The Widow Barnaby. Vol. 1 (of 3)Trollope, Frances Milton
General
The Widow Barnaby. Vol. 1 (of 3)
Trollope, Frances Milton
England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Social classes -- England -- Fiction; Widows -- Fiction
In the happiest state of spirits from the conscious skill with which she
had managed this instantaneous change of garments ... delighted with the
unexpected elegance of the house, and all within it ... with her
reception, ... and, above all else, with the recollection of the able
manner in which she had propitiated the favour of these important
relatives by her letter, the widow rang the bell for her Jerningham, and
anxiously awaited her arrival and that of her niece, that she might
indulge a little in the happy, boastful vein that swelled her bosom.
"Well, my dear," she broke out, the instant Agnes entered, "I hope you
like my brother and sister, and my nieces and my nephew.... Upon my
word, Agnes, you are the luckiest girl in the world! What a family for
you to be introduced to, on a footing of the greatest intimacy too, and
that on your very first introduction into life! They must be exceedingly
wealthy ... there can be no doubt of it. I suppose you have seen a great
many servants, Jerningham?"
"Oh my!--sure enough, ma'am!... There's the footman, and the boy, and
the coachman."
"A coachman!" interrupted Mrs. Barnaby; "they keep a carriage, then?...
I really had no idea of it. My dear Barnaby never told me that.... I
wonder at it!... And well, Jerningham, how many maids are there?
"Oh lor! ma'am, I hardly can tell, for I was tooked to sit in one room,
and there was one, and maybe two maids, as bided in another; that was
the kitchen I _sem_, ma'am, and everything was so elegant, ma'am...."
"I dare say it was, Jerningham, ... and you must be very careful to keep
up your own consequence, and mine too, in such a house as this. You
understand me, Jerningham: I have already, you remember, given you some
hints.... You have not forgotten, I hope?"
"No, that I haven't, ma'am," replied the girl; "and ... I mean to tell
'em ..." but looking at Agnes, she stopped short, as it seemed, because
she was there.
"Very well ... that's quite right, ... and I'll give you these gloves of
mine. Mend them neatly to-morrow morning, and never be seen to go out
without gloves, Jerningham.... And now unpack my night-bag, ... and you
had better just open my trunk too. Remember to learn the hour of
breakfast, and come to me exactly an hour and a half before. I shall put
on my black satin to-morrow, and my lavender trimmings.... You know
where to find them all, don't you?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Very well, forget nothing, and I will give you that cap with the lilac
bows that I dirtied-out at Exeter.... Mercy on me, Agnes, how you are
yawning!"
"I _am_ very tired, aunt, and I will wish you good night now, if you
please."
"What!... without one word of all you have seen? Well, you are a stupid
girl, Agnes, and that's the fact.... You find nothing, I suppose, to
like or admire in my sister's house, or in those delightful,
fashionable-looking young people?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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