While the Arden family are on their way to town, we shall take a peep at
the High-street in Cheltenham. Strings of carriages were driving
backward and forward, from turnpike to turnpike, while the open
barouches, filled with bonnets of every colour in the rainbow, flaunting
and waving to and fro, looked like so many moving beds of full blown
tulips. Foot-passengers too of all classes thronged the flag-ways.
Among these was distinguishable a tall, large, and still handsome woman,
apparently upwards of fifty. There was something aristocratic about
both her countenance and carriage, although she was closely followed by
a trollopy looking maid-servant, who carried a bandbox under each arm, a
dressing-box in one hand, and a work-box in the other.
Mistress and maid entered the private door or _genteel_ separate
ingress, appropriated to lodgers, of a music-shop; and having the door
at the further end of the passage opened, for the purpose of throwing
light on the subject, stumbled up a still dark and very narrow
staircase, at the top of which they turned abruptly into a small sunny
drawing-room, furnished with chintz hangings, lined and draperied with
faded pink calico. The carpet was a stamped cloth, of a showy pattern.
It was a recent purchase, and therefore not yet faded; so that it
secured to these lodgings, as being _superiorly_ furnished, a great
preference over their competitors. In the centre of the room stood a
table covered with a very dingy green baize, and round the walls were
ranged some half dozen small mock rosewood chairs, accommodated with
little square inclined planes, covered with pink calico, and called
cushions. Either for want of strings at the back, or in consequence of
such strings being out of repair, these said inclined planes, whenever
you attempted to help yourself or any one else to a chair, flew off,
either into the middle of the floor, or if it was the fire you had
wished to approach, perchance under the grate. Over the mantelpiece was
placed what the landlady considered _a very handsome_ chimney-glass, a
_foot and half_ high, and about three wide; its gilt frame carefully
covered with transparent yellow gauze. On the mantelpiece stood two
bronze chimney lights, with cutglass drops, only it must be confessed
there were but three of the drops remaining on one, and the other wanted
two. The woman of the house, however, had promised faithfully to find
the rest of the drops, and so restore to these embellishers of her
establishment the whole of their pendant honours.
"I wouldn't give much for their promises," answered Sarah, the maid,
when, in reply to a comment of hers on the subject, she was told so by
Mrs. Dorothea Arden, her mistress.
"And here's no sofa, ma'am," she continued; "how are you to be sitting,
the length of an evening, stuck upright on one of these here _ricketty_
bits of chairs, I'd be glad to know."
"Why, it will not be very comfortable, to be sure," answered Mrs.
Dorothea, "so long as it lasts; but she has promised faithfully, that as
soon as the sick lady goes away, which will be in about a week, she will
let me have the sofa out of the next drawing-room."
"A bird in the hand's worth two in the bush!" replied Sarah. "I dare say
if the truth was known, they're not worth a sofa; or, if they are,
they'll keep it in the next room, when it is vacant, to be a decoy-duck
to another lodger. They're not going to let you have it, I promise you,
now that they have got you fast for a month certain."
"Well, if they don't, I can't help it," said Mrs. Dorothea; "one can't
have every thing you know; and the new carpet certainly gives the room a
very respectable appearance. And then there is a chiffonier; that's a
great comfort to put one's groceries in; or a few biskets; or a bottle
of wine, if one should be obliged to open one. The doors, to be sure,
are lined with blue and they should have been pink."
"And here's no key," said Sarah, examining the chiffonier; "and I
declare if the lock _ante_ broke."
"That is provoking," said Mrs. Dorothea, "she must get me a lock."
Sarah was now dispatched with her bandboxes, and ordered to hurry the
dinner and unpack the things.
In about half an hour, Aunt Dorothea becoming hungry and impatient, rang
her bell. Sarah reappeared, with a countenance of the utmost discontent,
declaring she was never in such a place in her life; that there was no
getting any thing done, and that as to unpacking, there was no use in
attempting it, in a place where they should never be able to stop. When
the dinner was asked for, she replied, that she believed it had been
done some time, but that she supposed there was no one to bring it up,
for all they had engaged to do the waiting. "But there's sixteen of
themselves, shop boys and all; and they _gets_ their own tea the while
your dinner's a cooking it seems."
When the dinner did come up, it was cold, and consisted of mutton-chops,
which had evidently been upset into the ashes. Poor Aunt Dorothea
consequently made but a slender repast.
The next day, while engaged in the labours of the toilet, she thus
addressed Sarah; for people who live quite alone, are too apt to get
into a way of gossiping with their servants.
"It's a very long time since the Salters have called; is it not,
Sarah?"
"A very long time indeed ma'am," replied the abigail, "they was a saying
to their own maid the other day (they don't know I suppose as she is a
friend of mine), for they was a saying, as I said, that they didn't
think as they should call any more; for that nobody never knew where to
find you, as you was always a changing your lodgings; and that as to
your having a sister that was a lady, they didn't believe a word of it;
for though you was always a talking of Lady Arden coming, she never
come."
"What impertinence! Well, Lady Arden will be here this season to a
certainty. She is to come direct from London; and I'll take care they
shall not be introduced to her. Was there ever such ingratitude! People
that had not a creature to speak to, till I introduced them to every one
they know. I even made so particular a request of my friends that they
would call on them, that I quite laid myself under obligations to
people. They could find out my lodgings fast enough, when they were
coming to my little sociable parties five nights out of the seven;
declaring they did not know what was to become of them, were it not for
my kindness; and that the more they saw how differently others behaved
to them, the more were they obliged to me; and then making such a vulgar
noise about the number of invitations they were in my debt and their
grief at not having it in their power as yet to make any return."
"Then I can tell you ma'am," said Sarah, "they are to have a grand party
this very night at the rooms, and never had the manners to ask you."
"I know their cards have been out for some time. And who are they to
have, did you hear?"
"Oh, titles without end, they say; and generals and baronets, and all
sorts of fine people. Mrs. Johnson _sais_, as the young ladies should
say, they were determined as their party should _exist_ entirely of
_excuses_."
"Exclusives you mean, I suppose; but did you hear any of the names?"
"Why yes ma'am; they are to have Sir Matthias and Lady Whaleworthy."
"Sir Matthias indeed!" repeated Mrs. Dorothea, "an alderman
cheesemonger, knighted only the other day; and as for his poor
goodnatured, vulgar wife, she has been fattened on whey, I suppose, till
no reasonable door can admit her."
"Well to be sure!" exclaimed the abigail, "and then they are to have Sir
Henry and Lady Shawbridge."
"Sir Henry, poor man," said Mrs. Dorothea, "was only knighted by
mistake. I don't know what he was himself, but they say he had just
married his cook-maid; and her ladyship certainly has all the
fiery-faced fierceness of that order about her."
"A cook-maid, ma'am! why I am a step above that myself. And let me see,
who else--oh, there's to be Lady Flamborough."
"She is a woman of rank certainly, or rather the widow of a man of rank;
for she is of very low birth herself; and what is much worse, she is a
woman of bad character, which of course prevents her being visited, so
that she is glad to go any where. And who else pray?"
"Sir William Orm, that Mrs. Johnson _sais_ is such a fine gentleman."
"Sir William Orm," repeated Mrs. Dorothea, "he is a known black-leg; a
man shut out from all good society; he may do very well for the Salters,
however, if he can endure their vulgarity."
"There is another title," said Sarah, "let me see--Sir--Sir--Sir Francis
Beerton, or Brierton, I think."
"Poor little man," said Mrs. Dorothea, "there is no particular harm in
him; but his wife is so sanctified, that she will neither go any where,
nor see any one at home; so that he is glad of any thing for variety.
Strange notions some people have of duty! in my opinion, if a woman will
not make a man's home comfortable and agreeable to him, she becomes
accountable for all the sins he may commit abroad, although she should
be praying for his conversion the whole time. Well, who comes next on
your list?"
"I don't think as I remember any more, excepting General Powel."
"He, poor old man, is mere lumber; neither useful nor ornamental, nobody
will be troubled with him who can get anybody else to fill up their
rooms; so that I should suppose he is not incumbered with many
invitations."
"Well who would a thought of their being such a _despisable_ set; and so
many titles among them too; why to have heard Mrs. Johnson talk o' them,
you'd supposed they had been so many kings and queens."
"It was a set I should not have joined certainly; but quite good enough
for the Salters, whom I should never have visited, had the friend who
wrote to me about them been sufficiently explicit as to who and what
they were. The daughters, I suppose, would be excessively indignant if
they thought it was known that their father had made his fortune
somewhere in Devonshire, by a contract for supplying the navy with
beef."
"Supplying beef, ma'am! Why isn't that all as one as being a butcher?"
"Not unlike it, certainly," replied Mrs. Dorothea.
"Well, who would have thought, and they so proud: but it's always them
there upstartish sort that's the impudentst and most unbearable."
"It is in general the way those sort of people betray themselves. If
they behaved in a modest unpretending manner, very possible no questions
might be asked. After their ingratitude and impertinence to me, I for
one shall make no secret of the circumstance. And the very young men
that eat Mr. Salter's roast beef now, washed down too with his champaign
and his claret, will not be the less ready to jeer at the time he sold
the same commodity raw. When my sister, Lady Arden, comes, and her three
beautiful daughters, they will of course have all the young men in
Cheltenham about them; so that I shall be acquainted with them all; and
I shall take care they shall not be in the dark about the Misses Salter,
who shall find that I am not to be insulted with impunity."
"And I shall have some fun with our butcher about it," said Sarah; "I
shall tell him to be particular what sort of meat he sends to such a
good judge as Mr. Salter. Perhaps you could spare me for a couple of
hours this evening, ma'am?" she added, when her mistress was attired.
"What for, Sarah? you are always asking leave to go out. I must say you
are very idly inclined. How are my summer things ever to be ready at
this rate. This mulberry silk has been looking quite out of season, ever
since the sunny weather came in."
"I am sure, ma'am, there is not a young person in Cheltenham sits as
close to their needle as what I do; but this evening Mrs. Johnson has,
of course, the privilege of the music-gallery, and she has offered me a
place. I thought you might like, perhaps, to hear how the party went
off?"
"Oh, certainly I should!" replied Mrs. Dorothea. "Well, Sarah, you may
go, and mind you have all your eyes about you, and bring me a full
account of every thing. And notice if there is any body there that I
know--and how the people are dressed--and how often the refreshment
trays come in--and whether they attempt a supper--and who begins the
dancing. The Miss Salters will get partners for once in their lives, I
suppose! And I dare say they will contrive to have a tolerably full
room; for I hear they have been getting all their acquaintance to give
away cards, right and left; Lady Matthias alone boasts that she has
disposed of three dozen."
Sarah promised strict compliance with all the directions she had
received, and disappeared in great haste, to pin new bows in her bonnet,
and slip stiffeners into the large sleeves of her best silk dress;
determining to complete her costume for the occasion, by lending herself
her mistress's pea-green china crape shawl and black lace veil.
Mrs. Dorothea Arden, as soon as she was alone, sighed unconsciously; for
visions of her early days presented themselves suddenly and unbidden,
forming a violent contrast with the whole class of petty and degrading
thoughts and interests, to which circumstances had gradually habituated,
at least, if not reconciled her.
Ere she had quitted the pedestal of her youthful pride, beneath the
shelter of her father's roof, with what appalling horror would she have
thought of the chance-collected mob, about whose movements she was now
capable of feeling an idle curiosity.
Vague recollections, too, passed with the quickness of a momentary
glance, through her mind, of eligible establishments rejected with
scorn, of comfort and respectability cast away, for dreams of ambition
it had never been her fate to realize.
She paused, and some seconds were given to a remembrance apart from
every other, which, though now but faintly seen amid the haze of
distance, still seemed a little illumined speck, on which a sun-beam,
piercing some aperture in a cloudy sky had chanced to fall.
But it was too late, quite too late for such thoughts, so she went out
to pay some morning visits, to send in a veal cutlet for her dinner, and
find out, more particularly, who were to be at the Salter's party.