"THE PEOPLE OF THE HOUSE."
Lucy Rowe would have been fast friends with Carrie Cockayne during their
stay in her aunt's house, had Mrs. Cockayne, on the one hand, permitted
her daughter to become intimate with anything so low as "the people of
the house," and had Mrs. Rowe, on the other, suffered her niece to
"forget her place." But they did approach each other, by an irresistible
affinity, and by the easy companionship of common tastes. While
Sophonisba engaged ardently in all the doings of the house, and was a
patient retailer of its scandals; and while Mrs. Cockayne was busy with
her evening whist, and morning "looks at the shops"--quiet and retiring
Theodosia managed to become seriously enamoured of the Vicomte de Gars,
who visited Mrs. Rowe's establishment, as the unexceptionable friend of
the Reverend Horace Mohun.
The young Vicomte was a Protestant; of ancient family and limited means.
Where the living scions of the noble stock held their land, and went
forth over their acres from under the ancestral portcullis, was more
than even Mrs. Rowe had been able, with all her penetrating power in
scandal, to ascertain. But the young nobleman was Mr. Mohun's
friend--and that was enough. There had been reverses in the family.
Losses fall upon the noblest lines; and supposing the Count de Gars in
the wine trade--to speak broadly, in the Gironde--this was to his
honour. The great man struggling with the storms of fate, is a glad
picture always to noble minds. Some day he would issue from his cellars,
and don his knightly plume once more, and summon the vulgar intruders to
begone from the Château.
As for Mrs. Cockayne, to deny that she was highly contented at the
family's intimacy with a Viscount, would be to falsify my little
fragmentary chain of histories. She wrote to her husband that she met
the very best society at Mrs. Rowe's, extolled the elegant manners and
enclosed the photograph of the Vicomte de Gars, and said she really
began to hope that she had persuaded "his lordship" to pay them a visit
in London. "Tell Mrs. Sandhurst, my dear Cockayne, that I am sure she
will like the Vicomte de Gars."
The Vicomte de Gars was a little man, with long wristbands. Miss
Tayleure described him as all eye-glass and shirt-front. Comic artists
have often drawn the moon capering on spider-legs; a little filling out
would make the Vicomte very like the caricature. He was profound--in his
salutations, learned--in lace, witty--thanks to the _Figaro_. His
attentions to Miss Theodosia Cockayne, and to Madame her mother, were of
the most splendid and elaborate description. He left flowers for the
young lady early in the morning.
It was very provoking that Theodosia had consented to be betrothed to
John Catt of Peckham.
"Carrie, my dear," Mrs. Cockayne observed, having called her daughter to
her bedroom for a good lecture, "once for all, I WILL NOT have
you on such intimate terms with the people of the house. What on earth
can you be thinking about? I should have thought you would show more
pride. I am quite sure the Vicomte saw you yesterday when you were
sitting quite familiarly with Miss Rowe in the bureau. I WILL
NOT have it."
"Mamma dear, Lucy Rowe is one of the most sensible and, at the same
time, best informed girls I ever knew; and her sentiments are everything
that could be desired."
"I will not be answered, Carrie; mind that. I wonder you haven't more
pride. A chit like that, who keeps the hotel books, and gives out the
sugar."
"Her father was----"
"Never mind what her father was. What is she? I wonder you don't
propose to ask her home on a visit."
"She would not disgrace----"
This was too much for Mrs. Cockayne. She stamped her foot, and bore down
upon Carrie with a torrent of reasons why Miss Rowe should be held at a
distance.
"You wouldn't find Theodosia behaving in such a manner. She understands
what's becoming. I dare say she's not so clever as you are----"
"Dear mamma, this is cruel----"
"Don't interrupt me. No, no; I see through most things. This Miss Howe
is always reading. I saw her just now with some novel, I've no doubt,
which she shouldn't read----"
"It was Kingsley's----"
"Hold your tongue, child. Yes, reading, and with a pen stuck behind her
ear."
"She's so very lonely: and Mrs. Howe is so very severe with her."
"I have no doubt it's quite necessary; there, go and dress for the
table d'hôte, and mind what I say."
Poor Lucy wondered what on earth could have happened that Carrie
Cockayne avoided her: and what those furtive nods of the head and stolen
smiles at her could mean? On the other hand, how had she offended Mrs.
Cockayne? Happily, Mrs. Rowe was on Lucy's side; for it had pleased Mrs.
Cockayne to show her social superiority by extravagant coldness and
formality whenever she had occasion to address "the landlady." One thing
Mrs. Cockayne admitted she could NOT understand--viz., Why Jane
the servant took so much upon herself with her mistress; and what all
the mystery was about a Mr. Charles, who seemed to be a dark shadow,
kept somewhere as far as possible in the background of the house.
Mrs. Rowe, on her side, was amply revenged for Mrs. Cockayne's airs of
superiority, when Mr. Cockayne arrived in the company of Mr. John Catt,
the betrothed love of Theodosia.
"You must be mad, Mr. Cockayne," was his wife's greeting directly they
were alone--"raving mad to bring that vulgar fellow John Catt with you.
Didn't you get my letters?"
"I did, my dear; and they brought me over, and John Catt with me. I, at
least, intend to act an honourable part."
"Perhaps you will explain yourself, Mr. Cockayne."
"I have travelled from Clapham for that purpose. Who the devil is this
Viscount de Gars, to begin with?"
Mrs. Cockayne drew herself up to her full height, and looked through her
husband--or meant to look through him--but just then he was not to be
cowed even by Mrs. Cockayne.
With provoking coolness and deliberation over the exact relative
quantities, Mr. Cockayne mixed himself a glass of grog from his brandy
flask; while he proceeded to inform his wife that Mr. John Catt, who had
been engaged, with their full consent, to their daughter, had, at his
instigation, travelled to Paris to understand what all this ridiculous
twaddle about Viscount de Gars meant.
"You will spoil everything," Mrs. Cockayne gasped, "as usual."
"I don't know, madam, that I am in the habit of spoiling anything; but
be very certain of this, that I shall not stand by and see my daughter
make a fool of a young man of undoubted integrity and of excellent
prospects, for the sake of one of these foreign adventurers who swarm
wherever foolish Englishwomen wake their appearance. I beg you will say
nothing, but let me observe for myself, and leave the young people to
come to an understanding by themselves."
In common with many Englishmen of Timothy Cockayne's and John Catt's
class, Theodosia's father at once concluded that the poor polite little
Vicomte de Gars was an adventurer, and that his coronet was pasteboard,
and his shirt studs stolen. Mr. John Catt distinguished himself on his
arrival by loud calls for bottled beer, the wearing of his hat in the
sitting-room, and by the tobacco-fumes which he liberally diffused in
his wake.
When the little Vicomte made his accustomed appearance in the
drawing-room, after the table d'hôte, he offered the Cockayne ladies his
profoundest bows, and was most reverential in his attitude to Mr.
Cockayne, who on his side was red and brusque. As neither Mr. nor Mrs.
Cockayne could speak a French word, and Mr. John Catt was not in a
position to help them, and was, moreover, inclined to the most
unfavourable conclusions on the French nobleman, the presentations were
on the English side of the most awkward description. The demoiselles
Cockayne "fell a giggling" to cover their confusion; and the party would
have made a ridiculous figure before all the boarders, had not the
Reverend Horace Mohun covered them with his blandness.
Mr. John Catt was not well-mannered, but he was good-hearted and
stout-hearted. He was one of those rough young gentlemen who pride
themselves upon "having no nonsense about them." He was downright in all
things, even in love-making. He took, therefore, a very early
opportunity of asking his betrothed "what this all meant about Monsieur
de Gars?" and of observing, "She had only to say the word, and he was
ready to go."
This was very brutal, and it is not in the least to be wondered at that
the young lady resented it.
I am, as the reader will have perceived, only touching now and then upon
the histories of the people who passed through Mrs. Rowe's highly
respectable establishment while I was in the habit of putting up there.
This John Catt was told he was very cruel, and that he might go; Mrs.
Cockayne resolutely refused to give up the delights and advantages of
the society of the Vicomte de Gars; the foolish girl was--well, just as
foolish as her mamma; and finally, in a storm that shook the
boarding-house almost to its respectable foundations, the Cockayne
party broke up--not before the Vicomte and Miss Theodosia Cockayne had
had an explanation in the conservatory, and Mrs. Cockayne had invited
"his lordship" to London.
I shall pick up the threads of all this presently.