HOLLINGFORD IN A BUSTLE.
All Hollingford felt as if there was a great deal to be done before
Easter this year. There was Easter proper, which always required new
clothing of some kind, for fear of certain consequences from little
birds, who were supposed to resent the impiety of those that did
not wear some new article of dress on Easter-day. And most ladies
considered it wiser that the little birds should see the new article
for themselves, and not have to take it upon trust, as they would
have to do if it were merely a pocket-handkerchief, or a petticoat,
or any article of under-clothing. So piety demanded a new bonnet, or
a new gown; and was barely satisfied with an Easter pair of gloves.
Miss Rose was generally very busy just before Easter in Hollingford.
Then this year there was the charity ball. Ashcombe, Hollingford, and
Coreham were three neighbouring towns, of about the same number of
population, lying at the three equidistant corners of a triangle. In
imitation of greater cities with their festivals, these three towns
had agreed to have an annual ball for the benefit of the county
hospital to be held in turn at each place; and Hollingford was to be
the place this year.
It was a fine time for hospitality, and every house of any pretension
was as full as it could hold, and flys were engaged long months
before.
If Mrs. Gibson could have asked Osborne, or in default, Roger Hamley
to go to the ball with them and to sleep at their house,--or if,
indeed, she could have picked up any stray scion of a "county family"
to whom such an offer would have been a convenience, she would have
restored her own dressing-room to its former use as the spare-room,
with pleasure. But she did not think it was worth her while to put
herself out for any of the humdrum and ill-dressed women who had been
her former acquaintances at Ashcombe. For Mr. Preston it might have
been worth while to give up her room, considering him in the light of
a handsome and prosperous young man, and a good dancer besides. But
there were more lights in which he was to be viewed. Mr. Gibson, who
really wanted to return the hospitality shown to him by Mr. Preston
at the time of his marriage, had yet an instinctive distaste to the
man, which no wish of freeing himself from obligation, nor even the
more worthy feeling of hospitality, could overcome. Mrs. Gibson
had some old grudges of her own against him, but she was not one
to retain angry feelings, or be very active in her retaliation;
she was afraid of Mr. Preston, and admired him at the same time.
It was awkward too--so she said--to go into a ball-room without
any gentleman at all, and Mr. Gibson was so uncertain! On the
whole--partly for this last-given reason, and partly because
conciliation was the best policy, Mrs. Gibson was slightly in favour
of inviting Mr. Preston to be their guest. But as soon as Cynthia
heard the question discussed--or rather, as soon as she heard it
discussed in Mr. Gibson's absence, she said that if Mr. Preston came
to be their visitor on the occasion, she for one would not go to the
ball at all. She did not speak with vehemence or in anger; but with
such quiet resolution that Molly looked up in surprise. She saw
that Cynthia was keeping her eyes fixed on her work, and that she
had no intention of meeting any one's gaze, or giving any further
explanation. Mrs. Gibson, too, looked perplexed, and once or twice
seemed on the point of asking some question; but she was not angry
as Molly had fully expected. She watched Cynthia furtively and in
silence for a minute or two, and then said that, after all, she could
not conveniently give up her dressing-room; and, altogether, they had
better say no more about it. So no stranger was invited to stay at
Mr. Gibson's at the time of the ball; but Mrs. Gibson openly spoke
of her regret at the unavoidable inhospitality, and hoped that they
might be able to build an addition to their house before the next
triennial Hollingford ball.
Another cause of unusual bustle at Hollingford this Easter was the
expected return of the family to the Towers, after their unusually
long absence. Mr. Sheepshanks might be seen trotting up and down on
his stout old cob, speaking to attentive masons, plasterers, and
glaziers about putting everything--on the outside at least--about
the cottages belonging to "my lord," in perfect repair. Lord Cumnor
owned the greater part of the town; and those who lived under other
landlords, or in houses of their own, were stirred up by the dread
of contrast to do up their dwellings. So the ladders of whitewashers
and painters were sadly in the way of the ladies tripping daintily
along to make their purchases, and holding their gowns up in a bunch
behind, after a fashion quite gone out in these days. The housekeeper
and steward from the Towers might also be seen coming in to give
orders at the various shops; and stopping here and there at those
kept by favourites, to avail themselves of the eagerly-tendered
refreshments.
Lady Harriet came to call on her old governess the day after the
arrival of the family at the Towers. Molly and Cynthia were out
walking when she came--doing some errands for Mrs. Gibson, who had a
secret idea that Lady Harriet would call at the particular time she
did, and had a not uncommon wish to talk to her ladyship without the
corrective presence of any member of her own family.
Mrs. Gibson did not give Molly the message of remembrance that Lady
Harriet had left for her; but she imparted various pieces of news
relating to the Towers with great animation and interest. The Duchess
of Menteith and her daughter, Lady Alice, were coming to the Towers;
would be there the day of the ball; would come to the ball; and the
Menteith diamonds were famous. That was piece of news the first.
The second was that ever so many gentlemen were coming to the
Towers--some English, some French. This piece of news would have come
first in order of importance had there been much probability of their
being dancing men, and, as such, possible partners at the coming
ball. But Lady Harriet had spoken of them as Lord Hollingford's
friends, useless scientific men in all probability. Then, finally,
Mrs. Gibson was to go to the Towers next day to lunch; Lady Cumnor
had written a little note by Lady Harriet to beg her to come; if
Mrs. Gibson could manage to find her way to the Towers, one of the
carriages in use should bring her back to her own home in the course
of the afternoon.
"The dear countess!" said Mrs. Gibson, with soft affection. It was
a soliloquy, uttered after a minute's pause, at the end of all this
information.
And all the rest of that day her conversation had an aristocratic
perfume hanging about it. One of the few books she had brought with
her into Mr. Gibson's house was bound in pink, and in it she studied
"Menteith, Duke of, Adolphus George," &c., &c., till she was fully up
in all the duchess's connections, and probable interests. Mr. Gibson
made his mouth up into a droll whistle when he came home at night,
and found himself in a Towers' atmosphere. Molly saw the shade
of annoyance through the drollery; she was beginning to see it
oftener than she liked, not that she reasoned upon it, or that she
consciously traced the annoyance to its source; but she could not
help feeling uneasy in herself when she knew her father was in the
least put out.
Of course a fly was ordered for Mrs. Gibson. In the early afternoon
she came home. If she had been disappointed in her interview with
the countess she never told her woe, nor revealed the fact that when
she first arrived at the Towers she had to wait for an hour in Lady
Cumnor's morning-room, uncheered by any companionship save that of
her old friend, Mrs. Bradley, till suddenly, Lady Harriet coming in,
she exclaimed, "Why, Clare! you dear woman! are you here all alone?
Does mamma know?" And, after a little more affectionate conversation,
she rushed to find her ladyship, who was perfectly aware of the fact,
but too deep in giving the duchess the benefit of her wisdom and
experience in trousseaux to be at all aware of the length of time
Mrs. Gibson had been passing in patient solitude. At lunch Mrs.
Gibson was secretly hurt by my lord's supposing it to be her dinner,
and calling out his urgent hospitality from the very bottom of the
table, giving as a reason for it, that she must remember it was her
dinner. In vain she piped out in her soft, high voice, "Oh, my lord!
I never eat meat in the middle of the day; I can hardly eat anything
at lunch." Her voice was lost, and the duchess might go away with the
idea that the Hollingford doctor's wife dined early; that is to say,
if her grace ever condescended to have any idea on the subject at
all; which presupposes that she was cognizant of the fact of there
being a doctor at Hollingford, and that he had a wife, and that his
wife was the pretty, faded, elegant-looking woman sending away her
plate of untasted food--food which she longed to eat, for she was
really desperately hungry after her drive and her solitude.
And then after lunch there did come a _tte--tte_ with Lady Cumnor,
which was conducted after this wise:--
"Well, Clare! I am really glad to see you. I once thought I should
never get back to the Towers, but here I am! There was such a clever
man at Bath--a Doctor Snape--he cured me at last--quite set me up. I
really think if ever I am ill again I shall send for him: it is such
a thing to find a really clever medical man. Oh, by the way, I always
forget you've married Mr. Gibson--of course he is very clever, and
all that. (The carriage to the door in ten minutes, Brown, and desire
Bradley to bring my things down.) What was I asking you? Oh! how do
you get on with the stepdaughter? She seemed to me to be a young lady
with a pretty stubborn will of her own. I put a letter for the post
down somewhere, and I cannot think where; do help me look for it,
there's a good woman. Just run to my room, and see if Brown can find
it, for it is of great consequence."
Off went Mrs. Gibson, rather unwillingly; for there were several
things she wanted to speak about, and she had not heard half of what
she had expected to learn of the family gossip. But all chance was
gone; for when she came back from her fruitless errand, Lady Cumnor
and the duchess were in full talk, Lady Cumnor with the missing
letter in her hand, which she was using something like a baton to
enforce her words.
"Every iota from Paris! Every i-o-ta!"
Lady Cumnor was too much of a lady not to apologize for useless
trouble, but they were nearly the last words she spoke to Mrs.
Gibson, for she had to go out and drive with the duchess; and the
brougham to take "Clare" (as she persisted in calling Mrs. Gibson)
back to Hollingford followed the carriage to the door. Lady Harriet
came away from her _entourage_ of young men and young ladies, all
prepared for some walking expedition, to wish Mrs. Gibson good-by.
"We shall see you at the ball," she said. "You'll be there with your
two girls, of course, and I must have a little talk with you there;
with all these visitors in the house, it has been impossible to see
anything of you to-day, you know."
Such were the facts, but rose-colour was the medium through which
they were seen by Mrs. Gibson's household listeners on her return.
"There are many visitors staying at the Towers--oh, yes! a great
many: the duchess and Lady Alice, and Mr. and Mrs. Grey, and Lord
Albert Monson and his sister, and my old friend Captain James of the
Blues--many more, in fact. But, of course, I preferred going to Lady
Cumnor's own room, where I could see her and Lady Harriet quietly,
and where we were not disturbed by the bustle downstairs. Of course
we were obliged to go down to lunch, and then I saw my old friends,
and renewed pleasant acquaintances. But I really could hardly get any
connected conversation with any one. Lord Cumnor seemed so delighted
to see me there again: though there were six or seven between us, he
was always interrupting with some civil or kind speech especially
addressed to me. And after lunch Lady Cumnor asked me all sorts of
questions about my new life with as much interest as if I had been
her daughter. To be sure, when the duchess came in we had to leave
off, and talk about the trousseau she is preparing for Lady Alice.
Lady Harriet made such a point of our meeting at the ball; she is
such a good, affectionate creature, is Lady Harriet!"
This last was said in a tone of meditative appreciation.
The afternoon of the day on which the ball was to take place, a
servant rode over from Hamley with two lovely nosegays, "with the
Mr. Hamleys' compliments to Miss Gibson and Miss Kirkpatrick."
Cynthia was the first to receive them. She came dancing into the
drawing-room, flourishing the flowers about in either hand, and
danced up to Molly, who was trying to settle to her reading, by way
of passing the time away till the evening came.
"Look, Molly, look! Here are bouquets for us! Long life to the
givers!"
"Who are they from?" asked Molly, taking hold of one, and examining
it with tender delight at its beauty.
"Who from? Why, the two paragons of Hamleys, to be sure. Is it not a
pretty attention?"
"How kind of them!" said Molly.
"I'm sure it is Osborne who thought of it. He has been so much
abroad, where it is such a common compliment to send bouquets to
young ladies."
"I don't see why you should think it is Osborne's thought!" said
Molly, reddening a little. "Mr. Roger Hamley used to gather nosegays
constantly for his mother, and sometimes for me."
"Well, never mind whose thought it was, or who gathered them; we've
got the flowers, and that's enough. Molly, I'm sure these red flowers
will just match your coral necklace and bracelets," said Cynthia,
pulling out some camellias, then a rare kind of flower.
"Oh, please, don't!" exclaimed Molly. "Don't you see how carefully
the colours are arranged--they have taken such pains; please, don't."
"Nonsense!" said Cynthia, continuing to pull them out; "see, here are
quite enough. I'll make you a little coronet of them--sewn on black
velvet, which will never be seen--just as they do in France!"
"Oh, I am so sorry! It is quite spoilt," said Molly.
"Never mind! I'll take this spoilt bouquet; I can make it up again
just as prettily as ever; and you shall have this, which has never
been touched." Cynthia went on arranging the crimson buds and flowers
to her taste. Molly said nothing, but kept watching Cynthia's nimble
fingers tying up the wreath.
"There!" said Cynthia, at last, "when that is sewn on black velvet,
to keep the flowers from dying, you'll see how pretty it will look.
And there are enough red flowers in this untouched nosegay to carry
out the idea!"
"Thank you" (very slowly). "But sha'n't you mind having only the
wrecks of the other?"
"Not I; red flowers would not go with my pink dress."
"But--I daresay they arranged each nosegay so carefully!"
"Perhaps they did. But I never would allow sentiment to interfere
with my choice of colours; and pink does tie one down. Now you,
in white muslin, just tipped with crimson, like a daisy, may wear
anything."
Cynthia took the utmost pains in dressing Molly, leaving the clever
housemaid to her mother's exclusive service. Mrs. Gibson was more
anxious about her attire than was either of the girls; it had given
her occasion for deep thought and not a few sighs. Her deliberation
had ended in her wearing her pearl-grey satin wedding-gown, with a
profusion of lace, and white and coloured lilacs. Cynthia was the one
who took the affair most lightly. Molly looked upon the ceremony of
dressing for a first ball as rather a serious ceremony; certainly as
an anxious proceeding. Cynthia was almost as anxious as herself; only
Molly wanted her appearance to be correct and unnoticed; and Cynthia
was desirous of setting off Molly's rather peculiar charms--her
cream-coloured skin, her profusion of curly black hair, her beautiful
long-shaped eyes, with their shy, loving expression. Cynthia took
up so much time in dressing Molly to her mind, that she herself had
to perform her toilette in a hurry. Molly, ready dressed, sate on a
low chair in Cynthia's room, watching the pretty creature's rapid
movements, as she stood in her petticoat before the glass, doing up
her hair, with quick certainty of effect. At length, Molly heaved a
long sigh, and said,--
"I should like to be pretty!"
"Why, Molly," said Cynthia, turning round with an exclamation on the
tip of her tongue; but when she caught the innocent, wistful look on
Molly's face, she instinctively checked what she was going to say,
and, half-smiling to her own reflection in the glass, she said,--"The
French girls would tell you, to believe that you were pretty would
make you so."
Molly paused before replying,--
"I suppose they would mean that if you knew you were pretty, you
would never think about your looks; you would be so certain of being
liked, and that it is caring--"
"Listen! that's eight o'clock striking. Don't trouble yourself with
trying to interpret a French girl's meaning, but help me on with my
frock, there's a dear one."
The two girls were dressed, and were standing over the fire waiting
for the carriage in Cynthia's room, when Maria (Betty's successor)
came hurrying into the room. Maria had been officiating as maid to
Mrs. Gibson, but she had had intervals of leisure, in which she had
rushed upstairs, and, under the pretence of offering her services,
had seen the young ladies' dresses, and the sight of so many nice
clothes had sent her into a state of excitement which made her think
nothing of rushing upstairs for the twentieth time, with a nosegay
still more beautiful than the two previous ones.
"Here, Miss Kirkpatrick! No, it's not for you, miss!" as Molly, being
nearer to the door, offered to take it and pass it to Cynthia. "It's
for Miss Kirkpatrick; and there's a note for her besides!"
Cynthia said nothing, but took the note and the flowers. She held the
note so that Molly could read it at the same time she did.
I send you some flowers; and you must allow me to claim
the first dance after nine o'clock, before which time I
fear I cannot arrive.--R. P.
"Who is it?" asked Molly.
Cynthia looked extremely irritated, indignant, perplexed--what was it
turned her cheek so pale, and made her eyes so full of fire?
"It is Mr. Preston," said she, in answer to Molly. "I shall not dance
with him; and here go his flowers--"
Into the very middle of the embers, which she immediately stirred
down upon the beautiful shrivelling petals as if she wished to
annihilate them as soon as possible. Her voice had never been raised;
it was as sweet as usual; nor, though her movements were prompt
enough, were they hasty or violent.
"Oh!" said Molly, "those beautiful flowers! We might have put them in
water."
"No," said Cynthia; "it's best to destroy them. We don't want them;
and I can't bear to be reminded of that man."
"It was an impertinent familiar note," said Molly. "What right had
he to express himself in that way--no beginning, no end, and only
initials! Did you know him well when you were at Ashcombe, Cynthia?"
"Oh, don't let us think any more about him," replied Cynthia. "It is
quite enough to spoil any pleasure at the ball to think that he will
be there. But I hope I shall get engaged before he comes, so that I
can't dance with him--and don't you, either!"
"There! they are calling for us," exclaimed Molly, and with quick
step, yet careful of their draperies, they made their way downstairs
to the place where Mr. and Mrs. Gibson awaited them. Yes; Mr. Gibson
was going,--even if he had to leave them afterwards to attend to any
professional call. And Molly suddenly began to admire her father
as a handsome man, when she saw him now, in full evening attire.
Mrs. Gibson, too--how pretty she was! In short, it was true that no
better-looking a party than these four people entered the Hollingford
ball-room that evening.