Rank and Talent; A Novel, Vol. 2 (of 3)

by William Pitt Scargill

Markham took the earliest opportunity of paying his respects to Mr. Martindale, notwithstanding all that Miss Henderson had said and insinuated concerning the cruel usage she had experienced from that family. It was well that when Markham called, only Mr. Martindale was visible. The young lady, whom Miss Henderson was pleased to call a hypocrite, was not within. When the old gentleman saw Markham he greeted him with the utmost cordiality, and was, as he said, most heartily glad to see him.

"And pray, young man, how long have you been in England?"

Markham informed him of the circumstances which occasioned his return, and Mr. Martindale expressed his regret that there was such occasion of returning. "But," added he, "I don't see that you look ill now; it is a mere fancy that young men get into their heads about this and that place not agreeing with them. When I was a young man there was no such nonsense; young fellows went out to the East or West Indies, and made fortunes, and came home in high good health to enjoy themselves. It is a sad pity that you have let such a golden opportunity slip through your fingers; but if you really were ill, you could not help it. But don't be in a hurry, sit down. Little Clara and her mother will be home soon. You know you and Clara used to talk a good deal about poetry. I am sure she will be glad to see you. There is a young fellow, who is following us wherever we go, who is paying mighty close attention to Clara. I don't know whether they will make a match of it. Signora Rivolta does not like the young man. Perhaps you know him, his name is Tippetson; he has a very pretty fortune of his own. But I think it would be better if he had taken a profession. I don't like young men to be quite idle. My poor cousin Philip did himself no good by leaving his profession, and setting himself up as a man of rank. He is a man of higher rank now. I suppose you have heard that he has been created Earl of Trimmerstone. Foolish thing; but I believe it was partly my fault. Of course, you also know that he is married. Ah! to think that after all his fine talk about people of family and descent, to think, I say, that he should now go at last and marry the daughter of a soap-boiler. Though I don't see any harm in boiling soap. Soap must be had, and a soap-boiler is as useful a man as any other member of society, perhaps quite as useful as a lord; but I must not speak slightingly of lords. Philip's father died very suddenly at last. He was breaking very much, I think, when you were in England. You never knew him. He was a much steadier man than his son. I am very much afraid Philip is not going on well. I have heard sad stories about him of his gambling, and laying such unreasonably large bets upon the merest trifles in the world. You must be introduced to him again now he has a new title, and you must see his lady. You remember her; a pretty woman, but rather coarse in her manners. All very well for a rich man's wife, but not at all fit for a countess. People of rank don't admire her much; and she is so very intimate with vulgar people, that poor Philip says he is afraid to go into a snuff-shop for fear the man behind the counter should inquire after the Countess of Trimmerstone. It is a foolish thing to marry for money. Never do that, Markham."

To this desultory harangue, and to much more of the same description, narrating and commenting upon all the events which had occurred since his departure, did Markham closely and attentively listen. He liked the old gentleman very much, for he had received good advice from him, and many compliments which are more agreeable than all the good advice in the world. While Mr. Martindale was speaking, Clara made her appearance, accompanied by Mr. Tippetson. The old gentleman introduced the young men to each other, and they looked at each other rather coldly. Clara tried to be very composed, but could not succeed. She trembled, blushed, and stammered: she made a hasty retreat, and ran up stairs to her own apartment, and when there, she gave way to a flood of tears. It was easy to indulge in this emotion, but it was not easy to suppress it. There she sat sobbing and weeping, and silently reproaching herself, unconscious and heedless of the lapse of time. A multitude of conflicting thoughts rushed into her mind, and her heart was a chaos of confusion and distress. She scarcely knew what she had been saying, doing, or thinking of. She thought that Markham looked reproachfully at her, and she thought that he had a right to look so. Poor innocent! she never found out that she had a heart till it began to reproach and torment her.

Not very long had she been thus employed in tormenting herself, when Signora Rivolta, who heard that Clara was in her own apartment, and understood that she had just met Markham on his return to England, suspecting that the meeting would produce an impression on her daughter's feelings, entered the young lady's room, and was grieved to see the very powerful emotion in which she was indulging herself. The Signora, who though an essentially kind mother, had generally a sternness and hardness of manner in addressing her daughter on matters of conduct and deportment, now saw that it was absolutely necessary to use the utmost gentleness and considerateness in speaking to her. Assuming therefore an unusual degree of softness of manner and mildness of tone, she gently approached the poor sufferer, and taking her hand and sitting down by her side, said,

"My dear child, it pains me to see you afflict yourself thus. Come, speak to me, tell me what is the cause of your sorrow. Why do you give so much indulgence to these emotions? Let me hear you speak. I would willingly comfort you." With these and such expressions the mother of Clara endeavoured to bring the young lady to a little composure; but the attempt was in vain. Poor Clara could not speak had she been willing, and she knew not what to say had she been able to speak. She could hardly describe to her own mind the cause of her tears. Her mother for a little while ceased to make inquiries, but sat in silent sympathy holding the hand of her sorrowing child; and after a time, when the violence of the emotion abated, Clara feeling herself ashamed of the violence and cause of her grief, attempted as well as she was able, which was indeed but indifferently, to apologise for and to explain her feelings. Signora Rivolta plainly saw that her heart was Markham's, and that she feared that she had given more encouragement than with propriety she should have given to the perfumed fop, who by disguising his real character had wrought upon the inexperienced mind of the poor girl to lead her to think more highly of him than he deserved. For when the female heart has been once exposed to disappointment, it not unfrequently afterwards surrenders a cold consent to a less worthy object. Thus situated had Clara been. Markham appeared lost to her, and then she became indifferent to all others, and suffered Mr. Tippetson to pay her those attentions which under other circumstances she would have repelled with the greatest contempt from a person of his character and mind. After having suffered or tolerated those attentions, it appeared to her that she had given the young gentleman reason to suppose that a more serious address would not be rejected; but when Markham again made his appearance, and when he looked so interestingly and affectionately at her, and so inquiringly and jealously at Tippetson, then Clara felt as if he had reproached her for inconstancy and fickleness; then did she think that it was now too late to hope that Markham would renew those attentions with which she had formerly been so delighted; and in a moment did her active imagination institute a comparison between Markham and Tippetson, not much to the advantage of the latter. For though she did not very attentively or seriously study the character of Tippetson, yet she had been so far familiar with the style of his conversation and with the attitude of his mind, that a comparison was easily formed between the two young gentlemen. Painful was this comparison to Clara's mind; for not only did she regret the loss of Markham, but almost as deeply did she bewail the necessity under which she had almost voluntarily, certainly carelessly, placed herself to accept the hand of Mr. Tippetson. Those of our readers to whom we have made ourselves intelligible concerning the character of Clara's mind, will very readily understand how deeply and severely she must have felt under these circumstances.