Mr. Boscawen was resolved to please his wife. There was a link between them now, which nothing human could dissolve. Perhaps Mr. Boscawen silently felt pride in the idea of displaying his "beautiful babe," as Isabel termed it. At Brierly, beyond the establishment, there were none to gaze and admire. An elderly gentleman is generally proud of his first-born; the less he says, the more apparent it becomes in action. Mr. Boscawen watched his infant with unceasing interest, though he seldom made it the subject of his discourse. He was now going to enjoy the commendations of passing strangers in Bridgnorth. Isabel openly confessed her pride and expectations; they only lurked in her husband's eyes.
Miss Boscawen could not hear the subject named without expressing her dissent. She had not proposed the drive, or even imagined such an amusement, therefore the whole affair must be foolish and useless. Mr. Boscawen urged his sister to remain at Brierly—there was no occasion for her to undertake an irksome drive, if it was so unpalatable—she could prepare a late tea against their return. Miss Boscawen differed in opinion.
"Oh, mercy, no, brother! I must go, to see that sister does not fatigue herself. The poor child, you know—yes, sister, I will go with you, but, indeed, I think it a very foolish business—what with the heat, and the poor child, I am sure we shall all be very tired."
In spite of Miss Boscawen's murmurs and prognostics, Isabel looked forward with pleasure to the Bridgnorth visit, which was to take place in two days from the date of its first proposition. Isabel gloried in the idea of walking with her infant round the Castle Hill, and up all the streets; she was sure every body would exclaim at the size and beauty of her boy, and it would be a day of proud exultation to her. She was also gratefully eloquent upon her husband's kindness in entering at once into her plan; she was sure she must be the happiest creature in the world, if dear Mr. Boscawen never more required her to read, and plague herself over maps and things. She dearly loved nursing and singing to her babe, and dear Mr. Boscawen had told her that morning, he did not mind the child crying half the night; he was only happy to see what an excellent nurse and mother he had married. Was not that very good of dear Mr. Boscawen?
Christobelle also looked forward with pleasure to the trip; she had never been allowed to accompany her family to Shrewsbury, because Lady Wetheral said, nothing was so impolitic as displaying a lot of coming-on girls; she had never seen a cluster of houses beyond the small village of Wetheral, and her mind resigned itself to most pleasing anticipations of Bridgnorth gaiety. She could conceive nothing more charming than roaming with Isabel up and down the streets, and examining the shop-windows—nothing more sublime than standing upon the bridge, to watch the coal-barges from its parapet—nothing more exquisite than the permission to buy gingerbread-nuts without remark and without ridicule. There were not two happier beings than Isabel and Christobelle, in their visions of the pleasures which were to surround them at Bridgnorth.
CHAPTER XIV.
How could any party, however pleasantly arranged, prosper with Miss Boscawen as one of its members? Nothing could exceed her restlessness, and objection to every plan proposed. They were not setting forth to Hawkstone, therefore every thing was ill-devised—every preparation was nonsensical. Mr. Boscawen rode forward to order dinner, consequently Isabel must endure her sister-in-law's complaints with patient submission; and her comfort, during that lengthened drive, must arise from silently contemplating her child, and exchanging looks of vexation with Christobelle. They had not quitted the Brierly grounds, when Miss Boscawen commenced an enumeration of miseries which must fall to their lot from persisting in their excursion.
"Oh, sister, mercy! How you can wish to spend a whole day in such a place as Bridgnorth, I cannot imagine. The poor child will be so uneasy, and you will be so heated; and Miss Wetheral, my dear, you had better not walk about, but sit quietly at the Crown with us all. I have brought my knitting, and a piece of carpet-work; and, mercy, sister!—what will you do with the child? and how can you be comfortable at the Crown with a baby?"