which he called his study; and there he would read for an hour or two some papers of the Spectator, or some old numbers of the Gentleman’s Magazine, or Blackstone’s Commentaries, or any other book of equal reputation for sound principles. There is a great advantage in reading those books that everybody talks about and nobody reads. It was also very proper that, if any of the parishioners called on the rector, it might be necessary to send for him “out of the study.” Sometimes also Mr Darnley gave audiences in his study, and then the unlearned agriculturists thought him a most wonderful man to have so many books, and so many large books too; some of them looking as big as the great bible in the church. Mr Darnley was not at all displeased to see the eyes of his humble parishioners, when they made their appearance in that apartment, wandering curiously and modestly round the room, and leering at the great glass bookcases and the eighteen-inch globes with as much wonderment as the gulls of two centuries back used to look at the dried alligators in a conjuror’s garret. How delicious is the sensation of superiority.
When the name of Primrose was mentioned, Mr Darnley thought for a moment only of Penelope, and he screwed up his lips and looked wondrously wise. Mr Primrose entered the room with a light and lively step, and with a bright and cheerful countenance, taking it for granted that everybody in England must be as glad to see him as he was to see his native land again. Mr Darnley rose with great stateliness, and advanced a step or two towards the door.
“Ah! Mr Darnley, your most humble servant; my name is Primrose, I received a letter from you about six weeks ago, which you did me the honor to write to me concerning the death of my poor brother Greendale.”
At the end of the sentence Mr Primrose spoke in a more subdued tone, as became him when speaking of the death of a dear friend. But as he spoke he offered his hand to the rector of Neverden, who in return offered his, but it was by no means an equivalent; for the reverend divine gave his hand so formally and indifferently, that it was to Mr Primrose as cold and flabby as a duck’s foot. And he said, “Mr Primrose, I am happy to see you. You are welcome to England.” But though he said he was happy, he did not look so, unless it be true, as some philosophers have averred, that happiness is the most serious thing in the world. The rector of Neverden also said, “I beg you will be seated, sir.” He had learned that from the Right Honorable the Earl of Smatterton; for no man is so great a simpleton that nothing can be learned from him.
There was nothing uncivil or rude in this reception, what could be more proper or polite than to welcome Mr Primrose to England, and ask him to be seated? But Mr Primrose felt a chill at this reception. However, he sat down; and then the polite rector, when his visitor was seated, sat down also. Then he snuffed the candles, and carefully closed the book that he had been reading, and pushed it some distance from him, even so far as his arm could reach, and then he turned himself in his chair from the table, and towards Mr Primrose, and looked at him as much as to say, “What do you want with me?”
Mr Primrose interpreted the look, and said “I have never had the pleasure of seeing you before Mr Darnley, except for a very few minutes, and at some distance of time; but as you wrote to me an account of my dear brother’s death, and as I have now returned to England, and am expecting presently the happiness of a meeting with my dear child, I thought it might be advisable to call first on you, that some message may be sent to Penelope, that the surprise may not be too much for her.”
“Miss Primrose,” said the imperturbable rector of Neverden, “is not at present in this part of the country.”
The effect of the composing draught was completely gone off, and Mr Primrose started up from the chair to which he had been so politely invited, and exclaimed with great impetuosity, “Good God! Mr Darnley, you don’t say so.”
Mr Darnley was not so much agitated as Mr Primrose, and therefore he compressed his lips and knitted his brows, and then opened his mouth and said very composedly: “Mr Primrose, I beg that you would recollect that I am a clergyman, and therefore that it is not becoming and correct, that in my presence, you should take the name of the Lord in vain.”
“I beg your pardon,” said Mr Primrose, with tears in his eyes, “but consider, sir, I am a father, and—”
“I also am a father,” interrupted the rector, “and have more children than you have.”
“Oh, but tell me, tell me, sir, is my child living?”
“To the best of my knowledge Miss Primrose is living.”
“But where is she? Why has she left Smatterton?”
“I believe, sir, that Miss Primrose is in London, that is all that I know of her, except—” Here the rector hesitated, as if reluctant and fearful to say all that he knew. If composure of manner be at all contagious, Mr Primrose was the last person in the world to catch the contagion; for at this dry hesitation he became more violent, and exclaimed with great earnestness:
“Mr Darnley, you are a man, and must have the feelings of humanity. I implore and conjure you by all that is sacred to put me out of this dreadful state of suspense, and tell me at once all you know of my poor child; something you must know and you ought to know.”
There was an energy of utterance and a heart-reaching tone in this last sentence, which staggered Mr Darnley’s cold formality and discomposed his stateliness. The almost awful emphasis which Mr Primrose gave to the expression, “you ought to know,” reminded Mr Darnley that he had but imperfectly performed his duty to the niece of his old friend Dr Greendale; and the strong feeling thus expressed compelled the pompous man to something of more kindly thought and language. He rose from his seat, and took Mr Primrose by the hand, and said to him:
“My good sir, pray compose yourself, be seated, and I will give you all the information in my power. Your daughter is living, and is, I believe, in health. You know, I presume, that there formerly was something of an acquaintance between Miss Primrose and my son, and you also know, as I learn by a letter from my son, who had the honor of meeting you at St Helena, that this acquaintance has ceased.”
“I know it, Mr Darnley, and I am sorry for it, very sorry for it indeed, especially from what I have since heard of that young gentleman who is said to be paying attention to her.”
Mr Darnley here shook his head, and then proceeded.
“After the decease of my good friend and neighbour Dr Greendale, before I knew that the correspondence had ceased between the young folks, I offered Miss Primrose an asylum in my house.”
Here Mr Darnley paused for a compliment; he had learned that of the Right Honorable the Earl of Smatterton. Mr Primrose paid him the proper compliment on his liberality, and the worthy rector continued his narrative.
“Miss Primrose was pleased to decline the offer on the ground that the Countess of Smatterton had taken upon herself to provide for her. And it is not many days since Miss Primrose left Smatterton for London, where she now is, in the house of Lord Smatterton, and she honored us with a call before her departure, and I took the liberty of giving her the best advice in my power, to guard her against the snares and dangers to which she might be exposed in that profession which she is about to adopt.”
“Profession she is about to adopt! Mr Darnley. And may I ask what that profession is?”
“The musical profession, Mr Primrose.”
The father of Penelope was indignant, and he replied contemptuously: “Impossible! Can the patronage of the Countess do nothing better for my child than make her a teacher of music. But there will be no necessity now—”
Before Mr Primrose could finish the sentence, Mr Darnley corrected the misapprehension and said: “Not a teacher of music, sir, but a public singer.”
This made the matter worse, and the poor man was just ready to burst out into violent exclamations again, but recollecting that it was in his power now to place his child in a situation of independence, and considering that the time of her departure from Smatterton had been too recent to render it likely that she had yet appeared in public, he contented himself with saying, “I am astonished that the Countess should think of such a profession for a young woman brought up as my child has been. If my poor brother-in-law had lived he would never have suffered it.”
“I was also astonished,” said Mr Darnley, “that Miss Primrose should give her consent to such a proposal; for my friend Dr Greendale used to express himself very strongly on that subject, and endeavour to dissuade Miss Primrose from adopting such a profession. It has long been the wish of the Countess of Smatterton, but her ladyship did not succeed in the proposal during the lifetime of Dr Greendale.”
Much more to the same purpose did Mr Darnley say on the subject, not much to the satisfaction of Mr Primrose. It is not pleasant for a father to hear anything to the discredit of a child, but fortunately parents do not always believe such stories, or they find excuses which nobody else can. So Mr Primrose did not, could not, and would not believe the insinuation that Mr Darnley threw out against Penelope, as if she had waited only for Dr Greendale’s decease to adopt a profession against which he had serious objections; and Mr Primrose thought it most probable that the Countess of Smatterton had used great importunity, or that Penelope had complied, to relieve Mrs Greendale of a burden. There was indeed some difficulty in his mind to reconcile this story of Mr Darnley with the insinuation thrown out in his letter, and corroborated by the poor woman at the turnpike-gate, concerning the son of the Earl of Smatterton having withdrawn the affections of Penelope from Robert Darnley to himself. But Mr Primrose had been out of England many years; and fashions had changed since he left his native land. It was perhaps now quite elegant and fashionable to appear on the stage. He recollected that when he was at school, he had read of Nero, the Roman emperor, appearing on the stage as a public performer, and for aught that could be known to Mr Primrose, the progress of refinement in England might have pointed out dramatic or musical exhibition as a fit introduction to the honor of an alliance with nobility.
At all events, whatever were his notions or apprehensions he was by this time considerably more calm and composed. He had the satisfaction of knowing that his daughter was alive and well, and he had the pleasing prospect of speedily seeing her again. Of her moral and mental qualities, and of her intellectual improvement, he had been in the constant habit of receiving flattering and agreeable accounts, and he was not unwilling to believe them. There was some little mortification, that he had travelled so far and all to no purpose. But he had no other means of ascertaining where his daughter was.
It was a conceit of his own, (though partly aided by his late brother-in-law,) not to keep any direct correspondence with his daughter. His motive was, that as there was a possibility that he might never return to England, and that he might not ever have it in his power to provide for her according to his former means, therefore he thought it best not to excite any expectations which might be frustrated, or to excite in her mind any interest concerning himself, which might ultimately be productive of only pain and uneasiness. He wished his poor child to consider herself an orphan, thinking it better to surprise her with a living parent than to inflict grief on her mind at the thoughts of one deceased.
This scheme did not entirely succeed. The worthy and benevolent rector of Smatterton could not help now and then saying a favourable word or two concerning his poor brother Primrose; and as Dr Greendale’s was the charity that hopeth all things and believeth all things, he was not distrustful of his brother’s promises, but was nearly, if not altogether, as sanguine as Mr Primrose himself. By degrees Penelope came to have an interest in her absent parent; and well it was for her that Dr Greendale had thus accustomed her to think of her father: for when the good rector departed this life he did not leave his niece quite so orphaned as if she had had no knowledge or thought of her absent father. But to proceed with our story.
We have said that it was late in the evening when Mr Primrose arrived at Neverden. It was no great distance indeed to Smatterton; but why should he go there in any hurry, seeing that his daughter was not there? This consideration induced Mr Darnley to offer to the traveller the accommodation of a bed: for Mr Darnley was not a churlish man; he was only very cold, and very formal, and very pompous. The offer was readily accepted, and the rector of Neverden then conducted Mr Primrose from the study to the apartment in which the family was sitting. Great curiosity was excited as soon as Mr Darnley announced the name of his late arrived guest. The young ladies felt particularly interested in looking at the father of Penelope; but they did not make themselves, as they thought, quite so agreeable as they should have done had matters been proceeding in proper order with respect to their brother and Penelope. The absence of that species of agreeableness to which we allude, was no great inconvenience to Mr Primrose; for he was weary with travelling, and exhausted by manifold agitations, and it would not have been very agreeable to him with all this exhaustion to undergo a cheerful volley of everlasting interrogations; and Miss Mary Darnley would to a certainty have extorted from him a civil, ecclesiastical, statistical, botanical, and zoological, history of British India, to say nothing of Persia, China, Japan, and the million isles of the Eastern ocean.
But though the young ladies were not disposed to apply the question to Mr Primrose, their mother, who was as ready to forgive as she was apt to forget, talked to him as cordially and cheerfully as if the day had been fixed for the marriage of Robert Darnley and Penelope Primrose. Her talk, however, was not wearying, because there was no affectation in it, and because there was much good feeling in it. Her talk was concerning her dear boy; and Mr Primrose, who had a parent’s heart, enjoyed such talk.
“And so, Mr Primrose, you have seen my dear Robert? And how did he look? He is dying to return to Neverden. We expect him next week, for the ship is now in the Downs. Did you think, sir, he seemed in good health?”
“In perfect health, madam: in fact I never saw a young man who had been so long in India look so well as your son.”
“There was no yellowness in his look?” asked Mrs Darnley.
“Not the slightest, I can assure Mrs Darnley.”
“And was he not much sun-burnt?”
Mr Primrose smiled, and said, “Not any more, madam, than a young man ought to be; and though I never had the pleasure of seeing the young gentleman before, I do really believe that whatever darkness may have been added to his complexion is rather an improvement to his appearance than otherwise.”
“I am ashamed, Mr Primrose, to be so troublesome; but did you go aboard his ship when you were at St Helena? Do you know what sort of accommodations he had?”
“I certainly did not, madam, but I have every reason to suppose that he had every comfort that could be expected.”
“Why, yes, no doubt. But still it must be a great confinement. It is a very long voyage. Had you any storms, sir, as you came home?”
“Upon my word, Mrs Darnley, I really forget what kind of weather we had; but we had nothing very serious, or I should have remembered it.”
With many such-like questions and answers was the evening beguiled, and it was late before Mr Primrose retired to rest.
The young ladies took some part in the conversation, though but little; and Mr Darnley himself also now and then joined in the discourse, especially when Mrs Darnley, in the simplicity of her heart, asked questions which indicated a sinful ignorance of geography or history. In such cases Mr Darnley took especial care to manifest how much wiser he was than his wife. Positively it is a great shame, and altogether unreasonable to expect that people who have been from school thirty years or more should be as wise and learned as those who have just finished their education, or as those who have a study where they can sit and read and grow learned every hour in the day.
When the young ladies were alone they made amends for their previous silence. They all talked together to one another concerning Mr Primrose, and all three gave their opinions of him. By the way, it is great nonsense to talk about giving an opinion. It is almost as bad as giving advice; for neither one nor the other is ever taken, and how can any one give that which nobody takes? There was, however, this unanimity among the Miss Darnleys; they all concurred in saying and thinking that he was a very agreeable and interesting man, and a very lively man. They would indeed have thought him lively had they witnessed the energy of his manner in the study with Mr Darnley. But before the discussion closed, Miss Mary Darnley could not help saying: “What strange questions mamma did ask! I wonder what Mr Primrose thought of her?”